#pin shut up about rush challenge

[mypinis2112]

Most badass Rush moment is probably that time Neil almost got himself killed by a Yakuza member in Japan.

(context: he saw a guy beating his wife/girlfriend/whatever in the lobby of a hotel, and decided to get between the guy and the woman, and telling him off for hitting her, not realizing the dude was a Yakuza member).

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER ONE: SHUT UP AND KISS ME

violet; 4,711 words; fluff, enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, wlw, the gays can't communicate, college parties, toxic ex!cait, impulsive!reader, drama as all living fuck, no "y/n"

summary: in which you decide to go to yet another party vi's going to be at. consequences ensue.

a/n: i know its late but its still the 30th in cali!!! enjoy the ENEMIES part of enemies to lovers!!!! <3

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ IT TURNS OUT THAT Vi does, in fact, remember you. And, it also seems like she’s the type to hold a grudge.

Because three days later, when you’re running through a few off-ice warmups while the hockey team finishes up their morning practice, you distinctly hear her challenging one of her teammates to a race even as everyone else is clearing off the ice.

You groan, dropping back onto the bench and frowning as you start to lace up your skates.

“Great, now I’ve gotta skate on fucked up ice before the mid-day zamboni — really fucking great —”

“Got something you wanna say to my face, princess?”

Your eyes jerk up, and there’s Vi, standing not even a foot from you, her helmet tucked under one arm, her stick in the other, her hair a sweat-slicked mess that somehow still looks infuriatingly attractive. You narrow your eyes.

“Nope. Just… talking to myself.”

“I… don’t think so, sweetcheeks,” she says, taking a few steps forward even as you stand up. Like this, your eyes are barely level, your own skates giving you a solid few inches, but she still manages to look down at you as a smirk twists her lips.

You puff out a breath, feeling a wild thumping curling up your throat as you stare up at her, your fingertips going cold even as heat rushes into your cheeks.

“Fine,” you say, “you’re really that curious?”

Vi shrugs, “I mean, you seem to like dolling out unsolicited opinions so,” she pins you with a harsh look, “What’s another one to add to the collection, huh?”

You stiffen, and for a second, something breaks in Vi’s expression before it melds back into one of caustic curiosity. She looks like a beartrap sprung on a hair-pin trigger, her jaw clenched, her eyes hard.

“Huh, never thought you’d be such a glutton for punishment,” you say, the words dripping from you, slow as poison, and somewhere in the back of your mind, your fight or flight response is telling you that this is a bad, bad idea, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from taking half a step closer, even though Vi’s probably twice your size and can bench three times your body weight — “But then again, you did stay in a relationship with an emotionally manipulative bitch who swapped you out the second she could get her hands on someone better —”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t know anything —!”

“Hey, hey!” A pair of large hands yanks Vi back just as she’s about to lunge towards you; another thinner pair of arms loops through yours, tugging you back a few steps.

“You stay the fuck out of this, Jayce!”

“Darling, what on earth is going on?” you turn to find Mel, her cheeks dusted in gold, her hands firm on your arms, as Jayce forcibly wrangles Vi back.

You swallow around the vitriol threatening your lips and shake your head, turning away from Vi.

“Nothing, just… I was annoyed that the hockey team always fucks up the ice after their practices —”

“Oh, you think we fuck up the ice?” Vi’s voice cracks like a gunshot in the vast rink, and several of the other girls from the hockey team have come jogging back, placing their hands on Vi’s shoulders to keep her from steamrollering into you. “You know how much precious practice time we’ve wasted filling up those massive holes you guys leave with your stupid little toe-pick jumps?”

You roll your eyes, anger flaring hot and high in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, so sorry, didn’t know you guys could still see with the sustained brain damage you all must have from slamming into each other all the time.”

“Fuck you.”

You scoff, twisting back with a viperous smirk.

“In your wildest dreams, six.”

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh… didn’t know you knew my number, princess.”

“It’s written on your face — or have all your previous hookups been so stupid they can’t even read —”

“And what kind of tomfoolery is this?”

Everyone freezes at the sound of Amara’s voice. You bite down on your lips and take a step back as the small, gray-haired woman strides through, her hands behind her back, her chin held high.

“Sorry, Amara — it’s nothing,” Jayce says, jerking Vi behind him as she tries to open her mouth to speak.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” Amara says, her words smooth as a river in spring thaw, and nearly just as frigid.

Guilt creeps up your spine as she scans over the hockey team with marked distaste.

“Perhaps I ought to let Vander know that his girls are once again causing a —”

“Don’t, Amara. It was — it was my fault.” You shake off Mel’s hands and slot yourself between Jayce and Amara, ignoring the the disbelieving snort from Vi.

Amara’s eyes land on you, and for a second, they soften. Still, she tilts her head, eyes sharp as a hawks as you twist your fingers behind your back.

“Your fault, darling?”

You nod, “Yeah, I — I was annoyed that they were carving up the ice, so I — I picked a fight —”

Amara sighs, “Yes… well, I can’t blame you, but you know it’s not good rink etiquette.”

“I know,” you say, hanging your head.

Amara tuts, “As long as you know,” she reaches up to pat your cheek before marching off towards the rink-side boxes to set up the music. Behind you, Jayce releases Vi’s arms with a sigh.

“Martyr,” Vi coughs as she shoulders passed you, flanked by a few of the hockey girls, casting dirty looks over their shoulders before disappearing into the locker rooms.

You close your eyes, take three deep breaths, and then step onto the ice.

“It was an ass thing to say.”

“As long as you know —”

“But I feel like she took it way too seriously, y’know?”

Jayce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slumps down into the booth in the dining commons, shoving half an entire banana into his mouth as he pins you with a look.

“Or maybe, you can just apologize —”

You crinkle your nose, prodding at your yogurt bowl, toying with a spoonful of blueberry flavored granola.

“Can’t you just… like tell her I’m sorry or something?” you ask, pushing out your bottom lip in a signature pout. Jayce only swallows the rest of the banana before digging into a truly dauntingly sized ham and cheese sandwich.

“’m not doing your dirty work for you,” he says, his expression lighting up as Mel slides gracefully into the booth next to you, pressing a napkin into her lap.

“And what’s this about dirty work?” she asks, a teasing grin on her lips.

You sigh, “I’m asking very nicely —”

Jayce holds up a hand, “No, you’re trying to get me to apologize to Vi for you — which basically defeats the whole point of an apology.”

“No! It’s because I know you guys are like… platonic gym soulmates or — whatever —” you wave your hands through the air even as Mel laughs into her salad.

Jayce huffs, “Or,” he catches Mel’s eye, and you feel a distinct spate of unease work it’s way down your spine at the way Mel’s lips split into a devious grin.

“Or?” you prompt, setting down your spoon and sitting back, looking between the pair of them with mounting apprehension.

Mel gently places a hand on your arm, “You could just apologize to her yourself —”

“At the party this Saturday —”

“No — no way —” you put up both hands, “the last time I went to a party with you guys —”

“You got to make out with the hottest girl on the entire hockey team,” Mel soothes.

You bite your lips, eyes cutting down to your lap. You hadn’t told her. You hadn’t told anyone. So far as she and Jayce knew, the only slight against Vi you’d made is calling her ex a ‘manipulative bitch’, which — well.

“Right, and now she hates me.”

Mel sniffs, “You can’t be that bad at kissing. I refuse to believe it.”

Jayce snickers; Mel shoots him a glare. He reaches for the bag of free chips and pops it open with one hand.

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? You offer her another kiss to make up for your little tantrum the other day?” Mel asks, flicking a thin, gold-laced braid over her shoulder.

You groan, sinking into your seat as you fold your arms over your chest, weighing the options.

You did feel bad for what you’d said. But you also tried to shield her from what you’re sure would’ve been much worse than what she’d gotten given Amara’s track record of tattling to Vander.

And then, unbidden, comes the memory of Vi’s sultry grin as she’d pinned you against the frat house door, her mouth inches from yours, the solid muscles of her torso pushing against yours as she’d leaned in and —

“— at a sorority house, so the space’ll be much nicer,” Mel promises, turning towards you again, her eyes expectant.

You blink, your mind catching up to her words a second later as you sigh.

“I — sure, fine — but I can’t stay too long. I’ve got Skate America in two weeks —”

Jayce ruffles your hair, “Yeah, so do we.”

You shove his massive arm off you with a half-hearted glare, “Yeah, but I’m not made like you guys. I can’t just literally skate into a podium. I actually have to practice.”

“Oh don’t get all shy now, little miss triple axel.”

“I’ve only landed it twice in practice, and I’m pretty sure one of them was underrotated —”

Mel shakes her head, “And there she goes again —”

“Always so humble —” Jayce adds.

You groan and bury your face in your arms, “Will you leave me alone?”

Mel laughs, “We will if you come to the party on Saturday,” she sing-songs, nudging you with her elbow.

Jayce slings an arm around your shoulders, shaking you slightly.

“And Vi’s for sure going.”

You peak up at him, “How… do you know?”

Jayce smirks, “Cause. Her ex is gonna be there.

You blink.

“Oh.”

Mel pillows her cheek on her palm, tapping her perfectly manicured nails along the table, a Cheshire-grin spread across her lips like warm butter.

“With her new girlfriend.”

You whip around towards her.

“Oh.”

This was a terrible idea, you think, as you step into the sorority house, tugging on the edge of your dress, the hem of which barely skims your mid-thigh, the modest, high-necked front contrasted with the plunging back line that settles in a graceful slope of material just above the curve of your ass.

“Quit fidgeting,” Mel says, slapping at your hand as you try once again to readjust the bottom of the dress.

“I can’t — I feel like I’m gonna flash the world — and it’s a tossup if it’s the front of the back!” you hiss, jerking the hemline of the dress down as it slowly starts to ride up your thigh again.

Mel tuts, “Please, as if this is anywhere near as short as the performance outfits that we have to wear —”

“That’s different!” you insist, reaching out to grab two cups of something and shoving one at Mel, “We’ve got tights on under those!”

Mel rolls her eyes, sniffing at the drink before making a face and dropping it off on a random surface. You take an absent sip of your own drink, gagging immediately at the taste.

“Eugh, oh god what do they put in those?” you ask, dropping your own solo cup on a table as Mel drags you through the shifting crowd.

The party’s already going in full swing, but she’d been right, the space is nicer — wider and less cramped, the ceilings high and the music less abrasive.

“Where’re we going?” you ask, even as Mel guides you towards the heart of the party and somehow manages to conjure up two glasses of what looks like champagne, handing one to you, and taking a sip of the other one herself.

“Finding Vi,” she says, to which you balk, shaking your head.

“Mel!”

She turns with an exasperated sigh, “What?”

“C-can’t we just —” you motion towards the party, “try to have a good time? I mean — maybe she’s not here — maybe she wanted to have a quiet night in —”

“Speak of the devil —” Mel’s face breaks into a grin as she spots someone over your shoulder and you whip around to see —

Caitlyn Kiramman, the veritable goddess of track and field, all dark hair and endless long legs, standing there with her new girlfriend Maddie Nolen, a cute, if slightly awkward girl, with strawberry blond hair cropped in a truly abominable bob-cut.

The room seems to part for them, Caitlyn tugging Maddie forward with their fingers laced, looking not so unlike the Queen of England, followed by her loyal procession of ginger-backed corgis.

You take a few steps back, watching them with raised brows, wondering what on earth Caitlyn might’ve seen in Maddie, given that she’d had Vi seemingly wrapped around her pinky finger just months before.

But then, you see Vi — her expression caught somewhere between hurt and barely scraped together bravado, her fists at her sides as Caitlyn also spots her, approaching with Maddie half a step behind.

“Fancy seeing you here, Violet,” Caitlyn says, her voice carrying over the crowd even as everyone tries to avert their gaze or pretend like they aren’t listening in.

Vi puffs out her chest, “Sure, yeah. Super fancy. What, d’you think I’d be banned from the sorority house or something?”

Caitlyn shrugs, “Something like that.”

Vi narrows her eyes, her knuckles going white, “Sorry cupcake, ‘fraid not even you can keep me from havin’ a good time.”

“So I see,” Caitlyn says. Maddie peers around her shoulder with wide eyes and a shy smile.

“Name’s Maddie, it’s nice to meet —”

“See you’ve already replaced me,” Vi says, folding her arms over her chest, her biceps bulging, the vein in her jaw ticking dangerously as she looks Maddie over.

Caitlyn smirks, “See you haven’t.”

Vi seems to deflate slightly at that, her arms coming loose, “Actually I —”

You find yourself moving before you can stop yourself, pushing through the gathering crowd till you can throw your arms around Vi’s neck, bowling into her with a simpering squeal of —

“Vi! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Vi’s expression morphs from one of shock to a momentary flash of suspicion as you meet her eyes and bat your lashes in what you hope is an inconspicuous way before turning towards Caitlyn and Maddie, a 100-watt smile hitched over your lips.

“Oh! And who’s this?”

Caitlyn narrows her eyes, looking you over with an imperialistic eye.

“Caitlyn — Kiramman… pleasure.”

“Oh wow! You’re the — the girl who’s really good at hurdles, right?” you say, even as Vi stifles a laugh at your side, her hand settling around your waist.

Caitlyn’s eyes harden as her lips thin into a pale line. Anyone who knows her would know that hurdles are her worst discipline, and that she’d dropped nearly every single one on her last major competition.

“And I’m Maddie… Nolen. So you must be —” Maddie reaches out, but not before Caitlyn takes your hand instead.

“The Ice Princess — our very own Olympic hopeful. Best of luck to you in the Grand Prix series this year. I heard you had something of a nasty fall early in your season last time… you oughtta be more careful this time around,” Caitlyn says, looking you up and down, even as you smile up at her, blissfully sweet and unbothered. Your cheeks are starting to hurt.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you flap your hand, crinkling your nose as you lean forward, using the motion to reach down and give Vi’s hand a soft squeeze, your eyes pinned on Caitlyn’s as you say —

“I never make the same mistake twice.”

And before she has the chance to respond, her jaw dropping open, you turn towards Vi with a bright grin, placing a palm against her chest, leaning right into her space.

“C’mon, let’s go get a drink, hm?”

“Y-yeah, princess — sure —”

You tug her away before the facade crumbles entirely, the pair of you dodging around curious eyes till you end up in the thankfully empty kitchen. Her hand pulls from yours the second you close the door behind you.

“What the hell —”

You hold up both your hands, falling back three steps to put some distance between you and her.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It — it just looked like…” you shrug, casting your eyes around the kitchen even as Vi huffs, folding her arms across her chest to lean back against the door, “It looked like you could use a hand, that’s all.”

“I didn’t need anyone to rescue me,” she snipes, her voice hardening around the edges.

You nod, “Yeah, I know. But…”

“But what?”

You swallow, turning your back to Vi as you pace around the large, marble-tiled kitchen, “I — I felt bad for — for what I said last time… so…”

You turn around just in time to catch Vi’s incredulous expression, seconds before she breaks into a sharp bark of laughter.

“Wow, my hero — my very own white-knight. Really, who needs Prince Charming when you’ve got —”

“Okay! I get it — you didn’t need saving — holy shit you don’t have to rub it in.”

You sigh, leaning up against the kitchen island, glaring down at a half-empty bottle of vodka sitting in the sink before reaching out to grab it and rummaging around for two empty shot glasses.

Vi watches you with an amused grin twitching at her lips.

Finally, you manage to find a few shot glasses tucked into the far corner of a cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, but your fingers don’t quite reach. And a second later, a body presses solid and warm to your back as Vi’s hand reaches in to pull two of the glasses out, placing them squarely on the counter.

She shoots you a lopsided grin as you watch her expertly pull two shots from the vodka bottle and slide one towards you.

“Mazel,” she smirks, tossing it back and smacking her lips.

You eye your own shot for a second longer before squeezing your eyes shut and tossing it back as well, immediately coughing, fighting to keep your gag reflex from taking over, pressing the back of your hand to your lips.

Vi’s laughter is loud, but not unkind as she reaches out to tug the shot glass from you, setting everything back into the sink.

“So. You’re felt bad, did you?”

You groan, dropping your head into your arms.

“I mean — yeah — it was —” you take a deep breath, bracing your palms against the kitchen island, eyes fixed on where your fingertips are slowly going white, “It was a shitty thing to say.”

“Mm. Which one? Mentioning my breakup right before I was about to kiss you? Or calling my ex a manipulative bitch?”

You wince, chewing on the inside of your cheek, though when you look up, it’s to find Vi smiling.

“Either? Both? Ugh… alcohol makes me —” you gesture at your head, wiggling your fingers as Vi watches, her smile sliding from amused into indulgent, “misplace the brain-mouth barrier a bit.”

“Yeah? And uh… do you skate drunk a lot? Or was that little exposition special just for me?”

You swallow, feeling the heat of the vodka creeping back up your throat as your cheeks prickle.

“That was…” you trail off, crinkling your nose as you cast about for a plausible response, but coming up empty, you sag against the kitchen counter, throwing up your hands, “I just — I’m not the best with impulsivity, okay?”

Vi chuckles, nodding, “So… I can see — I mean, even without the shouting match at the rink, that stunt you pulled back there with Cait —” she lets out a low whistle, shaking her head, “Gotta say, princess, I’m impressed. Pretending to be my new girlfriend in front of her new girlfriend? That’s… that’s ballsy.”

You let out another groan, sliding down the side of the kitchen island to sit on the floor, pulling your knees into your chest and glaring half-heartedly at the bottom of the fridge. A second later, Vi flops down to join you, an arm propped on her knee, her eyes caught on the shape of you, your pouty lips and the slope of your nose.

“Seriously though, when you made that hurdles comment — I almost lost it —”

You break into a bright peal of laughter, head thumping back against the cupboards as Vi allows herself a chuckle.

“Yes, yes — I’m kind of bitch. Point made,” you say, casting her a sidelong glance.

She shrugs, “Then I guess I’ve got a type, so…”

You bite down on your bottom lip, mulling over her words.

“So?” you ask.

She sighs, “So. What’s next?”

You frown, “Next?”

She fixes you with an incredulous look, “Yeah. Like — what comes after you so gallantly rescuing me from my oh-so-wicked ex by announcing that we’re dating in front of half our graduating class?”

You open your mouth, gaping at her.

A second passes. Then another.

Vi stares. Then, she bangs her head so loudly against the cupboards behind you you almost jump out of your skin.

“Come on! Are you kidding?! You’re telling me you did all this without any kind of plan?” She pushes to her feet seconds before you scramble up onto yours, frowning defensively in her direction.

“I told you! I’m — I’ve got an impulse problem and impulsivity doesn’t exactly lend itself to perfect foreplaning —”

But the pair of you break off as the unmistakable sounds of voices echoes down the hallway leading towards the kitchen. And in particular one voice — low and pitched and accented.

“Fuck —” Vi swears, looking suddenly stunned, her eyes wide, her whole body going rigid, “We’ve — we’ve gotta hide or something —”

You blink at her for a brief second before huffing out a breath and reaching up to jerk her down towards you. She barely catches herself against the counter, her hands braced on either side of your hips as you hiss against her lips —

“Oh c’mon — don’t be stupid —”

“What the hell are you —”

“Just shut up and kiss me —”

The door swings open behind you and laughter pours in, though it abruptly cuts off as Caitlyn freezes in the doorway, Maddie nearly smashing into her, and Mel behind her as everyone else jostles to try and see what the hold up is.

“Oh… whoops,” Maddie says, letting out an embarrassed chuckle as she tries to turn away from the sight of Vi and you caught in the throes of what looks like an intense make out session, Vi’s fingers digging divots into the skin of your hips, your fingers curling in her hair.

You let out a tiny whimper as Vi hoists you up onto the kitchen island, slotting herself between your legs, even as Caitlyn makes an affronted noise behind you, folding her arms.

“I see this room’s taken,” she says, voice flat and dangerous.

But Vi’s only response is to trail a hand up to your jaw, cupping it in her palm so she can slot her lips more comfortably against yours, letting out a satisfied hum at the way you soften into her as she sinks her teeth into you bottom lip.

Caitlyn scoffs, rolling her eyes even as Maddie tugs her back down the hallway. Everyone else jostles back into the main room as well, giggling and gossiping about this exciting new development.

Mel, though, clears her throat as she and Jayce share a look before closing the kitchen door behind them.

“Right, that’s enough you two —” she says, to very little avail.

Because somewhere between one breath and the next, you’d lost yourself to the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours, the heady, pulsing friction of her body as she cradles you against her, the way you can still taste the remnants of that vodka shot on her tongue as she licks into your mouth.

Faintly, you wonder if this might’ve turned out differently if you’d just kept quiet on that first night and let her kiss you in that dirty frat room.

But the thought is quickly dashed by a deep groan thrumming from Vi’s chest to yours as you lean back into the kiss, running your thumb down along her neck, pressing into the fluttering pulse point just below her jaw.

A whine curls up your throat as Vi’s fingers work beneath the hem of your little black dress, teasing at the skin of your thigh.

“Hey! Earth to horny lesbians!”

You pull back with a gasp, and Vi resurfaces as well, the both of you panting, your lips separating with a sound not unlike a plunger being released from a recently blocked sink. You feel your head spin, the room pressing in around you before expanding back out, even as Vi drags the back of her hand across her mouth, stumbling back a few steps.

“W-what?”

Jayce lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? That’s what got you?”

Mel sighs, rolling her eyes, “I think it’s time you explain yourselves.”

You lick your lips, hopping off the kitchen island even as Vi runs a hand over her face, her eyes strangely fractured, her cheeks dusted high with color.

“Well you were the one that said I should offer her another kiss to make up for — Vi? Where are you going?”

But Vi’s already making for the door, her shoulders hunched, her fists clenched at her sides. You take a few steps towards her but stop dead as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Sorry — I — I gotta go —” her voice is hoarse, and the look on her face when she glances over her shoulders at you — that more than anything convinces you to let her go.

You like to think that you’d seen experienced a good number of human emotions on the broad spectrum. Skating forces you to tap into a lot of them — anger, excitement, joy, sorrow, jealousy, vindication, passion.

But you’d never seen someone look so utterly broken.

“Wait, Vi —” Jayce tries to stop her but Mel places a hand on his arm, and Vi brushes passed them both, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway beyond without another word.

You sag against the kitchen island as both Mel and Jayce turn their eyes back onto you.

“Right.” Mel rounds on you even as you shrink back against the fridge, chewing on your lips.

Jayce groans, looking between you and Mel before marching over to the table and pulling up a few chairs.

“Everyone sit. If we’re gonna talk about this, we might as well be comfortable.”

You eye the chairs for a few seconds before sliding over and dropping into one of them.

Mel perches on the edge of another as Jayce leans himself against the dining table, arms folded loosely across his chest.

“So?” Mel prods.

You take a deep breath.

“So… at that frat party… when me and Vi were… supposed to kiss? Yeah, well… we… kinda, sorta… didn’t.”

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[goldfades]

joe burrow pro bowl weekend sneaking into his hotel room at night

aaaaa yes... pro bowl weekend joe has lived in my rent free and im so glad u requested this. hope you enjoy!

warnings: NSFW, minors pls dni! oral (fem. receiving), overstim if you squint, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it!!), rushed writing... sorry yall im trying a new style, lmk if yall like it 😌

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft hum of the ice machine down the corridor and the faint click of your heels against the plush hotel carpet. You’ve timed it perfectly—late enough that most of the players are either asleep or too busy nursing overpriced cocktails in dimly lit lounges, and early enough that the night shift staff haven’t started their rounds. The key card burns in your palm, a flimsy piece of plastic holding the weight of your impulsive decisions.

You hesitate for a beat outside his door, heart thumping like it’s trying to escape your chest. The gold numbers gleam under the flickering sconce light, mocking you with their simplicity. It’s just a door. Just Joe. But there’s nothing simple about the way your stomach flips when you think of him, or the way his voice has been echoing in your head all day, low and lazy, threaded with that soft drawl.

The lock clicks with an almost conspiratorial softness as you swipe the card. You slip inside like a shadow, the door snicking shut behind you with a whisper of finality. The room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city seeping through the crack in the heavy curtains. You can make out the broad outline of him, sprawled across the bed, one arm flung over his head, the sheets tangled around his waist.

He stirs when you kick off your shoes, the faint rustle drawing his attention. His voice is rough with sleep when he speaks, low and familiar in a way that makes your skin prickle.

“Took you long enough.”

His words are lazy, but there’s an edge to them—a sharpness tucked beneath the warmth. You don’t bother with an excuse. Just step closer, letting the distance between you shrink until it’s nothing at all.

You can feel the heat emanating from his body as you stand over him, the dim light casting shadows that dance across his features. The room is charged with an electric tension, palpable in the air between you. Joe's eyes, half-lidded and sleepy, focus on you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. He shifts slightly, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt that clings to him from the heat of sleep.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" His voice is a husky murmur that sends shivers down your spine. Despite the casual tone, there's a question in his gaze, a probing, searching inquiry that seeks your deepest intentions. It's an invitation and a challenge all at once.

You respond not with words but with action, crawling onto the bed with a grace that belies your pounding heart. The mattress dips under your weight, and Joe watches your every move, his gaze tracking the sway of your hips as if mesmerized. You straddle him, feeling the solid strength of his thighs beneath you, and for a moment, you just sit there, drinking in his presence, the reality of him.

His hands come up to rest on your hips, his thumbs tracing small, slow circles through the fabric of your dress. There's a tenderness in his touch that contrasts with the iron strength of his fingers, and it's this duality that fascinates you, draws you in.

"I... needed to see you," you confess, the words tumbling out in a breathy rush. The truth feels like a liberation, freeing something tight and coiled within your chest.

Joe's smile is slow and warm, spreading across his face like dawn breaking. "Well, then," he murmurs, his hands tightening on your hips, "Let's make it worth your while."

He flips you beneath him with a swift, practiced move that leaves you breathless. His body pins yours to the bed, his weight a comforting pressure that envelops you completely. His lips find yours in the darkness, the kiss deep and consuming, tasting of sleep and desire. The world narrows down to the feel of him against you, around you, the sound of your mingled breaths the only music in the silent room.

--

Joe's relentless pursuit of your pleasure leaves you gasping, teetering on the edge of coherence. His tongue is masterful, delving with precision yet infused with an artistry that makes each touch feel like the first. His fingers grip your thighs, holding you open, exposed to his hungry gaze and insatiable mouth. The dichotomy of tender in his actions drives you insane, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through your veins.

The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and the slick, wet noises of his tongue lavishly exploring, tasting you with a ravenous need that belies his earlier laziness. You're overwhelmed by the intensity the relentless pleasure, your hands tangle in his hair, pressing him closer, silently pleading for more, for that sweet release that hovers just out of reach.

"Joey," you moan, your voice breaking with desperation. "Please."

He responds not with words but with a deep hum that vibrates against your clit, his tongue brushing over the sensitive. It's the final stroke of your arousal, and it sends you spiraling over the edge into blissful oblivion as the knot in your stomach snaps for the second time that night, all from his tongue.

Your body arches off the bed, a silent scream etched across your features as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you shattered in the most exquisite way.

But Joe isn't done.

As you flutter back down to Earth, spent and panting, he rises up, his lips glistening with the evidence of your climax. When you open your eyes, meeting his gaze, he's settled in between your thighs, his hands on your hips.

His eyes burn with an insatiable fire, his own desire palpable as he positions himself at the crux of your thighs. "You taste incredible, baby," he murmurs, voice low and husky, "but I'm nowhere near done with you."

With that, his cock slides into you, filling you in one smooth, deep stroke because of your soaked cunt. The sensation is intense, a delicious stretch that reignites your desire. His movements are deliberate, powerful thrusts that drive you both toward a precipice as Joe's hands move everywhere, his touches igniting flames wherever they land.

Joe's movements become fervent, almost frenzied as he plunges deeper into the warm, welcoming depths of your cunt. His pace is relentless, each thrust deeper than the last, driven by a raw hunger that seems to consume him entirely. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, along with his slurred, lust-laden words.

"God, so good... so perfect for me, baby," he groans, his voice thick with desire as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. The words are barely coherent, a string of adoration and pleasure mumbled as he loses himself in the sensation of you enveloping him. His hands roam over your body with wild abandon, tracing the curves of your hips, squeezing your tits.

"Feel so good," Joe murmurs against your ear, his voice a husky drawl that sends a shiver down your spine. "Can't get enough of your pussy... so wet for me." His words are a mantra, spoken between labored breaths and deep thrusts.

His rhythm staggers as he starts to feel his impending orgasm, his thrusts uneven but no less potent. Each movement sends ripples of pleasure through your body, pushing you both closer to the brink again. The mattress creaks under the force of his movements, as Joe's praises continue to spill from his lips.

His fingers find your clit, thumb circling with a rhythm that matches his thrusts. The dual assault on your senses is overwhelming, and you can feel another climax building within you, the coil in your stomach tightening like a spring.

"Fuck, I’m gonna—" Joe's words cut off as his control snaps, his body tensing as he reaches his own climax. He buries himself deep inside you as he comes, his eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with the raw intensity of his release. The sight of him, so utterly undone, so vulnerable and yet so powerful, pulls you over the edge with him.

Your orgasm washes over you in a tidal wave of bliss, crashing through you with such strength that you cling to Joe, your nails digging into his sculpted back, as if anchoring yourself. Together, you ride the waves of pleasure, each pulse and throb of his cock inside you extending your climax, intertwining it with his.

Joe's body shudders above you, each tremor mirroring the aftershocks that ripple through your own form. His breath, hot and ragged, brushes against your neck as he struggles to catch his breath, his chest heaving against yours.

As the final waves of pleasure ebb, Joe collapses beside you, his arm instinctively pulling you close. In the dim light of the hotel room, his face is painted with satisfaction and a touch of awe. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, a stark contrast to the fervor of moments before.

[aerialmirrorss]

𝐝 𝐚 𝐲 𝐥 𝐢 𝐠 𝐡 𝐭 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ nicholas a. chavez

playing: 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 by taylor swift 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! reader woke up late for work but nicholas, your boyfriend, wishes to stay in bed longer..

paring: nicholas chavez x fem!reader

warnings: lots of fluff , sexual content + unprotected sex! oral (f! receiving) , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 2.5k

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡

Soft sunlight filters through the thin slats of your bedroom window shades, casting patterns of light and shadow across the room. It’s not abrupt, but rather a slow increase in brightness that touches your closed eyelids, warming your skin and pulling you out of your dream. The room becomes bathed in a soft, golden glow, and as you blink awake, the light feels like a quiet reminder of the world waiting outside.

However, behind you with an arm draped around your waist and soft snores coming from his slightly parted lips laid your boyfriend, Nicholas, making you want to tell the world to fuck off, turn off the lights, and try again another day.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed your eyes and stretched your arms making a half-asleep Nicholas stir. You smile softly and turn to face him with his eyes still shut. You ran your fingers through his tousled hair, briefly wondering how bad your own must look, before softly whispering, “Good morning.”

He hums softly, wrapping his hand around your wrist as it rests in his hair and brings it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to your pulse. In a raspy voice, he murmurs, “Good morning, baby.”

“How’d you sleep?” You ask, your voice still low, not wanting to disrupt the stillness of this peaceful moment. It’s only Nick’s second time spending the night in your New York City apartment, the first just two nights ago.

He exhales peacefully, drawing you closer until your legs are tangled with his. “Your bed feels like sleeping on a cloud,” he murmurs.

You giggle at the sudden movement, watching as Nick plays with your fingers. Then he looks up and asks, “What are your plans for today?”

You groan at the thought of returning to reality. “I have to be at work by 8:30. I’m presenting a pitch for a headline, so I should probably start getting ready since it’s—” You stop to glance at his watch as he gently strokes the back of your hand.

“8:29?! No, no, no—fuck!” You quickly untangle yourself from his arms and get up, Nick’s shirt skimming the tops of your bare thighs as you fumble to put on your slippers. Just as you’re about to rush out of the room, Nick grabs your wrist and pulls you back into bed.

Before you knew it, your back was against the mattress again, pinned beneath Nick’s steady gaze.

“I love that shirt on you,” he uttered softly.

“Nicholas c’mon.” You ignore his remark, wiggling beneath him trying to free yourself. He however, seemed to have taken that as a damn challenge.

A smirk tugs on his pink lips before he leans down to ghost his lips against yours, teasing. It was almost like a test to see if you were gonna resist. But when you didn’t, he leaned down once again, capturing your lips between his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

In that moment, it felt as if the world slowed and everything narrowed down to just the two of you. The softness of his lips brushing against yours, a gentle pull, sparked a sensation that coursed through your entire body. There was an unspoken connection, an effortless sync as you responded to each other’s movements, and the kiss deepened naturally. His breath mingled with yours, and his touch was both tender and intense, filled with desire. Time became irrelevant; you could have stayed in that moment forever. Nothing else mattered except the feeling and Nicholas.

Nicholas. Nicholas. Nicholas...

He was all your mind could focus on.

His lips parted from yours with a soft, wet sound before trailing down your cheek, behind your ear, and slowly along your neck. The slow descent of his kisses gave your mind a fleeting chance to gather a coherent thought.

"Nick— I really need to get going," you breathe, trying to summon a resolve that feels distant in the moment.

"Do you?" he murmurs against your skin, gently nipping at your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue, drawing a gasp from your lips.

He knew all of your vulnerabilities, every spot that made you gasp for air, craving more, and he was definitely using it to his advantage. But you weren’t exactly upset about that.

Nicholas was feeling it just as intensely. Your sweet sighs and tugging of his hair as he suckled on your neck made all the blood in his body rush straight to his cock, leaving him a needy mess. And it didn’t help when he sucked on that sweet spot behind your ear, making your back arch into him and accidentally grazing his hard, throbbing bulge.

He let out a low groan at the small amount of contact and was desperate for more. Once again, his lips were on yours, more hungry and ravenous than ever. You felt the air leave your lungs when he rolled his hips into yours feeling every inch of him. The repeated action of his hips grinding into yours made you let out the softest moans against his lips, and that sound alone was enough to make Nicholas go wild.

He pulls away for a second to catch his breath as you do the same, though his hips never stop their mindless rutting against yours. He was so drunk on the taste of you, he couldn’t help but start rambling.

“Feel that? Feel what you do to me, pretty girl? Hm?” He’s breathless against your lips as he ground his hips against yours more intently, making you feel him through the barrier of your blue lace panties and his black boxer briefs.

At this point, you were ready to get fired.

Nothing would be able to drag you away from this moment with Nick, not even your fucking job.

All you could do to respond is moan into the air, hoping he wouldn’t stop. His fingers trail down to the hem of his t-shirt on your body. He lifted it just enough to reveal your navel and abdomen, kissing along the fabric as his head traveled lower and lower.

You wasted no time in discarding the nuisance item of clothing leaving you in just your underwear.

Nicholas left gentle kisses along your abdomen, trailing down in between your thighs, all the way to your ankles, then back up again.

“You’re perfect,” He whispers against your skin, his words sending shivers down your spine.

His eyes darkened as they lingered on what he craved the most, groaning in approval at the wet spot left on your underwear. You were soaking and Nicholas was ready to have a taste of your sweet nectar.

He planted a gentle kiss on your pelvis just above the little blue bow of your underwear, dragging his lips against you until he stopped right at the center.

Looking up at you through his long lashes, with a raspy voice he asks, “is this okay?”

You nod, breathlessly answering “yes.” And with that he wasted no time.

His lips pressed against your clit through the fabric, stealing your breath away. When his tongue slid slowly over the damp fabric, you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped, and he smirked against you.

“Look at you. So wet for me," he rambled, pulling the lace to the side to finally see you.

His finger glided through your folds, and he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean with his eyes closed in satisfaction.

The sight before you is so pornographic it makes you rut your hips up instinctively in hopes for some kind of friction which has him chuckling. He stops teasing you and discards your last item of clothing, leaving you completely exposed and bare to him.

Without warning, his flattened tongue swept a long, slow lick between your folds, making you cry out, your body reacting on its own as you ground against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair.

You become dizzy as he begins to lap at your heat like a dehydrated kitten and your hips suddenly have a mind of their own, grinding against his face, hand shooting out to tangle between his brown locks.

His lips suction on your bundle of nerves and as your back arches, he plunges a finger in you starting a pace that has your eyes rolling.

“F-fuck!” You cry out, clenching around his digit as his tongue flicks your clit in different patterns that sends shocks throughout your body, that is until he inserts a second finger.

It’s amazing and almost pathetic how quickly he has you crumbling to pieces with just a flick of his tongue and fingers. Soon enough, you felt the knot in your lower stomach tightening, and Nick sensed it as well with a knowing smile, watching how tense your body was becoming.

“Gonna cum for me, princess? Huh?” He mumbles against you, never slowing the relentless pace of his fingers, feeling you clench around them so tightly, it makes him chuckle.

“C’mon baby, soak me. I wanna taste you,” His words push you over the edge off the cliff you were hanging on for dear life.

A string of moans leave your lips as your body begins to shake and convulse uncontrollably. His tongue rides you through the utter bliss, suckling and suctioning causing aftershock waves to jolt through you.

Nick runs his hands up and down your thighs, whispering praises, peppering you with kisses all the way up to your lips as you catch your breath.

“Feeling good?” He whispers, brushing your messy strands of hair out of your face with a soft smile. You nod, returning his smile, glancing at his sheen chest, running your fingers up and down it.

Your gaze then drifts down to the bulge in his briefs, begging for attention to which you trail further down, palming him with light pressure.

Nick’s head falls into the pillow beside you, a low moan escaping his lips at the friction his cock was aching for.

“Fuck— baby, don’t,” He babbles, gasping as you reach into his briefs and release his shaft from the tight confines, pumping him slowly.

You feel the heat in your belly flare up again at his desperate sounds of relief, and begin to tap the tip of his cock against your clit, teasing the both of you.

Nick crashes his lips to yours in a needy haze, both gasping as you line him up with your entrance and start inching forward so slowly it’s practically torture.

You’re so slick with arousal, there’s minimal resistance to his intrusion as you feel your muscles stretching to accommodate around him. You both let out a euphoric moan when he fills you completely, stilling himself and relishing in the feeling of your warm, wet walls.

“God—” He strains against your mouth, “I don’t think I'll ever get over how amazing you feel, angel.”

You moan softly at his words, rutting your hips against his, “please...” you beg, voice trembling.

He smiles against your lips giving you a quick peck, “please what, baby—hm? Tell me what you need.”

You whine in frustration, rocking your hips up once again, to which he takes as an opportunity to sneak his arm under the small of your back and pin you up against his chest. “What do you need, love?”

Before you could form a coherent sentence, he thrusts his hips forward once, the slap of your skin on his echoing in your bedroom which pulls a sharp gasp from your lips.

Then again, and again, and again.

“That what you need, sweetheart?” He pants, starting a pace that has you a mess of strained moans, matching the rhythm of his hips. “Need me to fuck into you like this huh?”

You can't help when your hands tangle in his hair, pulling on it as you cry out when his hips pull back and slams into you with such force, it makes your entire body jolt.

His pace quickens as he rests his forehead against your own, the small actions of you tugging at his hair seeming to enrage him more.

The sounds that echoed in the softly sunlit bedroom were the wet slaps of your skin colliding and a string of profanities and pants coming from the both of you, your walls clenching tightly around him as the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot over and over again with each thrust, sending you into a spiral.

You could feel the knot in your lower tummy starting to get tighter and tighter, your muscles flexing around him as you feel yourself quivering and he can certainly feel it too. His head drops down next to yours letting out low groans, never stopping his ruthless thrusts and determination setting.

“That’s it baby, one more, please.” He whines in your ear, kissing your neck and fingers landing on your bundle of nerves to spur you on alongside his sharp thrusts.

“Fuck— Nick, I’m gonna cum,” You warn, feeling yourself start to clench around his cock, to which he keeps his relentless pace to finally push you over the edge.

You let out one last strangled moan as the knot inside of you snaps, digging your nails into his back, your head thrown back as your entire body convulses.

He buried his head into your neck, slamming into you so feverishly to drive you deeper into ecstasy and once you come down is when his thrusts start to become sloppy and moans louder.

He suddenly jolts forward, sobbing out moans through his teeth, feeling his warmth paint your walls white. He collapses on top of you, both breathing so heavily as the aftershocks of your orgasms rolling out of you.

Neither of you could move, relinquishing in each other’s company and trying to recover from the sensations you both just experienced.

After a while of sweet silence and whispering sweet nothings and praises to you, he rolls onto his side, bringing you closer to him.

He plants a soft kiss to the side of your head, drawing patterns on your arm with his fingers.

“I should probably call off now,” You suddenly say to which he responds with a snort.

He reaches down to level himself with your plump and swollen lips, stealing a kiss. “Yeah, you’re gonna be pretty busy the rest of this afternoon, angel.”

© aerialmirrorss

[mypinis2112]

JUST FIVE????? Oh jeez oh no

1. Time Stand Still

2. Presto

3. Everyday Glory

4. The Colour of Right

5. Wish Them Well (obv The Garden too but there’s personal reasons I’m choosing the former)

Honorable mentions to The Body Electric, Closer to the Heart, and basically all of Power Windows and Caress of Steel

Share/reblog and list your top five favorite Rush songs of all time.

I'll go first starting with number 5:

5. Kid Gloves

4. The Big Money

3. Xanadu

2. YYZ

1. La Villa Strangiato

[crownremonique]

I Need Your Help

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: When you find yourself in danger walking late at night, You think it's best to give Tim a call rather than trying to deal with it yourself.

Warnings: Mentions of attacking with weapon, Fluff, crying, comfort, (Tim being a huge softie)

Word count: 1.2k+ words

Bright rays of sunshine slipped through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the room in soft hues of orange. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, trying to turn but stopping when you realised you couldn't. The weight of Tim's arm kept you pinned down to the mattress, his soft little snores vibrating on your skin. You craned your neck, just enough for his face to come into view. 

You always loved seeing Tim sleep peacefully, although it was becoming more rare. His job was taxing, draining him by the end of the day, and it filled you with happiness beyond words to see him relax by your side. The harsh furrow between his brows had disappeared, his face devoid of any signs of stress. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, honey” Tim spoke, his eyes still shut. 

“How long have you been awake?” You questioned, clearly being caught off guard. Tim's face broke into a smile as he opened his eyes, pulling you closer. 

“I just wish I didn't have to leave you so soon..” Tim spoke into your hair, drawing little patterns on your forearm. You hummed in agreement, inching closer. Eventually, Tim pulled himself away from you and started getting ready for the day, asking you your own plans. 

“I have some books I gotta return to the library, It’s the last day and I am NOT paying any late fees.” You concluded. Tim chuckled and kissed the top of your head. 

“Need me to drop you there? I can come pick you up on my break” He offered, with a gentle smile. 

“No need, I'll walk. I have to pick up some milk from the grocery store too.” You said. Tim shrugged one of his shoulders with a look that said “Whatever you say” and left the house, with a quick reminder for you to be careful. 

You also decided to get up and get started with some breakfast and then go out for the errands you had planned. What you didn't know was that you would come across a brownie cookie recipe on Pinterest, spend more than a few hours getting them perfect, and then surprise Tim with them at the station. 

When the realisation of how your time had flown by finally settled in, the thought of the unreturned books struck your mind. It was already well past eight, and you would be able to get to the library and back by ten if you hurried up. You briefly thought about Tim’s offer, but shut the idea down, not wanting to disturb him again after you already wasted plenty of his time dropping off your cookies. 

Pulling a jacket around your shoulders, you set out to the library. You were thankful that you got there soon, not wanting to carry the heavy books any longer. Dropping them off with the librarian, you made your way down the dark street, deciding if the milk could wait till tomorrow. 

Seeing the shortcut back through a narrow alley, you decided to take it, wanting to get out of the chilly night as soon as you could. You had taken that very shortcut lots of times, but always when it was light out. You were already halfway into the alley when you heard something shuffle behind you.

You turned around swiftly, planting your feet into the ground to steady yourself. 

You weren't stupid, you knew what was happening as soon as a man stepped out from behind the trash can, weapon in hand. Calming your breathing, you called out to the man. 

“I may not look like much, but I sure as hell can take you out” You said, making sure to raise your voice to get someone's attention in case things got out of hand. The man rushed forward, taking your words as an open challenge. He swung at your side with his knife, grunting when you seemingly dodged his attack with ease. All the time Tim spent teaching you self-defense really did come in handy after all. You managed to kick the man in his groin, stepping away when he doubled over in pain. 

You decided pretty quickly to run when you saw more people emerging from the shadows. You took off down the alley, as you heard the rest of the thugs follow behind. Your heart pounded in your ears, fear flowing through your veins. You definitely wouldn't be able to defend yourself alone from that many people, and the nearest public place was more than a mile away. Your last option? Call Tim. 

You ducked into one of the diversions of the road, and crouched down behind one of the storage units. Pulling out your phone and quickly dialling your boyfriend's number, you prayed that he would pick up. The phone had to ring only a few times before his voice came through. 

“Hello?” 

“I need your help. I'm being chased and cornered by some thugs. 822 E, 20th street” You cut him off, your voice trembling with fear. You heard the line go silent as he processed the information. 

“I'm on my way.” He said curtly, hanging up the phone. Tim rushed to the parking lot, shoving people out of the way. He barked at Lucy to get in the shop, ordering an entire team of cops to follow him. 

“Geez, what's gotten into him?” Nolan asked, staring at Tim's sudden change in behaviour. Nyla shrugged dismissively.

 “No idea, but with that enthusiasm, I can only assume he's going to come back with the greatest criminal in the history of LAPD.” 

You crouched on the floor, pulling your legs closer to you and hoping that Tim would get to you before the thugs did. The time you spent waiting for the cops was agonising, each moment stretching on for what seemed like forever, filled with anticipation of your fate. Your ears were just starting to ring from the silence when you heard the shuffling of footsteps a few metres from where you were hiding.

Your body had started shivering with terror as you tried to calm your breathing. Clasping a hand over your mouth, you tried not to let your shallow whimpers be heard. You jumped when the storage unit hiding you was ripped away, the man smirking and looking down at your trembling form.

“There you are..” the man taunted, grabbing you by your hair. You cried out in pain, as he tugged harder. He pulled you up to meet his eye, but dropped you immediately as a dozen flashlights pointed at you both, blinding him temporarily. 

“LAPD, Drop the weapon! Hands where we can see them, interlock them behind your head and get on your knees.” You heard Tim call out. Relief washed over you, the sight of Tim flooding you with a sense of safety. He kept his gun high and side stepped over to where you were crouched down. You fell into his embrace as you saw Lucy handcuff the man on the hood of their car. 

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to god if he laid a finger on you I'm gonna-” You cut him off with a searing kiss, his shoulders relaxing as he felt you, safe in his arms. 

“I'm fine, don't worry about me..” You mumbled against his lips, running your hand through his hair. He buried his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he loosened his grip on your waist. “With you up my alley, I’ll be just fine.” You continued, your eyes welling up again as thoughts of what could have happened flooded your head.

“I am never letting you go anywhere alone again.” Tim declared, searching your eyes for any sign of objection. He never did find any.

✨️

[hedwig221b]

Do you have recs for omegaverse? Or some of your favorites on hand? I've read and loved everything you've shared and written so far and I just can't get enough! :D

I love abo so much and I'm proud to say it. Here's probably the longest fic rec list I've made...

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table. Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food. Right in front of another Alpha. Who he was on a date with. To discuss being heat partners…." In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Meant to be One by sunhazeheart

His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it. It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack. Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears. Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be. “Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied. “We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged. “That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

Love's Violent Delights by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted. Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek. Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

All Derek Ever Wanted by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Stiles knew Derek always wanted a big family. And, for the longest time, he thought he'd be the one to give it to him. Life, devastatingly, has other plans. Prompt: "I've been thinking about omega stiles n alpha derek. They're trying to hav a baby. But one day stiles go to the doc, n he imply that stiles can't get pregnant. Stiles keep it secret and try to make derek divorce him."

Summer Contest by kits_lightning

The moment Derek stepped into the fighting ring and faced Stiles he remembered why he was doing all of this. The omega gawked at him and barely paid attention to the other competitors Talia was mentioning and Derek smiled at the thought of having all of his attention. Stiles blushed from the tips of his ears to his neck and began to run his fingers through his hair while looking away. Derek began to wonder how far down that blush traveled when he shook his head and tried to focus on the imminent battle. He caught the last of what his mother was saying. “—have a good fight and good luck.” More clapping and the horn that signaled the beginning of the fight sounded.

The Alpha and his Spark by sandyde03

Stiles is pregnant. Derek is perpetually horny and possessive. Stiles is confused. Not by Derek sexing him up. He loves that. It’s the fact that ever since he started to show that he was with pup everyone has been avoiding his eyes.

The Best Things in the World Must be Felt with the Heart by solostsobroken

The Argent family had been kidnapping and illegally selling omegas for years. When FBI Agent Derek Hale and his team go and raid their home, they find, rescue and free dozens of omegas. That was ALL Derek had expected to be doing. What he hadn't expected was to find his own mate, Stiles, chained up with the rest of them. Seeing the omega severely sick and injured, Derek is determined to nurse him back to health. As he slowly learns more about his mate, he stumbles upon a mystery from Stiles' past that may just turn into the biggest case of his lifetime. Derek is determined to figure it out, no matter how long it takes.

The Hills Call

Five years ago, Prince Derek of the Hale Empire had fallen for the son of a Baron, Genim of Stilinski. His mother had not approved, and after some time imprisoned Genim escaped to the Dukedom of the Shore, where he was taken in by Duke Christopher and Lady Allison. Now, Prince Derek is on his deathbed from a poisoning and it is up to Genim, now called Stiles, to nurse him back to health. Wary of the Hale Empire, Stiles returns with their young son to see if he can heal Derek of his illness and escape the threats he still feels from the Empress herself.

Waiting Games by Jerakeen

Being an only child and heir to the throne, Stiles had always known he may not have the luxury of marrying for love. When he’d realized he was an omega to boot, things had taken an even more uncomfortable turn for him. Omegas are rare. An omega as the heir apparent is almost unheard of. Which is why there is no wiggle room when it comes to the tournament.

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time. Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels. Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles. But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

When All the Pieces Fit by NARKOTIKA

"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes. Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent. "I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.

Under the Golden Moon by NARKOTIKA

Derek doesn't know how long he sits in his wolf skin, on his haunches, observing Stiles as the sunbeams slant through the trees and cast slashes of light across the omega's willowy form. The boy has his feet in the water, a babe on his hip, a bright smile on his face as the other younglings splash around and soak his garb. The creamy skin of his thighs peek out from the slits running down the sides of his draping skirt, and Derek has never wanted anything more than he wants this beautiful being of the woods.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward. Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat. Win/win.

Where the Shadow Ends by Green

Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.

Are You the One? by Venrajade

Derek's sister works for a television network with a dating show that claims that they are able to find someone's True Mate. Cora steals a scent sample from Derek and matches him to an Omega applying to the show with a 99% chance of them being mates. Which means Derek is now a reality dating show star. Shit.

And the Cold Pulls You Down by blacktofade

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Stiles asks Derek one night after he’s settled into bed, listening to the sound of Derek brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “Ghosts?” Derek asks, voice muffled by toothbrush and paste as he stands in the doorway to stare at Stiles. Or, the one where Stiles is 99.9% sure their house is haunted and no one believes him.

Build Us a Home by Sourwolf and Stilinski (Kitsune_Moonstar)

When it came time for Stiles to take his tour, he hadn't expected that many alphas to try and court him with the houses they built. And he hadn't dreamed Derek Hale might build him a home that suited them both.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Knot Thinking With Your Head by KnottheWolf

The first time Sam met Stiles he had no idea who the Omega was, nor did he have any clue that the Omega was already in a series relationship. When he met Stiles, he was hungover and had a massive pounding headache that was killing him to have his eyes open. The Alpha instantly ran to the nearest bathroom to puke in the toilet, before splashing cold water in his face and sighing with relief when the pain was barely there anymore. Flushing the toilet he left the bathroom so he could make himself a cup of coffee, and then start figuring out how to make the best first impression with the other Alpha’s in the fraternity. Now all he wanted to do, when he spotted the Omega was get all up on that cute ass. A 5 + 1 things kind of fic

Empty by modestfuckup

Stiles stops listening to the words the doctor is saying, a stream of tears rolling down his face. His training taught him he has to remain calm. He uses a tissue to blot at the tears as his mind already turns to what is going to happen now. The doctor is talking about his options, and treatments he could undergo, but Stiles knows none of that will work. He’s infertile. With no way to supply his alpha with an heir, he is practically useless. Or the one where Stiles is an infertile omega, and society dictates that if an omega is unable to carry on the alpha's lineage, an alpha is allowed to take another omega. Stiles hides his condition from Derek while he copes and starts the process of finding a new omega for him.

Elskende by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Stiles is an omega concubine, kept sequestered away in the city of Beacon Hills, waiting for his lord Gerard Argent when the Wulver take the city and the alpha takes the omega.

Sex and Violence by halcyon1993

Derek is a feared mafia boss. Stiles gets turned on watching him work.

The Spoils of War by halcyon1993

Alpha Derek is a commander in the Roman Army, tasked with pillaging settlements to claim them for his own people. When he comes across a pretty young Omega during his latest conquest, he can't resist taking him as his personal prize.

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?” The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.” Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Helen of Troy by standinginanicedress

Stiles can fake laugh, fake smile. He can play coy and he can be demure and barely eat anything in front of them, and he can sit still and do his little song and dance of feigning interest. But this is a little out of his scope. They want him to fully become someone else. They want him to be who everyone wants him to be, and it scares the shit out of Stiles, because he doesn’t know if he can do it for hours and hours while cameras watch his every single move. It’s a lot. It’s more than he bargained for.

And, for a cherry on top:

Yes To Heaven

Stiles ruined him. The damage was irreparable. He didn’t want the food that wasn’t made by Stiles or shared with him; the water tasted stale; the clothes were asphyxiating and scratchy; the air was wrong, wrong without Stiles’ scent in it. Fuck, what was wrong with him? How could that pretty little thing change him so much? He had an iron grip on his control before, being in tandem with his instincts, but within weeks, all of it was gone. As soon as he thought of Stiles, though, of his scent, his moans, and the little wrinkle on his forehead as he orgasmed, his mind settled. What was life before Stiles? Everything was somewhere far, far away, forgotten, bleak, and meaningless. Derek thought he knew what light was as he looked at the microscopic dots of the stars above. Then Stiles came into his life and showed him the sun.

Take Me Away From Here

Derek Hale looked terrifying. With his broad frame and muscles, with his wild black hair and thick beard, with his eyes the color of blood and fangs of a killer. Despite his kindness and his apparent attraction to Stiles, he was still a stranger, a predator, a wolf. The thing is, Stiles would deal, but others might not. People found Lord Hale horrid, monstrous and unapproachable. If Stiles stood behind him, no one would touch him. He’d be safe with the wolf. If not from him, then definitely from everyone else. And that was enough.

[masterlist link]

[candybarz]

hihihihi do u think you could write about nerd!armin and reader being academic rivals and armins a big meanie because he gets a higher score on the final than reader does >:) (nsfw teehee)

SURE THING!! ty for requesting!! i did some changes cause i didnt know how to go about it so i hope thats okay!! A/N: i used college nerdmin (https://ca.pinterest.com/pin/52354414414324585/) this took so longg, its kinda good, idk it feels rushed i hope yall enjoyy (i proofread it but there might be a few mistakes!!)

WARNINGS: Mean!Nerdmin x Reader, calculus mentioned. ,Backshots(F!receiving), Oral sex (F!+M!receiving), Rough sex (?), Fingering (F!receiving), Name calling (stupid/dumb whore,slut etc), ussage of y/n and female anatomy.

You were always the smartest in your classes, top of the year if you will. Basically any class you took was not a challenge to you, from first to the seventh you were the smartest. were.

Then came along that bastard who one-upped you, that dumb ass bob to the stupid ass nerdy clothes he wore, that otaku shirt wearing smartass. Armin Arlert. The moment he showed up everything went to shit, every test you did ended up having the same.exact.grade. At graduation you both got the same awards, ending up in an academic tie at graduation. It did not change in college. You both ended up taking the same course, some-fucking-how. It was constantly in a tie for a whole year, it was irratating.

---

You recently had done exams, everyonee eagerly waiting for their answers. Hell, they were probably waiting to see what you and armin got as this exam basically kicked everyones ass. The room was dead silent, whispers of people saying they were for sure going to fail or others saying they didn't even wanna look.

The teacher nodded dismissing the class. you instantly whipped out your phone to check your grade, scrolling down to each class to see the grades. Every grade had A or A+.

Calculus: C-

Your heart sunk to your ass, that had to be the lowest grade you have ever gotten in your 20 years of living. You walked up to your professor, grade propped up and ready 'cause this had to be a mistake, right?

WRONG.

Mr.Ackerman looked you dead in your face sipping on his tea, your grade wasn't a mistake. Apparently it was 5 questions you got wrong, all of them were the ones you did a million times.

During your free period you sat under the shade, still staring at the grade. Sasha looked at you with a look of worry, you barely finished your food. "Girl, you've been staring at that grade for like 4 minutes now! Whats up??" Sasha asked leaning in to see your face, you looked up on instinct shutting off your phone and shrugged acting chill.

"I just really thought I was going to do better than that, I studied all night for that? But it's whatever." You explained and letting sasha continue her story about how some frat house was throwing a huge bash for the end of exams. What you said wasn't a lie, but there was more to it and it was the fact you did not want to feel like you lost to Armin of all people.

"So will you go?" Your bestfriends voice cut into your mind, you sat and thought about it, maybe this party could help take your mind off it. You letting out a long dramatic sigh before smiling at sasha, you nodded your head and she squealed 'thank you' hugging you. Later on in the day she sent you the address and to be honest you were a little excited. -- The lighting of the place changed colors repeatedly and the smell of marijuana mixed into the smell of alcohol and perfumes. It was a bit hot inside. You sat by the punch area awkwardly drinking water, you had a brownie 30 minutes ago and the effects hit you like a brick. While it didn't comepletely fuck you up, you were just a little bit calmer, guess this was a smaller dosage then the regular.

You stared at the people coming and going, until someone came beside you. Turning, you look up to see who it was. Armin fucking Arlert. He had that dumb smirk on, you had to squint at him to see it. He had his regular glasses on, his hair was in his usual style, maybe he missed a barbers appointment because his under cut grew out. His shirt, radiohead merch paired with some long jorts, to be honest he looked hot, maybe Eren finally put him on? who cares, you still didnt want to see him. "How'd you do? Like on the exam." He asked with fake

You stared at the people coming and going, until someone came beside you. Turning, you look up to see who it was. Armin fucking Arlert. He had that dumb smirk on, you had to squint at him to see it. He had his regular glasses on, his hair was in his usual style, maybe he missed a barbers appointment because his under cut grew out. His shirt, radiohead merch paired with some long jorts, to be honest he looked hot, maybe Eren finally put him on? who cares, you still didnt want to see him. "How'd you do? Like on the exam." He asked with fake innocence, you knew that he already knew somehow, he always does. You glared up at him with annoyance on your face, you muttered the grade under your breath not even wanting to say it out loud. This bastard leaned in like he didn't hear you over the music, the same smirk turned into a shit-eating grin as if he couldnt contain his joy.

"C-minus." Was all you said before he let out a mocking laugh, like you were the clown of the damn year. Armin stared at you with smugness all over his face and disgust like you were contagious and the stupid was gonna rub off on him. "Are you a blockhead? That test was so easy even the meat heads got higher than that." He sneered behind his cup of juice, you rolled your eyes at his statement. "Can you tutor me?" You bit your pride and asked the impossible and some how he took this as a sign to continue.

"You know this was what we've been studying this whole time? He even gave people sheet that can help with the process. Did you not pick one up? Typical, you don't know how to study at all huh? Just as dumb as always, but I guess-" He said before looking at you, you stared at him with a confused face, you didn't even say a word and he's talking like that? Fucking asshole.

You could swear you saw him mutter something. Shoving him aside you left the party. -- It's been a week since you and Armin's last encounter, you ended up getting a text from Sasha saying Armin will tutor you as an apology for what he did, part of you was still pissed but you weren't a hateful person, just competitive.

You had been going to armins house every three days to be tutored, some days he was difficult and others he was nice, there was no in between but lately he was too nice. He would give you food during breaks and complimenting your outfits, it was weird to say the least. You headed off to Armins house, it was a bit too hit today so you decided to wear a white spaghetti strap top and some distressed jean shorts with the frayed hems.

--

Today was not the day for you or armin, you were both irritated for some reason and everytime you answered a question wrong, you got a scoff. Or asked a "stupid" question, you got a stupid look while he fanned himself.

"Just do the equation and stop doing it your way! Do it the way you're supposed to, it is not that HARD! Dumbass!." Armin whined as he dropped his fan in frustration. You scoffed getting up and leaving the room calling him a fucking nerd, you needed some form of relaxation or you were going to lose your mind. You got a glass of water and started to chug it, this heatwave better die down by the last hour. Suddenly, Armin came up from behind and yanked the glass out of your hand throwing it into the sink. "What is your problem?" You asked annoyed, He was way too close for your liking.

"You're my fucking problem everything you do pisses me the fuck off and messes with me. I take time out of my day to tutor your ass and this is how you repay me, with that fuckass attitude?" He spat with a glare in his eye, your brows knitted together at his words, before you could say anything he continued. "You better fix that attitude, or else." Armin threatened and you looked him up and down. "Or what?" You snapped back, walking back to the room scoffing.

SMUT INCOMING!!

You didn't have this in mind, if you told you in the past this is what it has come to, she wouldn't believe you. Armin had his lips on your neck, sucking and kissing at the senitive skin while leaving a nasty mark.

His hand snaked around you, your shorts unbuttoned while his hand teased your clit behind the underwear making your breath heavy. He listed off your shirt in one go, removing his hand from your clit, making you whine. You turned around taking his off which caused you to get a good look at his torso, he was kind of fit which you didnt expect from him, his shirts weren't doing him justice.

You felt him shove you roughly back onto the bed, before you could do anything he latched himself back onto your neck before slowly moving down to your chest, basically almost tearing off your bra. "Fuck.." you whispered as he kissed your breast lovingly, sucking on them at some point but then he bit one causing you to whine again. He kissed down to your stomach, making your spine shiver as he went right above the pelvis. He tugged your shorts off, throwing them somewhere else. You clamped you legs shut but armin forced them apart, spreading them widely. "Keep your legs open slut." He whispered leaning down and giving you the warning in your ear, you did as he said opening them.

He went down until he was facing your clothed pussy, he kissed your clit through the panties, sending a shiver up your spine as you moaned. "A-Armin!" You held his hair as he sucked on it through the cloth, dampening your pink panties and mixing his saliva with your slick. He tore them off soon after which made the cool air hit your pussy. Armin kissed your clit a bit before eating you out. You tried to close your legs but armin was faster, he pushed them open and farther than before.

His tongue moving in ways you didn't expect, his nose rubbing against your clit as he ate you out. "S-Shit.." You whimpered at the feeling, you suddenly felt two finger inserted inside you while he moved his mouth to your clit. Armins fingers moved faster while curling slightly upwards, he could feel his dick getting hard with the way your pussy clenched his fingers, you could feeling yourself getting closer as your whimpers turned into begging real quick."Please...faster...Armin, im gonna-!" You felt his fingers leave from your pussy and his mouth detaching as well.

"Brats don't get to cum fast, think about that next time dumb whore." Armin said at your whining, your slick coating his chin. You felt him reach over you for his dresser where he pulled out a condom box that read large, surely it was just for show...right? He stood taking his jogging pants off, showing his black boxers, once he took those off you felt your eyes bulge out of your head. That had to be the prettiest dick you've ever seen, it was like everything was perfect for him from his grades to his face to his dick. It had a pretty color to it, the tip was a darker shade of pink. Precum oozed out of the slit whilst he put on the condom, groaning lowly once he touched it, his dick was maybe 7-8 inches, 9 if you really thought about it, the girth wasnt extremely thick but not so slim either.

He slid back onto the bed, rubbing his dick near your entrance, you moaned when you felt it rub your clit. You whined as he teased you, staring up in frustation. "You want my cock?" He asked soothingly, and you nodded like a dumbass. "Beg for it, whore." He smirked, You looked at him with a deadpanned look but it was too late now. "Please fuck me Armin, Please." You begged squirming around, he grabbed you and flipped you over and raised your ass in the air while pushing your back down. In one swift move he pushed his dick in you causing you to moan louder than you should've, At first he was going slowly, very slowly. trying to get you used to his length. "Faster...please..." You begged trying to move back into him but he didn't change his pace. He rubbed you clit while he teased you with his pace, you whimpered every time it grazed your good spot and armin noticed this.

He slammed his hips harshly into yours with no warning. "Fuck!" You squealed as his pace quickened, every plop of your skin connecting to his was another moan from you, you try to slow him down with your hand by putting it on his abdomen. He quickly got irratated and pinned it to your back and pushing you into the mattress that was covered by some shark sheets, you would've teased him for it if you saw it sooner but you were too busy with his brutal thrust. "You dont cum until i say so, stupid whore."

Armin smacked your ass and fondled it, he's always liked staring at your ass the moment you both got into college and you gained confidence, the way it moves is enchanting. You moaned with a high pitch tone as his tip bullied your spot, he let go of your arm and grabbed your hair, letting out quiet curses under his breath as he felt you getting close. Your screams got louder, he sucked on the sensitive spot of your neck while playing with your clit. "Armin! I'm gonna-" "You wanna cum? Are you gonna stop being a fucking bitch and listen to me? You gonna apologize?" Armin said lowly into your ear, his breath shaky from the work he was putting in.

"Yes! Yes, i'll stop-Fuck! Being a bitch and Mgnh listen to you! Im sorryyy!" You cried out tying to contain your moaning while being edged. He kissed the back of your neck and let your body down before whispering that you can cum. You reached your climax, eyes rolling to the back of your head and mouth hanging open while armin kissed your shoulder, thrusting as you came.

He pulled out and was confused when you turned and grabbed his dick yourself, you peel the condom of and threw it somewhere. You lick the precum off the tip before kissing it. "Fuck.." Armin let out a whimper and bit his lip, You licked his dick from the base of the bottom of his dick to the tip and felt his dick pulse. Armin stared down at you as you put the tip in your mouth, sucking his dick slowly. After a bit you sped up the pace and sucked him off faster. "Holy shit...Y/n....good girl." He breathed out grabbing your hair and forcing it up and down, You gagged as he did so.

Your hands scatched at his thigh and pelvis area, he hissed as you scratched and fucked your throat so he could cum quicker, tears fell down your face as you gagged at every thrust. "Ngh fuck! Y/n..!" Armin came into your mouth, shooting hot loads into your mouth while moving your head up and down. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, straight at the phone he had in his hand, You didn't care at this point. Armin watched (and recorded) you swallowing and sticking your tongue out to show him you swallowed it. he stopped the video as he muttered something about "you're so fucking hot..", he leaned down and kissed you with tongue, you kissed him back as you laid in bed with him.

"Is there any other class you need help with?"

This fucking nerd.

--

Credits to me!!

[ebeever]

Diversion

[NSFW]

Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Explicit Sexual Content | Please, enjoy

The plan was simple. He had to get the baddie to follow him into a trapped room, without being noticed. You were to decoy to make sure eyes were everywhere but on the desguised hero.

"Fuck!"

Well, the plan was supposed to be simple.

"What the hell happened?" You demand after closing the door to one of the casino's rooms. "You were supposed to get him alone! Why the hell are they searching the building for rats?"

"He didn't want to leave!" He kicks something, you don't care what, and a crash echoes in the room.

"Bullshit," you try to get him to have a normal conversation and explain why the mission failed. "Get him in the room. That was it. He didn't know what was behind those doors, so why wouldn't he want to go?"

"Maybe," he pins you with a glare thrill-worthy. "He was too busy enjoying the fucking show!"

Your mouth drops. "You're blaming me for doing my job?" You throw your arms out, gesturing to the barely-there dress you were asigned to wear. "I was the decoy, of course he would be distracted. What man wouldn't drool over a girl stripping on a stage?"

It was the casino - a hoarding ground for organized crime groups. One in particular caused more trouble than the local authorities could handle, which is how we ended up trying to disable its leader. Distract the crowd. Lock up the boss. It was supposed to be that fucking simple.

"You weren't suppose to take off your fucking dress, y/n," his pacing becomes even more recklace, leaving little unbroken in the room. His voice is deep, rushed, and almost raspy.

"Distract. Those were my instructions. I was suppose to distract the crowd."

"Yeah, and not me!" He is right in front of you. Hot breaths are the only sound you allow. He steps even closer and lowers his head, and softens his voice to a whisper, "not me."

You shy away from his threatening, promising, stare and lock onto his mouth. "Bakugou, I-" he cuts you off with the most delicious evaperation of space.

"Don't do it again," he grumbles between kisses. "Don't ever do it again."

"It's," you moan when he deepens the kiss, "It's my job to," another moan.

"I don't give a fuck." Hands all over. Lips exploring far and wide. "Don't ever undress for another man again." He lifts you up, effortlessly, and animalistically.

"You can't-" your back hits a wall.

"I can't what?" A challenge. Your is mushy from the way he kisses your jaw... and neck... and collarbone... and everywhere just right. Hands everywhere. Lips exploring far and wide.

"Can't... tell me... hmm." You lift your head back. He moves his hips foreward. The flimsy dress you were forced in bundles at your hips and Bakugou, the controling bastard he is, locks your legs around him.

"Can't tell you what, y/n?" His lips find your mouth again, and almost distracts you from his hands. Panties? Gone. Emptiness? Gone.

No words leave your mouth. Loud sounds, yes, but no words to express the significant hold this man has on you. One finger, fuck it, two fingers deep and he has you riding his hand like a Porn star.

"Tell me... what to- to do..." you finally manage with much reliance on his shoulders, and arms, and legs, and fucking everything. You need this man like your pussy needs his cock.

"No?" He slips his hands out, the slick covering his fingers like second skin. You protest and then groan loudly. Fucker thrusts his fingers back in, from tip to stem. Over and over and over and fucking over again. "You sure about that, yeah?"

Again and again and again and again again again and over and faster and harder aahh! This man has you forgetting your morality as you stop breathing and chase that damned peak.

"I don't think you are..." he knows you're close. Fuck, he knows you too good. Too good... "If I tell you to come, will you listen?"

You shake your head. Up and down. Eyes shut and brows furrowed. You'll do just about anything for him.

"If I tell you to squirt all over my hand," he bucks his hand and your hips react. So do your sounds. So does your whole fucking body. "Will you listen to me then, y/n? Hmm?"

"Yes," you desperately say. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, please please please," you lose your voice.

"If I tell you to take my cock like the good girl you are, will you listen then, y/n? Will you listen to me then?" He's never been like this before. He's never had his fingers in you, fucking your brains out, while riding off the seduction of jealousy.

"Ye-" you gasp and scream and moan all in one. He rips his fingers from your sensitive core and stuffs his cock right to the end of your heat. He doesn't waste time, waiting for you to adjust.

Fuck it. He takes you raw.

From the tip right to the fucking base. In and out in and out in and fucking out. It's the only torture you wish will never end.

"You do as I tell you, y/n," he tries to sound collected and controlled while he's anything but. Rough dogging into your pussy has him spiraling out of control. Thinking of how other men, other fucking men, saw your shoulders, your legs, your lace.

It drove him beyond insasnity.

"Bakugou- Bakugou I'm-"

"Shatter for me, yeah?"

Oh, and you do. You see stars that align with stars. You hold your breath and shake when the orgasm quakes you in half. In three. In a million unsalvable pieces.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck," he groans and moans and eventually whimpers. GroWliNg your name unlike any man ever could, or should...

Overstimulation has never burned so deliciously. He rides it out until his whimpers are cut by his own lack of breath. One pound. Two pounds. Three beasty pounds. And a pussy-load full of cum.

You only fill your lungs when the walls stop shaking and the earth stops spinning.

He starts kissing you again. Over all the tingles and mingles and dying stars.

"If this is how all our fights are going to end," you grin with intent, "I might never listen to you again."

He looks at me, examines me, and then tears your dress right off.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" He shows you his own grin as he picks up even more and carries you to the bed.

When you fall down you watch him undress and gawk at the Greek model that he is.

"It's a diversion."

© ebeever

My Hero Academia

Atlas

[yvaineseleneposts]

After Hours

A/N: Not really a plot...

Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader

Words: 4k

Warning(s): smut

The arena was almost silent now, save for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant hum of Zambonis polishing the ice. Mathew Barzal lingered by the locker room door, still in his Islanders gear, the collar of his shirt clinging to his throat, damp with sweat. The game had been long, brutal — a win, but barely. His adrenaline hadn't faded yet, and he wasn’t in any rush to go home.

Not when she was still around.

He caught sight of her in the hallway — the PR girl, the one with the teasing smile and the sharp tongue. Tonight, her eyes met his with an extra spark, something unspoken passing between them, electric and immediate.

"You waiting for something, Barzy?" she teased, tilting her head.

A slow grin spread across his face, boyish and devil-may-care, but the heat in his gaze was anything but innocent.

"Yeah," he said, voice low, "you."

Before she could laugh it off, Mathew closed the distance between them in two strides, backing her against the cool concrete wall. He braced one hand beside her head, caging her in. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and she could smell the lingering scent of ice, cologne, and pure adrenaline on him.

"Been thinking about you all night," he murmured, his mouth dangerously close to hers. His fingers brushed her waist, featherlight, before tugging her closer.

Her reply was a challenge — a smirk, a daring tilt of her chin. "Prove it."

Mathew didn’t need more encouragement. His lips crashed onto hers, rough and hungry, all the frustration and pent-up energy from the game pouring into that kiss. She responded with equal fire, fisting the front of his jersey, pulling him tighter against her body.

He groaned against her mouth, one hand sliding up her thigh, squeezing, feeling the heat of her through the thin material of her skirt. Everything about this was reckless, dangerous — anyone could walk by — but neither of them cared. Not right now.

She gasped as Mathew's mouth travelled down her jaw, his teeth scraping lightly at her pulse point. His hand found the bare skin under her shirt, his touch burning a trail up her side.

"Still want me to prove it?" he whispered, voice hoarse against her skin.

She nodded, breathless, heart pounding.

Mathew chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her neck. "Good," he growled, lifting her effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed her harder into the wall, the cold concrete a sharp contrast to the heat flaring between them.

Their bodies moved in a frantic rhythm, all sharp gasps and desperate touches, as the world outside faded away. In this moment, it was just them — raw, real, and completely, deliciously out of control.

Mathew’s grip tightened on her thighs as he pinned her against the wall, his hips grinding against her core in a slow, devastating rhythm. She gasped into his mouth, the sensation of his hard body between her legs making her dizzy.

"God, you drive me crazy," he muttered, his voice rough and wrecked with need.

Without breaking contact, he carried her toward the deserted training room, kicking the door shut behind them. The low lighting cast shadows over the benches and walls, making everything feel even more forbidden.

He set her down on a treatment table, his hands immediately pushing up the hem of her skirt, dragging it around her hips with a rough, eager tug. His knuckles brushed the bare skin of her thighs, making her shiver under his touch.

Mathew dropped to his knees in front of her, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He looked up at her with a smirk — cocky, devastating — before pulling them down her legs in one slow, agonizing movement.

"You’re shaking," he teased, his voice dark velvet.

"Shut up and —" she tried, but the rest of the words died on her tongue when he leaned in, his mouth hot and hungry on her inner thigh, kissing a path dangerously close to where she was already aching for him.

He looked up at her again, pupils blown wide, as if asking for permission — or daring her to tell him no. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled, a silent command.

Mathew chuckled low in his throat and then, without warning, buried his mouth between her thighs.

Her back arched off the table at the first stroke of his tongue — slow, deliberate, tasting her like a man starved. He groaned into her, as if savouring every second, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

She moaned his name, half a whisper, half a prayer, and he responded by going harder, faster, his tongue flicking and circling, pushing her higher and higher. The coil inside her tightened with every breath, every filthy sound echoing off the empty walls.

"Mathew —" she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

He pulled back slightly, lips shiny, grinning like a man who knew exactly how wrecked he had her.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" he rasped, voice dripping with sin.

When she whimpered, nodding frantically, he didn’t give her a chance to beg. He sealed his mouth back onto her, relentless, two fingers sliding into her at the perfect angle. She shattered almost instantly, a cry ripping from her throat, her body trembling around him.

He stayed there through it all, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from her until she sagged bonelessly against the table.

But Mathew wasn’t done.

He stood, dragging his jersey and undershirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing smooth, sweat-slicked muscles that made her mouth go dry. He looked like sin incarnate — flushed cheeks, messy hair, and that look in his eyes that promised he was about to ruin her all over again.

He unbuckled his belt, slow enough that it drove her mad, before shoving his pants and boxers down in one rough motion.

When he pressed the head of his cock against her still-throbbing entrance, he paused — just long enough to meet her gaze, to make sure she wanted this, needed this.

"Tell me," he ordered, voice hoarse.

"Yes," she whispered, legs trembling as they wrapped around his waist again. "God, yes."

With a low groan, Mathew pushed into her, inch by devastating inch, stretching her perfectly. They both gasped at the contact, the raw intensity of it.

He didn’t move at first, just stayed there, buried deep inside her, savoring the way she clenched around him.

"Fuck," he breathed, forehead dropping to hers. "You feel so good. So fucking good."

Then he started to move — slow at first, then faster, harder, until the table creaked under the force of it. His hand slid up her back, cradling her to him, their bodies slick with sweat, moving in a frantic, perfect rhythm.

Every thrust hit deep, sending white-hot pleasure sparking through her body. He kissed her fiercely, messy and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough.

She clung to him, matching his pace, feeling herself spiralling again — closer, closer.

"Come with me," Mathew growled into her ear, his voice wrecked, his hips snapping faster.

It only took a few more strokes before she shattered again, crying out his name. Mathew followed with a low, broken groan, burying himself deep as he came hard, trembling against her.

For a long moment, they just clung to each other, breathing hard, their bodies still joined, the room filled with the sound of their racing hearts.

Mathew finally pulled back, brushing a kiss against her forehead, his smile boyish and utterly wrecked.

"You’re trouble," he said, still catching his breath.

"You love it," she whispered, smirking.

Mathew chuckled, low and satisfied. "Damn right I do."

The Islanders locker room buzzed with celebration. Another win. Another night Mathew Barzal had dominated the ice — fast, slick, absolutely unstoppable.

He could still feel the adrenaline humming under his skin as he peeled off his gear, the roar of the crowd ringing in his ears. But there was only one thing he wanted more than a post-game beer right now.

Her.

She was waiting for him again — leaning casually against the wall near the showers, wearing that same smirk that drove him crazy. No one seemed to notice her slip inside after him, but even if they had, Mathew wouldn't have cared.

He needed her too much.

The second the heavy locker room door clicked shut behind them, Mathew grabbed her by the waist and shoved her back against the cool tile, his mouth crashing into hers in a searing, messy kiss.

"You don't know what you do to me," he growled against her lips, breath hot and desperate.

He spun the knob on the shower, steaming water blasting down almost immediately. She barely had time to gasp before he stripped her of her clothes — tugging and pulling, frantic — until she was naked under the spray.

Mathew groaned when he stepped back to look at her — wet, flushed, breathing hard — and then pulled her under the water with him.

His hands were everywhere: gliding over her slick skin, kneading her ass, tracing the curve of her back. He hoisted her up easily, pinning her against the wet tile wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, already feeling him hard and throbbing against her.

"You’re gonna kill me one day," he muttered, lining himself up.

"Shut up and fuck me," she whispered into his ear, teeth grazing his earlobe.

Mathew cursed under his breath and slammed into her in one deep, punishing thrust.

She cried out, the sound echoing off the walls, but Mathew swallowed it with his mouth, kissing her fiercely as he thrust again and again, water streaming over their bodies, slicking their skin.

He pounded into her with reckless abandon, the heat of the shower nothing compared to the fire between them. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red marks that only made him groan and thrust harder.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he gritted out, slamming into her deep enough to make her see stars.

The wet slap of skin against skin filled the air, filthy and desperate, both of them teetering right on the edge.

Her orgasm hit fast and brutal, ripping through her so hard she bit into his shoulder to muffle her scream. Mathew cursed, hips stuttering, before he drove into her one last time and came with a broken, guttural groan, holding her tight against him like he never wanted to let go.

They stayed there for a moment — panting, clinging to each other, the water washing away the evidence of what they'd just done.

Mathew finally set her down gently, brushing soaked hair from her face and pressing a softer kiss to her temple.

But before they could get their breath back, before they could even think about sneaking out —

The door creaked open.

"Yo, Barzy, you still in here?" came a familiar voice.

Mathew froze, eyes wide. It was Anthony DeAngelo, unmistakably.

He cursed under his breath, shielding her behind his body just as Anthony turned the corner — and stopped dead.

For a moment, there was dead silence. Anthony’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically hit his hairline.

Mathew just smirked, cocky and unbothered, dripping wet, completely naked.

"Bro..." Anthony said slowly, backing away with his hands up like he’d stumbled onto a crime scene. "I... did not see anything. Carry on."

The door slammed shut again before either of them could say a word.

She stared at Mathew, mouth open in horror — and then they both burst out laughing, bodies shaking, the adrenaline sparking all over again.

Mathew leaned in, brushing his nose against hers.

"Guess we’re not exactly subtle, huh?"

"Not even close," she giggled breathlessly.

He kissed her again — slow this time, lingering — like he had all the time in the world.

"Don't care," Mathew whispered against her mouth. "You’re mine now."

The Islanders' practice had just wrapped up when she showed up again, this time in professional mode — clipboard in one hand, phone in the other.

"Alright, boys!" she called out, her voice bright and bossy. "Need a few of you for a TikTok — something fun for the fans. Quick and painless, I promise."

Several players immediately volunteered, eager to get a few laughs — DeAngelo, Dobson, and even Sorokin hovered nearby, grinning and joking as they waited for their turn. She laughed easily with them, brushing hair behind her ear, flashing that warm, brilliant smile that Mathew knew a little too well.

He watched from the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, chest still bare from the workout. And he felt it — that dark, ugly spark in his gut — jealousy.

The way DeAngelo stood a little too close. The way she threw her head back when Dobson made some dumb joke. The way she lightly touched Sorokin’s arm when she gave directions.

It made Mathew’s blood boil.

She was his.

He shoved off the bench and stalked toward them without thinking, muscles tense, jaw tight. A few of the guys noticed him coming — noticed the look in his eyes — and smirked knowingly but said nothing.

When he reached her, she barely had time to look up before he grabbed her wrist, firm but careful.

"Barzy—" she started, confused.

He didn’t say a word. Just tugged her away from the group, leading her quickly toward a quieter corner of the arena where no one would bother them.

The second they were out of sight, Mathew spun her around, pinning her lightly against the wall, his body caging hers in.

"You having fun flirting with all my teammates?" he muttered, voice low, dark, dangerous.

Her eyes widened — half with shock, half with excitement. She could feel the possessive energy radiating off him, thick enough to drown in.

"It’s my job, Mathew," she said, breathless, pushing at his chest — but he didn’t budge.

He leaned down, nose brushing hers, hands sliding slowly down her waist to her hips. "Yeah? Don’t care. Hate seeing them make you laugh like that. Hate seeing you touch them."

He dipped lower, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear.

"You’re mine," he whispered, voice a filthy promise.

She shivered — partly from the cold wall at her back, mostly from the heat pouring off of him. She opened her mouth to say something snarky, but he didn’t give her the chance.

His mouth crashed into hers, bruising, claiming, utterly dominant. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing, gripping like he couldn't get close enough.

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck, arching into him. His thigh slid between hers, pressing up just enough to make her gasp. He grunted into her mouth at the way she moved against him, desperate and eager.

"God, look at you," he rasped, pulling back just enough to study her wrecked expression. "So fucking pretty when you're needy for me."

He grabbed her ass roughly, lifting her just enough for her to grind against the thick muscle of his thigh.

"Mathew—" she whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

"I should take you right here," he growled, grinding against her, making her gasp. "Let them hear how wrecked you get for me."

Her head tipped back against the wall, a soft, helpless moan slipping out. Mathew groaned, his cock hard and straining against his shorts, the thin material offering no real barrier.

But he forced himself to pull back slightly, breathing hard, eyes wild.

"Later," he promised, voice low and dangerous. "You’re gonna pay for making me this jealous."

He kissed her again — one last bruising kiss — before stepping back, hands still possessively gripping her waist like he couldn’t stand to let go completely.

"You better wrap that TikTok fast," he said, smirking wickedly. "Because when I get you alone tonight... you’re not walking straight tomorrow."

Then he winked, turned, and sauntered back toward the guys like he hadn't just absolutely ruined her against a wall.

She stood there, dazed, thighs clenching, heart pounding, still tasting him on her lips — and knowing, deep down, that Mathew Barzal meant every filthy, delicious word.

Later that night, the second she stepped inside Mathew’s apartment, she knew she was in trouble.

He didn’t even give her a chance to speak.

The door slammed shut behind her, and before she could blink, Mathew had her pinned against it — a hand wrapping gently, but firmly, around her throat, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

"You think you can drive me crazy all day," he rasped, eyes dark and blown wide with want, "and get away with it?"

His thumb brushed over her racing pulse, and he shook his head slowly.

"Not a chance, baby."

She whimpered, body already heating under the intensity of his stare. God, when he got like this — all dangerous and dominant — it set every nerve in her body on fire.

Mathew grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head in one smooth, rough motion. Her bra followed seconds later, tossed carelessly to the floor. He stripped her with a single-minded purpose, like he was unwrapping something that belonged to him.

When she was naked before him, trembling and flushed, Mathew stepped back just long enough to drink her in — chest heaving, eyes glittering.

"Get on the bed," he ordered, voice a low growl.

She stumbled backward, heart hammering, legs unsteady as she moved to his bedroom, climbing onto the bed. She barely had time to get comfortable before Mathew was there, stalking toward her like a predator.

He shoved his sweats down, kicking them off, his cock already hard, flushed, and perfect. He looked hungry — starving for her — and she felt the heat pool between her thighs just from the way he stared.

"On your hands and knees," he commanded.

She obeyed immediately, the cool air kissing her bare skin as she positioned herself for him.

Mathew climbed onto the bed behind her, rough hands gripping her hips.

"You’re mine," he said, voice deadly soft.

Without warning, he delivered a sharp slap to her ass, making her jolt forward with a gasp.

"Say it," he demanded.

"I’m yours," she whimpered, thighs trembling.

Another slap, harder this time, the sting blooming into sweet, aching heat.

"Louder."

"I’m yours, Mathew," she cried out, voice cracking.

He growled in approval and slid two fingers between her legs, groaning at how soaked she already was.

"Look at you," he muttered, voice dripping with filthy pride. "Already dripping for me."

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock teasing at her entrance, rubbing slow, devastating circles until she was whining for him, desperate.

Then, without warning, he slammed into her with one deep, brutal thrust.

She screamed into the pillow, gripping the sheets, as Mathew set a punishing rhythm — hard, fast, relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, making her toes curl.

Mathew fisted a hand in her hair, yanking her head back gently so he could whisper filthy promises in her ear.

"Gonna fuck you so hard, baby... you'll feel me for days... gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to."

His hand slid down her front, fingers circling her clit in tight, merciless strokes.

She was unravelling fast, the pressure coiling deep in her core, every muscle tightening.

"Come for me," he snarled. "Come on my cock."

It hit her like an explosion — white-hot pleasure ripping through her, her body convulsing around him, clenching so tight he cursed, slamming into her one final time before following her over the edge with a broken, desperate moan.

They collapsed onto the bed, sweaty, tangled together, hearts pounding like they'd just survived a war.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing.

Mathew brushed damp hair from her face, kissing her forehead, suddenly so tender it made her chest ache.

"You’re mine," he whispered again, softer this time, like a prayer. "Always," she whispered back, clinging to him, still feeling every inch of him inside her, around her, claiming her.

And she never wanted to belong to anyone else.

[mypinis2112]

My friend Caden (@witheredradiostar ) sent me this picture of Neil last night and

He too big for he goddamn car 😭😭😭😭

[bloatedandalone04]

Purple All Over

➪the one where you can’t resist jake, and he can’t say no to you.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, soft dom jake, swearing, oral (f receiving), face riding HEHA, overstimulation, that might be it...?

Word Count: 3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“You’re such a bad influence on me, huh, baby?” Jake mumbles as he sucks another mark onto the skin of your neck. You huff out an embarrassed laugh as your nails softly dig into the skin of his biceps. “We’re supposed to be at the Hard Deck right now, supposed to be hanging out with my friends right now, but here we are.”

He was being such a tease and a bit of a hypocrite, seeing as he was just as bad as you are at controlling himself around you. 

Could you really be blamed, though? Jake had walked out of the bathroom wearing tight fitting jeans and a white tee with his hair still wet from the shower, how were you supposed to resist that?

“I can’t help it,” you say under your breath, your hands gently tugging on his damp hair. His shirt had been on for about five minutes before you were taking it off of him, and his jeans were already unzipped as he rocked his hips against yours. “You looked so hot, Jake. It’s not fair.”

He laughed, pulling away from your neck with a smirk. “I got ready to go out with you so I could show you off,” he murmured, nudging your nose with his. “What’s not fair about that?”

You stare up at him with lust filled eyes, your head pressed against his pillow that smelled like his musky cologne you drool over every time he wears it. “Because that means other girls get to see how good you look without even trying,” you respond, tugging at the belt that was tucked securely around his jeans. “I’m just me.”

Jake laughed again, but not in a mocking way. His hands wrap around your wrists and he lifts them up and pins them against the bed on either side of the pillow, his smirk growing at your whine of protest. “Just you? Baby, you’re everything to me,” he promised, kissing you again and running the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip. “You’re my whole world.”

You groan, pushing against his hands but getting nowhere as he was a hell of a lot stronger than you without even putting an ounce of effort in. That thought alone had another wave of need rushing through your body, and if he wasn’t settled in between your thighs right now, you’d be squeezing them shut. “Keep talking to me like that and we’ll never make it to the Hard Deck,”

Jake shook his head at you, brushing his lips against yours as he muttered, “You’re tough,”

“You’re a tease,” you say back and watch as his eyes squint in another laugh, his head dipping down and resting on your chest. You fight against his hold again but he is persistent, and you whine as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Don’t tease me, Jake, please.”

He lifts his head and looks at your cute pout, his gaze softening and his smirk turning into a small grin. “‘M not teasin’, sweet girl,” he said and kissed the corner of your mouth. “Come on, put that pretty pout away, baby.”

Your pout softens as you gaze up at him, your eyes pleading with his to let you touch him. “I want you, Jake,” you all but begged, your core aching for him. “I need you.”

Jake groans quietly, finally releasing your wrists in order for him to hold himself above you by placing his forearms on either side of your head. “That’s good to know,” he rasped, his voice deep in the way it always got when he was horny for you. “‘Cause I kinda need you, too.” 

You pull him closer to you by his shoulders. “Prove it,” you challenge in a sultry voice. Your hands slide down his bare chest and tug at the waistline of his jeans, pulling his front against yours. “Take these off, Jake. Show me how much you need me.”

He lifts himself off of you and stands at the foot of the bed, his lust filled eyes staring back down at you. “We’re gonna be late, baby,” he points out as he pulls off his belt. “But you’re lucky I don’t give a fuck. Take your dress off, sweet girl.”

You sit up and pull your dress off, tossing it aside and whimpering as his dark eyes rake up and down your body. “Jake,” you trail off, writhing under his intense gaze. 

The corners of his mouth turn upwards as he adjusts himself in his jeans but still leaves them on. He kneels on the bed, his hands reaching out and spreading your thighs as he leans down and presses kiss after kiss to the skin of your abdomen. “You’re a bad influence,” he says again, taking the lace of your panties between his teeth and tugging at it. He lets the lace snap back into place before placing a final kiss to your hip, his fingers sliding up your thighs and pulling it down your legs. You squirm a bit, goosebumps forming on your skin as you lay half exposed under him. “You’re so sensitive.” 

You smile shyly at him, a teasing look in your eyes that has him groaning. “It’s you, Jake,” you say with a blush covering your face. “Your hands are so big, they feel so good without you even trying.”

He hums as he kisses along your inner thighs. “It’s my job to make you feel good,” he reminded you as he stared up at you with dark eyes. “You gonna let me have a taste?”

You blush even more as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “When have I ever denied you that?”

Jake kissed the skin above your core. “You know I’ll always ask, pretty girl,” he reminded you. “Always.”

“I know,” you agreed, meeting his piercing green stare with hooded eyes. “It’s one of the many, many things I love about you.”

He grinned, “And this,” he trails off as he licks a stripe up your folds. “Is one of the many things I love about you.”

You bite down harshly on your lip as he begins to slowly circle your clit with the tip of his tongue, making your core clench with the need for more. “Jake,” you whisper, running one hand through his hair and making it messy. “Please, don’t tease me. I can’t do it tonight.”

“I’m not teasing,” he innocently replied, then looked up at you. His gaze softened as he met your needy glare, and he pulled away from your core. “Okay, baby. Come here.”

You furrow your brows and watch as he moves to lay next to you, a smug smirk plastered on his face as you ask, “What? You want me to….do you want me to..?” 

“Ride my face,” he answered, his smirk growing at the wide-eyed look you give him. “Yeah.”

“Seriously?” You ask but he had already gone ahead and grabbed hold of your thighs, pulling you so your body was resting on his chest. “Jake-”

“Please, baby?” He asked, giving you his signature puppy dog eyes that never failed to have you melting. “Don’t make me beg, I just want to get you off.”

You give him a wary look. “What if I’m too heavy? Or I hurt you?”

He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around the undersides of your thighs. “You won’t hurt me,” he assured you, pulling your body closer to his head. “And don’t ever think you’re too heavy, that’s my girl you’re talking about.” 

You were about to protest some more, but then Jake was guiding you forward and running his tongue along your folds again as you settled against his face. “Oh, God,” you gasp quietly as he tugs you closer, his mouth beginning to devour you as if he were a starved man. “Jake, baby.”

You knew he loved when you called him that as it didn’t make him feel like he was too old for you. He wasn’t, anyway, with him being thirty three and you being twenty six, but he still felt ancient at times, especially when his fellow aviators told him how lucky he is to have found a ‘hot, younger girl who actually wants to settle down with him’.

Jake hummed as he pulled away, his lips and chin wet with your arousal. “How we feeling, sweet girl?” He asked as he looked up at your fucked out expression. 

“Good,” you barely manage to answer. “So good, Jake. So…different.”

He hummed again in agreement, teasing your clit again with a barely-there pressure. “It is, but I love the view I get from down here,” he smoothly replied, making you look down at him. “And I love that I still get to taste you like this, you know, with you on top.”

“God, you’re filthy,” you mutter, clenching around nothing when you see the smirk that took over his lips. “You’re too much, Jake, but I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “So much.” His voice deepened as he dove back in and ran his tongue up your slit with more pressure than before. 

“You’re so good at this,” you praise, bucking up against his mouth without meaning to. Really, you had no control over your body whenever Jake went down on you or fucked you. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he mumbled and you blush as you think back to all the times he’s gone down on you in the years you’ve been together. Before you, Jake had no desire for oral, instead he settled on rough fucking. Then he met you and did a complete one eighty as he loved tasting you and had shamelessly begged you more than once to let him get you off with his tongue. 

Your lips part as soft moans escape you beyond your control, and you reach down to grip his blond hair. 

He must’ve been able to tell that you were holding back, as he pulled away again to say, “I really don’t want to beg right now, sweet girl. Ride me, will you?”

Your brows press nearly all the way together as you shake your head. “But what-”

Jake hushed you with a kiss to your clit. “I said you won’t hurt me. I’m a big guy, I can handle it,” 

He kept his head still and gently urged your hips to move, and when you rolled them once and felt the friction from before intensify, your body shook with desire and excitement. “Fuck,” you gasp quietly and he pulled you forward again. 

“There you go, baby, don’t hold back,”

And you didn’t. 

With a firm hold on his hair, you let your hips move freely against his head as your dripping core ground onto his awaiting mouth. It was so different, you didn’t even know if you were doing it right, but it didn’t matter as Jake sucked and licked at you with every grind of your hips. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s enjoying this equally as much as you are. It didn’t surprise you when Jake started to moan as you rode his face, and the deep grunts he let out had you moving your body quicker as you felt your stomach tighten. 

“Oh, my God, Jake,” you moaned as he licked up and down your sopping folds. “You’re gonna make me come.”

Jake grunted and reached up to tightly grip your hips, helping you fuck yourself onto him. “That’s the whole point, baby,” came his muffled response, and you would’ve rolled your eyes at the cockiness laced in his voice, but you were too far gone. 

Your whole body tensed up as your release took over, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Jake was relentless as he lapped up everything you gave him and took control of your movements when you went limp above him. He fucked you with his tongue until you were crying out at the overstimulation and scrambling to get off him, uneven breaths leaving both you and Jake as you fall next to him. 

“Jesus, Jake,” you huffed as you lay against his pillow. “You are concerningly good at that.”

Jake laughed as he shamelessly began palming himself through his jeans. “I got to make sure my girl feels good,” was all he said as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you need to worry about that,” you tell him as you force yourself to sit back up and replace his hand with your own. 

Jake groans as you push down his jeans and slide your hand in his tight boxer briefs, wrapping your fingers around him with a gentle pressure. “You don’t have to, baby,” but, God, did he want you to.

And you did, too. “How do you want me Jake?” You asked in a lust-filled tone that had Jake holding back a deep grunt as you stroked him gently. 

“You want me to fuck you, sweet girl?” He asked and your mouth parted as you nodded slowly and withdrew your hand, licking at the precum on your thumb. Jake growled slightly as he sat up. “On your hands and knees, baby.” He ordered and you obliged instantly.

Crawling further up the bed, you glance over your shoulder at him and bite your lip softly as he runs his hand down the smooth skin of your back. “Fuck me, Jake,” you whined and he pulled himself free from his boxers.

“You sure you’re ready for that?” He mocked as he ran his tip down your folds. You jolted a bit at the feeling but leaned back when he pulled away, moaning needily afterwards. “You’re still shaking, sweet girl.”

“It’s alright. I’m alright, Jake,” you promised. “Please, I need you.”

“Okay,” he cooed as he coated himself in your wetness before burying himself deep in you with one swift movement. Your loud moan mixes with his deep grunt as he bottoms out completely, pulling your body back against his as you felt your legs nearly give out. “You okay, honey?” 

You moan at the teasing tone he had and bury your face in his pillow. “Yes,” you whisper, taking it upon yourself to slide your body back and forth as he remains still. You felt a bit weak as you fucked yourself back against him, and you knew he was waiting for you to say the words. He was waiting for you to give in and let him completely ravish you as he wouldn’t do anything without your verbal consent. “Fuck me, Jake, I’m dying here.”

His deep laugh makes a blush form on your face as he slowly thrusts into you. “You and me both, baby,” he rasped before he grabbed your hips in his big hands and began roughly fucking into you. 

Your arms give out pretty quickly and you fall against the pillow again as pornographic moans leave your mouth like a mantra. “Fuck,” you gasp as his tip effortlessly sought out your sweetspot. “Fucking hell, Jake.”

Jake laughed again, but it quickly turned into a strangled groan as he felt you clench tightly around him. “I know,” he muttered as he gripped your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. “I’m struggling back here, too.”

You let out a tired laugh as he thrusts slowly but roughly into your aching and wet core. “Feels so good, Jake,” you whimper as you bunch up the sheets in your fingers. “So big.”

Jake groans loudly, leaning over your body as he picks up the pace once again. One of his hands covers yours on the bed, and you lace your fingers together and give them a squeeze as you feel another knot already beginning to form deep within you. Despite his the harsh fucks of his hips, his mouth presses soft and loving kisses to your shoulders and the back of your neck as you moan sweetly for him. “You’re perfect, baby,” 

Your eyes roll back at his praise and you press your knees together as best as you can with his own in the way. “Oh, God,” you moaned. “I’m gonna come again.”

Jake pressed more kisses to your skin as your body moved with every thrust. Your hold on his hand tightened as you guided his other one to your front and pushed it towards your pulsing clit. “Are you sure, sweet girl?” He asked as his fingers hovered over the throbbing bundle of nerves, knowing how overstimulated you must be right now. 

You nodded desperately, pushing on his hand until his fingers brushed against your clit. “Yes, fuck yes,” you gasped at the stimulation that shot through your body. You clench impossibly tight around him as he rubs random shapes against your clit, and before long you were burying your face in his pillow and crying out as you came for a second time. “So good…so good.”

Jake curses under his breath as you shake and writhe under him. “Jesus, baby,” he says breathlessly as your warmth surrounds him and sucks him in deeper. “I’m close, honey, do you need me to-”

“Keep going,” you answered his unasked question as you brace your head against his forearm. “Fill me up, Jake.”

He was sure you were near your limit right now, but the way you slowly met his thrusts told him that you would keep going until he came, too. “Fuck, baby, you’re too good to me,” he praised as he fucked you softer than before until he felt his own release begin to wash over him. “I’m coming, fuck.”

You moan quietly and hold onto his hand with the last remaining energy you had left in you. Jake pushed his come deeper in you with every slow thrust until he was forced to stop and fall onto the bed next to you. 

Keeping your fingers laced together, you rolled over and wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you snuggled up against his heated body. “Fuck, I’m tired,” you confessed as he tried to catch his breath. 

He laughed in agreement and kissed the top of your head. “Yeah, I don’t think we’re making it to the Hard Deck tonight,”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 2

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 noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. 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: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: friday!

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.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You are summoned to the queen’s chambers shortly after your arrival. You come together with the other young ladies from courtyard in the corridor just before a set of painted doors. Within, Queen Margaret keeps court with her ladies, of whom you are to be one of. The thought alone has you devilishly unnerved. 

The guards in their livery greet you with dull eyes. The groom announces your purpose and receives little in return aside from the one soldier’s lazy reach to tap upon the door. He lifts the lever and eases a space between the wood. 

“Your highness, you’ve some ladies requesting an audience,” he drones through. 

There is some movement from within. A lady servant appears in her white cap and beckons you inward. You are further intimidated by the formality of it all. Marcia and Marigold rush ahead to be first and the three earls’ daughters from the White Plans take up their train. You glance over at Calliope and trail after her. 

The doors shut at your back and the lady maid retreats, her soles scuffing amid the murmur around you. You look around the skirts of the other debuts and see women in recline, others perched upon cushions and stools, all at leisure with needle, book, or frame. There is another at the window, sat between two ladies on the bench, the late afternoon breeze stirring the long waves that hang around her face, the rest of her chestnut hair twisted up behind her hood.  

The lady maid stands at the wall in deference, “your highness.” 

The brunette raises her chin and her eyes narrow at the lot of you. You can barely see much past the shoulders of the twins and the other ladies clustered closely in shared apprehension. Still, the twins stand tall and the other ladies hardly seem as wrought as you in the ceremony of it all. 

“The twins of...Mawsley, is it?” The queen declares, “yes, your father proved himself a valuable asset, didn’t he?” 

“Your highness,” the twins recite in unison and bow, “Marcia,” the first introduces herself, “Marigold, the second adds. 

“How keen,” the queen chimes, “you look as the same person. How amusing.” 

“Thank you, your highness,” the sisters chirp. 

“And those gowns, wonderful. I may have to ask after your tailor,” Queen Margaret preens, “and where is the Countess’ daughter? I recall I met you once when you were still a child.” 

Calliope steps dutifully, “my mother sends her regards.” 

“Oh, yes, that poor widow,” the queen bemoans, “she is ever steadfast despite her plight.” She takes pause as you sway to see her, “and the rest of you, forgive me, these last days have been a whirlwind and I’ve heard an endless slew of names one after another. 

“Lady Selene,” the very lady proclaims. 

“Lady Ameri,” she bows in quick succession. 

“Lady Dorida,” the last shows her courtesy in an elegant bend. 

As you come forward, the twins push their arms together as if to block you out with their sleeves. You sidle side to side and sweep around their skirts with an ungraceful stumble, “your highness,” you greet as if you have something stuck in your throat. You swallow before you can muster your own name and title. 

“Woodsdam,” the queen tilts her head and looks from the lady at her left shoulder to the one on her right, “I’ve never heard of it.” 

“Neither have I,” the leftmost agrees. 

“Farmland,” the right says. 

“Yes, your highness, my father is a farmer, but an earl as well,” you supply. 

“Mm,” the queen looks down her nose as her lips thin, “it appears the Woodsdam style is much... defined. I don’t think I’ve seen that style gown since my grandmother was still on earth.” 

You look down at your modest cotton. The square cut of your bodice is much different than the other ladies’ rounded collars. Your mother crafted the dress from pieces and the seams are tidy, yet it does lack a similar flair to the others around the chamber. You raise your eyes and keep your composure as best you can. 

“Many thanks, your highness.” 

The queen scoffs, “quaint, indeed.” She sits straighter though her posture is already unyieldingly staunch, “ladies, please acquaint yourself. And be certain to pay heed to these ladies who know well the ways of court. For all that’s changed in these past years, we will retain as ever our elegance and our etiquette.” 

You peer around, uncertain what comes next. A lady stands and calls to Calliope, “Lady, it is me, Gwendolyn, of the Spades. Near Clovers, you will know it?” 

Calliope accepts the initiation and there is a swift storm of voices swirling around the lot of you. You flutter hopefully that someone might think of Woodsdam or might’ve been to the waterfall near Aquil, not far from your father’s hold. The twins confer still with the queen and her ladies, trilling and giggling, as Serena and Dorida marvel over another ladies’ sewing frame, and Ameri is overly familiar with a lady swollen with child. 

You drift away from the centre of the chamber, trying not to draw unwarranted attention. It would do little for any to note your insignificance. You’ve all to soon faded into obscurity. No one cares for a farmer’s daughter. 

“Eh, do you read?” The question startles you and has you spinning to face its speaker. She looks as she sounds; squawkish. Birdlike. Her blond waves are woven with strands of silver and her hooked nose is not unbecoming. 

“Yes, lady, I do,” you answer, uncertain if she is genuine or she means it as jab. 

“Have you read Corswin? He wrote a fair tale about a shepherdess.” 

“I’ve not heard of him,” you recover your confidence at her interest. It is clear she humours you, that she is speaking to only keep you from floundering. 

“I must lend you a book or two,” she insists, “come sit with me. These old hens grow tiresome.” 

“Many thanks, my lady,” you accept and claim the stool next to her, shifting it closer. 

“Sarah,” she gives her name, “Woodsdam. I’ve never been. I hate the swamps.” 

“Oh,” you nod, “yes, it isn’t very swampy. Only in the rainy seasons but we get the sun.” 

“Mm, still, I’ve been down Ashton and I hated the place. My horses caught some sickness there,” she gripes, “perhaps though, your home is more pleasant. A woman old as me, though, I don’t venture far as it is.” She tuts and taps her oval nails on the book in her lap, “if my son wasn’t so foolish as to take up his sword, I’d still be in my library, hidden away from these chits.” 

You clasp your hands together and smile. She’s amicable and you wouldn’t want to bother too much. She flutters the pages of her book and huffs. You look around, sensing some intrigue from the other ladies though they do their best not to let their flitting eyes be caught. 

“All these birds know how to do is cloister themselves up like nuns,” she bemoans, “I’d as soon be out in the sunlight. If I were home, I’d be in my courtyard with a better book than this,” she wags the volume in agitation, “and you, lady? What is it you do on the farmstead? Chase hens?” 

“We have geese,” you say, “though they aren’t truly kept. They sort’ve linger around. And some cattle.” 

“It does sound rather bucolic, this must be all so drab to you, castle walls and dusty tapestries.” 

“Oh, it’s all so wonderful,” you expound. 

“It is?” She drawls tritely, “aren’t these ladies of ours so polite? The way they whisper about our hems and our titles. Don’t let yourself be fooled, though I suppose that should be as good a warning against myself. Ladies of the court are like crows; the like shiny things and the hold grudges, and sometimes, they needn’t even a reason to peck your eyes out.” 

You close your lips and swallow. Her tidings only underline the unwelcome forged in the queen’s introduction. All you might forgive is at least she seems genuine in her girding. You look down at your skirts and run your fingers down a crease. 

“The dress is not so hideous,” she assures gently, “some of the ladies do forget we did just fight a war. There are those without silks and without food in their bellies. They should weigh their fortune that they are still alive and well.” 

Your eyes meet and she looks a little less stony. She turns her head to the window and her gaze drifts into the distance. You follow them with a sense of solemnity. Again, you snare a few glances from the others. Many men died, women and children too. It wouldn’t do to care so much for what people think of your wardrobe. 

👑

Your first day at the castle ends in a fine supper of freshly baked bread, beef with gravy, and seasoned scallions, onions, and sweet herbs. It is not so hearty as your mother’s stew which you share as often with the servants nor so delicious. It’s a different sort of taste but not unpleasant. 

You retire at the queen’s behest. She declares she must see to her husband and several of the other ladies claim the same of their own. You rise and wait courteously to tail after other ladies, not wanting to get underfoot as you so often did on the farm. As you stand aside, Lady Sarah swats you with her book. 

Skirts swish against the rows of chairs and benches that line the long table. The dining chamber is set with the portrait of peregrine and similarly hawkish depictions woven into tapestry and tablecloth alike. Despite the uniform decor, the furniture is mismatched and the hews of wood and metal alternate with each piece. 

“Don’t fear the stampede, little calf, run with it,” she chides, “ah, I’ve decades upon these sows and they plod like heifers.” 

He uncouth words draw your surprise. She laughs at the look you send her and waves you off with the hardcover. She shoulders past you without pause. 

“One day you will see, it is better to speak the truth than let it shred up your soul,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Ah, naivete, how entertaining you are.” 

Her voice carries and you notice how the other women shy away from her. There’s a glint of deference to the tilt in their chins as they part for her like a like drawn in the sand with a stick. You wonder how she can be so bold and why the other might tolerate it. As Queen Margaret girded, you are to maintain propriety. Sarah seems to carry the same manners as any farmhand you’d known. 

You hurry to meet Calliope near the door as she departs. She seems the tamest of the lot thus far. Sharp-witted but not needlessly cruel. She turns her head slightly in acknowledgement of your presence. 

“There you are,” she mutters. 

“Did you enjoy the afternoon?” You ask brightly. 

“Enjoy? I tempered it,” she retorts, “I’ve the measure of most ladies.” 

“The measure? They were all quite friendly.” 

“You are too friendly,” she admonishes, “this is court, you cannot be so simple. Each lady is attached to a lord, thus they work upon his purposes. Her ears are always listening, eyes always seeing.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You represent your father and though mine may be in the ground, I carry his mantle all the same. We are our houses, not ourselves here,” she keeps her voice low and slows markedly to keep away from the others, “you should count yourself fortunate for my wise counsel, lady, for no other would give it.” 

You chew on her words, tasting their bitterness, “so why do you, Lady Calliope?” 

“For I despise those twins and I know they aren’t so keen on you,” she sighs, “and I saw you as any other did with the dowager.” 

“The dowager?” You echo. 

“The king’s mother, Lady Sarah,” she sends you a sharp look, “don’t tell me you didn’t realise?” 

“Oh? No? She spoke of books and her gardens, she didn’t mention...” you peter off and snap your mouth shut. But she had, she did say her son ran off to war. “Oh!” 

“Oh! Indeed,” Calliope mocks and shakes her head. “Look, I’ve not the patience for these women, but you’re not so bad. You don’t speak without meaning. Shall we be companions?” 

“Pardon?” You let your surprise bleed through. 

“I need at least one person I might stomach, how about you? I don’t think the others are so eager to be friends. Marcia did say how you look like a peasant.” 

“She did?” You frown. 

“Hm, you need me,” she insists, “you can’t let yourself be so whimsical. Never mind what they say or think. What do they care so much for anyhow? They are a duke’s daughters, they will do well enough.” 

You carry on next to her. You feel as if you’re being pulled in all different directions though all tell you just the same. Be wary 

[fictiongods]

You meet a girl. She’s traveled across states just to meet you. She makes a show of it too, she makes sure you know she’s there before ever introducing herself. She tries to get along with your friends. Your mom. Your kinda dad. And even your sister, when you later remember.

She tells you stories that you know are fake to sound cool, but you won’t challenge her on them. You guys don’t hit it off right away, but there’s something there. You and her are intertwined. Connected. She gets through something, it pushes you to do the same. You don’t know why. The universe didn’t want it, you barely want it. But there the girl is anyways, and there you are.

You start going out at night. It’s dark, emotions and adrenaline are high, and she’s saying all these things, these things that you definitely can’t think about to hard. Your friends think you have a boyfriend. You say she’s not really, but you are going out tonight together. You guys do that a lot.

But then she sees you with a guy. She’s angry. She feels cheated. Dumped. You didn’t owe anything to her, but you apologize anyways. You go down and say you’re on her side. That she can trust you, because you care. She doesn’t buy it.

You invite her to Christmas, she lights up brighter than the damn tree when you open your door, and you guys are good again. Bump in the road, but you’re fine. You guys start really hanging out. She makes sure you know that you and her are special. Different, somehow. No one else is like you guys. The chosen two. She says you’re better. She believes that makes her better too. She comes to your class and draws a heart, and you not only skip that class, but you skip a very important test that you were panicked about earlier. But…she’s here now. What can you do? She wants you to let loose. She wants you to lean into your temptations, into your urges. You do it. She keeps throwing her arm around you for some reason. That didn’t have anything to do with your urges, but you notice that. You rush into things because she did. You steal because she told you to. You take what you want because she did. You get caught together, and are arrested. But it’s fine, because you’re with her and together you got out of it. You start to believe that it really is her and you. Just the chosen two.

Then she gets into trouble. She accidentally kills someone. You were with her. She completely shuts you out afterwards. You are left to think after all this time of her saying you guys are connected, that she doesn’t care about you. You are left to believe that maybe she never did. She pins that murder on you. But she’s your friend. You won’t give up on her.

From what you learn, she tries to hurt your friend. The one you’ve known for a decent amount of time before her. A friend you love. But still, you refuse to give up on her. You get your boyfriend to try and help her. He makes it worse. She runs away to hide.

You find her. You call her your friend, but she seems upset by that. You don’t know why. She tells you you’re the same. But…you’re not her. You can’t be. She likes violence. She likes to be overly sexual. She wants stuff you would never want. You punch her in the face. She smiles at you. With pride and bravado, she calls you her girl. You get attacked again by threats the world believes you and only her were destined to stop. You save her. She saves you. You again, reinforce the fact that you will not give up on her. Everyone else has. Your best friends, your kinda dad. You can’t tell your mom about her, she doesn’t really understand, and your sister, well, she’s too young for stuff like that.

You thought you saved her. You thought you helped her. You thought it was her and you again. The chosen two. But she betrayed everyone. She betrayed you. You plan. She thinks she brings your worst fear back. He was too good at being that fear. You learn how angry shes been. How lonely. How sad. How jealous of you she’s been. It doesn’t change anything. You give her a little of that betrayal back. A little of that trickery. She kisses you on the forehead. You’ll later give one back.

She’s turned. The one girl in all the world like you, and she’s turned against you. She’s decided to work with the enemy. You steal her knife. What was hers is yours. She tries to kill your boyfriend. She’s never liked him. You’ve never known why. She tried to sleep with him. She knows it would be the closest she’d ever get to being with you. She tried to do this before. She asked you about it. Only she knew you didn’t get it anyways. That was the problem. You never did.

You guys fight to the death so you could save him. You try and kill her with that knife you stole. Before she makes a scar, before she leaves you, she smiles. You’ve become her. Everything she wants.

She comes to you in a dream. Hers, or yours? it doesn’t matter. What’s her is you after all. It’s so soft there. She’s smiling, you’re smiling, but you don’t really understand, because it’s so violent out there. She cups your cheek, as tender as she’s ever been, and you awake.

You press your lips to her in the spot she once did for you, and now you understand. You are like her. That kiss is recognition. A thank you. A silent confession. She never knows. You never tell her.

You move on. You get a boyfriend. He doesn’t get you, not like she did. She wakes up. You know what she did. How she hurt you. Your friends hate her still, and you…can’t. You defend her.

You try to find her again. You do. Shes mad again. She hates your boyfriend. She’s bitter. She’s telling you about the dreams she’s had. You were there.

You’ve had dreams too. They were always so soft. Even when mixed with violence, it was soft there with her.

Only that delicacy doesn’t extend in the real world, only in your bubble. She ties up your mom. You hope your sister wasn’t home. You miss it, but she talks to your mom. She says how mad she is at you. How hurt she is. How she feels she got dumped by you. You stop her and save your mom, and you fight again.

You tell her you don’t think about her. That you’ve forgotten her, just like she thinks. But in truth, you can’t stop thinking about her. She haunts you. In your thoughts, in your actions, in your words, she’s there. Because, everything that is her is you too, right?

She steals your body. You have hers now. What was yours may now be permanently hers. Your friends can’t tell it’s her. She fools your mom, your friends, your sister, and your kinda dad. She fools your boyfriend. She sleeps with him. She tries to be close to you again through him.

You find her again. She’s crying then. She’s hitting you in her body. She speaks words of destruction and detestation. She speaks words that will be yours in a time to come. You don’t know if she knows if it’s her or you. Maybe she fooled herself as well. She leaves your body and you leave hers. You feel what she felt. You clutch…your heart? Her heart? You try and hold it close. You try and tear it out.

She runs again. She’s gone, you’ve lost her again. You hate her for that. You miss her for that. You loath her for that. She’s the mirror of who you were. She’s the mirror of the you you might have been. She’s your mirror. It’s shattered, it’s broken, and it’s you.

She comes back after years of departure. You’re still bitter. She’s cracking jokes. She’s learned. She’s reformed. And you? You wonder if that’s true. You fight to the end of the world with her. This time, she’s on your side. She listens to you. She follows you. Everything she’s done is because you told her to. She did what she’s always wanted for you, and when you got hurt she said she’s never wanted it.

You find a weapon that’s yours. You can feel it in your bones it’s yours. You take it to battle. You save the world in that battle, and you hand that weapon to her in moments you believe to be your last. She can take it because, what’s yours was always hers too.

Do you get it now? It is a love story, and it always was.

[nanajmin]

Werewolf AU: &TEAM Pack Dynamics + Lore Expansion

&Team Werewolf! Nicholas x AFAB! Reader

Fluff, slight possessive Nicholas, mentioning of falling (clumsy reader), teasing, mutual pinning, Mentioning of EJ making him jealous and finally confronting his true feelings.

In this universe, &TEAM is more than just a group—they are a powerful werewolf pack, bound by instinct, loyalty, and an unbreakable bond forged through years of survival.

The Pack Alpha, Fuma, leads with quiet dominance, his control absolute. His word is law, and though he rarely needs to raise his voice, no one dares to challenge him. Nicholas, EJ, and K make up the Beta ranks, acting as Fuma’s seconds-in-command, each with different strengths—Nicholas, the fiercest fighter; EJ, the strategist; and K, the silent enforcer.

The rest of the pack, Jo, Harua, Yuma, Taki, Maki, are just as vital, skilled in tracking, reconnaissance, and speed. When they move together, they are unstoppable.

But tonight, things feel… off.

The night had been going smoothly. The pack was gathered near the riverbank, cooling off after a long day of training. The moon cast a soft glow over the water, the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the air.

And then—you tripped.

Not just a small stumble. A full-on, arms-flailing, about-to-faceplant disaster.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you saw it), Nicholas was right there.

One second, you were falling, and the next—you were caught, Nicholas’s strong arms wrapping around your waist, steadying you effortlessly.

“Whoa—easy there, clumsy.” His voice is low, teasing, his breath warm against your ear.

You freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks as you realize how close you are. Pressed against his chest, his hands gripping your hips to keep you from toppling over.

“I—I had it under control,” you stammer, trying to step back, but his hold doesn’t loosen. If anything, his fingers tighten just a little, like he’s enjoying this way too much.

Nicholas smirks. “Oh yeah? Because it looked like you were about to make out with the dirt.”

You groan, shoving at his chest, finally breaking free. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, crossing his arms, watching you with pure amusement. “You really are something else, you know that?”

The others have definitely noticed by now. EJ is grinning, Maki is nudging Taki, and Jo is full-on cackling.

“Damn, Nicholas,” EJ says, shaking his head. “She falls for you literally.”

You bury your face in your hands, mortified. “Oh my god.”

Nicholas, smug as ever, leans down slightly, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Admit it. You like having me catch you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “I—”

“See?” He grins when you can’t finish the sentence. “Totally flustered.”

You glare at him, cheeks burning. “You’re insufferable.”

He just shrugs. “And yet, you keep tripping your way into my arms.”

The teasing should annoy you. It really should.

But the truth is—he’s right.

Because no matter how many times you stumble, no matter how ridiculous you feel—Nicholas is always there. Always catching you. Always steady. Always yours.

And that… means something.

Later that night, after the pack has settled around the fire, you sit beside Nicholas, finally ready to get back at him.

You nudge his arm, and when he glances at you, you give him the softest, most genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

Nicholas blinks. “For what?”

You hold his gaze. “For always catching me.”

His teasing smirk falters slightly. “That’s—” He clears his throat, looking away. “That’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.” You lean in slightly, your voice quiet but sure. “You’re always there, Nicholas. Every time I fall, every time I need someone—you’re there. You mean more to me than you probably realize.”

His entire body tenses.

The usual confident, cocky Nicholas? Gone.

Instead, his ears turn red. He shifts uncomfortably, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. “I—I mean, yeah, obviously. It’s not like I’d let you fall or something.”

You smirk. “Are you blushing?”

He immediately scowls. “No.”

“Oh my god, you are!” You poke his cheek, laughing. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?”

Nicholas grumbles, crossing his arms. “I hate you.”

You just grin. “No, you don’t.”

He exhales sharply, eyes flickering toward you—softer now, a little embarrassed, but still full of something deep and warm.

“…No,” he admits. “I don’t.”

And in that moment, he’s the one who looks completely wrecked.

But you don’t push it further. Instead, you just lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady warmth of him.

And when you feel his fingers brush over yours, shy but deliberate, you know—he’s flustered, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nicholas being flustered is rare. Nicholas being openly soft? Even rarer.

So when you manage to turn the teasing tables on him—leaving him red-eared and avoiding eye contact—the rest of the pack notices immediately.

And they do not let it slide.

It starts with EJ, who is way too entertained by Nicholas’s uncharacteristic silence.

“Ohhh, would you look at that,” EJ smirks, elbowing Maki. “Nicholas is blushing. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Maki grins, leaning forward. “Damn. Usually, he’s the one making them flustered. What happened, big guy?”

Taki, who has been waiting for a moment like this his entire life, dramatically clutches his chest. “Nicholas, blushing over someone? Being soft? I feel like I just witnessed a lunar eclipse.”

Jo snickers. “Someone mark the calendar.”

Harua, always the observant one, smirks subtly. “You’re awfully quiet, Nicholas.”

Nicholas groans, running a hand through his hair, clearly regretting all his life choices. “You guys are so annoying.”

Yuma grins. “You love us.”

“I tolerate you,” Nicholas mutters.

Fuma, the responsible Alpha, just sips his drink, thoroughly amused but saying nothing. K is the same, watching with an unreadable expression—but if you look closely, you swear you see a smirk.

Nicholas shoots you a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re the worst.”

You just smile sweetly. “No, I’m the best.”

Maki howls with laughter. “Ohhh, Nicholas is so whipped.”

Nicholas groans louder and yanks you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

The teasing immediately stops because—Nicholas doesn’t cuddle.

At least, not in front of the pack.

But now? Now he’s practically smothering you, burying his face in your shoulder, gripping you like you’re his only safe place.

The pack goes silent.

You blink, adjusting to the sudden warmth of him, his heartbeat strong and steady against your ear. “Uh, Nicholas?”

“Mmm,” he grumbles. “This is your fault.”

You smile, melting a little. “For what?”

“For making me soft,” he mutters. “Now shut up and let me hide.”

Your heart flutters. He’s so warm, his scent wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. His grip is firm but gentle, like he doesn’t want to let go anytime soon.

You feel a shiver of affection run down your spine as you relax into him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Okay.”

Taki whispers dramatically, “Are we witnessing Nicholas in cuddle mode? Should we leave? Is this too intimate?”

EJ snickers. “Nah, this is gold.”

Maki grins. “If we move, we might scare him away.”

Nicholas doesn’t even lift his head. “I can still hear you.”

Jo grins wickedly. “So you admit you’re soft?”

Nicholas pulls you even closer, completely ignoring everyone else. “I don’t care,” he mutters, voice low and content.

The pack erupts into chaos.

Taki falls over laughing, EJ fist-pumps the air, Maki howls, and even Fuma lets out a small amused chuckle.

But Nicholas doesn’t move.

Because right now—he’s got you, and that’s all that matters.

Later that night:

When the fire dies down and the others start settling for the night, Nicholas still doesn’t let you go

Instead, he pulls you aside, away from the teasing eyes of the pack, and sits with you beneath a tree.

The moonlight bathes him in a soft glow, making his golden eyes look softer, warmer.

“Was that too much?” he murmurs.

You shake your head, smiling. “No. I liked it.”

Nicholas exhales, looking down at where his fingers are absentmindedly tracing circles on your wrist. “I don’t usually—” He stops, sighing. “You just make it easy.”

Your chest tightens at his honesty.

“You don’t have to act tough all the time, you know,” you whisper, tilting his chin up slightly so he meets your gaze. “Not with me.”

Nicholas stares at you for a long moment, something deep and vulnerable flickering in his eyes.

Then, he kisses your forehead—slow, lingering.

“…I know.”

And this time, he’s the one who’s flustered.

The Unspoken Claim

The tension crackles in the air, more than just the usual restlessness that comes with the full moon. Nicholas feels it deep in his bones, in the way his muscles stay coiled tight, in the way his senses stay attuned to every movement you make.

From the moment you were introduced to the pack, something about you called to him. It was maddening, the pull, the way his wolf side wanted to claim, to protect, to keep you close. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious, but every time someone got too close—especially EJ—Nicholas felt something raw, something territorial stir in his chest.

And right now, EJ is standing too close.

You’re seated on a fallen log near the campfire, the glow casting soft shadows across your face. EJ, ever the charming one, is leaning in slightly, talking to you about something Nicholas can’t even hear past the low growl threatening to spill from his throat.

His sharp golden eyes narrow as he watches the way EJ laughs at something you said, his hand grazing your arm for just a second too long.

Nicholas moves before he even realizes it, his body acting on instinct. He stalks forward, exuding quiet dominance, placing himself between you and EJ with a casualness that’s anything but.

EJ raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he doesn’t back down right away. “Something wrong, Nicholas?”

Nicholas doesn’t answer him. Instead, he turns to you, his gaze dark, searching. “You okay?” His voice is lower than usual, rough around the edges, laced with something unspoken.

You blink, caught off guard. “Yeah, of course. EJ was just—”

“Keeping you company?” EJ finishes, smirking. His eyes flicker with amusement, but there’s something teasing in them, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Nicholas clenches his jaw. He should ignore it, should let it go—but he can’t. His wolf won’t let him.

Without thinking, he reaches down, wrapping a firm but gentle hand around your wrist. His touch is warm, his fingers slightly rough from training, and when your eyes meet, something flickers in his gaze—possession, need, something deeper than he can name.

“You’re coming with me,” Nicholas says, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He doesn’t wait for a response, just tugs you to your feet and away from the others, deeper into the shadows where only the moonlight touches.

Behind you, EJ just chuckles. “Territorial much?”

Nicholas ignores him.

The Confession Under the Moon

The moment you’re alone, Nicholas finally stops, exhaling sharply. His grip on your wrist lingers for a second before he lets go, running a frustrated hand through his already messy hair.

He’s quiet for a moment, jaw tense, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he speaks, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

“I don’t like it when he gets too close to you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, raw.

You blink, taken aback. “Nicholas, he was just talking—”

“I know,” he interrupts, golden eyes flashing in the dim light. “But it doesn’t matter. My wolf doesn’t care if it was just talking. It doesn’t want anyone else near you.”

Your breath catches. “Why?”

Nicholas steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Because you’re mine.”

It’s not just a claim. It’s a confession.

And the way his eyes darken, the way his fingers twitch like he’s holding himself back—it’s clear he’s been feeling this way for a long time.

The question is… what are you going to do about it?

The words “Because you’re mine.” hang in the cool night air between you and Nicholas, heavy with meaning.

Your heart pounds—not just from the way he’s looking at you, golden eyes fierce and unwavering, but from the way his presence feels. Like heat wrapping around you, like gravity itself pulling you in.

You swallow, your breath unsteady. “Nicholas…”

His name leaves your lips softer than you intend, almost like a whisper meant just for him. His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you again.

“I mean it,” he says, voice lower now, rough with emotion. “I—” He exhales sharply, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I’ve felt this way for a long time. Every time you smile, every time you talk to one of the others—hell, even before you knew what we were—something in me just… knew.”

Your lips part, your chest tightening at his honesty.

“I tried to ignore it,” he continues, eyes flickering between yours. “Tried to tell myself I was just being protective, that it wasn’t real. But tonight, when I saw EJ close to you, when I felt my wolf reacting like that, I—”

He takes a shaky breath, his fists clenched at his sides. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

His words send a shiver through you, but it’s not fear. It’s something deeper. Something that feels just as undeniable as what he’s describing.

Because the truth is, you’ve felt it too.

The warmth of his presence, the way your body instinctively seeks his even in a room full of others. The way his absence feels too sharp, too empty. The way his voice alone can steady you, ground you.

And the way your heart aches at the thought of pushing him away.

You take a slow step forward, watching as his breath catches, as his eyes darken. “Nicholas,” you whisper, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

His whole body tenses at your words, like he’s afraid to believe them.

So you show him.

You lift a hand, letting your fingers trace lightly over his jaw, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint tremble beneath your touch. His breath stutters, his eyes falling shut for half a second before snapping back open, filled with something raw and unguarded.

“I don’t want anyone else,” you confess softly. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

A deep, shaky exhale leaves him, and then—he moves.

One second, you’re standing there with your heart hammering; the next, Nicholas is closing the distance, his hands finally claiming you, fingers curling around your waist, pulling you against him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

His lips crash into yours—not just a kiss, but something desperate, something meant to prove everything words can’t.

It’s possessive—like he’s been starving for this, for you.

You gasp against his mouth, and that’s all it takes for him to deepen the kiss, tilting your head back as he presses you closer, his hands sliding up to tangle in your hair. Heat floods through you, drowning you in the feel of him, in the way his body shudders as he finally gives in.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs again, softer this time, not a claim but a plea.

You smile, your fingers tracing the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivers under your touch. “And you’re mine.”

Nicholas lets out a low, satisfied growl, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arms fully around you, holding you against his chest as if he never intends to let go.

And you know, he won’t.

Aftermath: The Pack’s Reaction

When you return to camp, the tension is gone, replaced by something new.

Nicholas keeps close, his fingers brushing yours as you walk, his presence practically radiating smug satisfaction.

EJ catches the look on his face and smirks, clearly unimpressed. “Took you long enough.”

Taki snickers from where he’s sitting, kicking at the firewood. “Yeah, we were waiting for this to happen. What was that? Months of growling over nothing?”

“More like every night there’s a possible chance of full moon” Maki couldn’t contain his smile as he spoke.

Nicholas shoots them a glare, but the hand on your back is anything but aggressive—just steady, sure, claiming.

Fuma, as usual, is unreadable. But when his gaze flickers between the two of you, he gives a small nod, like he knew this was inevitable. “Try to control yourself next time,” he says to Nicholas, but there’s no real heat in it.

Nicholas just shrugs. “No promises.”

K, watching the exchange, sighs. “This is going to be a lot.”

Jo leans in toward Harua, whispering, “So, how long before Nicholas picks a fight with EJ over something stupid?”

You laugh, feeling completely at home in the teasing chaos of the pack.

Nicholas glances down at you, his usual sharpness softened by the warmth in his gaze. He leans in, lips brushing your temple.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, voice just for you.

And just like that, you know—you will always follow him, wherever he leads.

Because you belong to the pack.

And more importantly—you belong to Nicholas.

[sinful-sonnet]

Whiskey & Wildflowers

Chapter 6

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W/C: 12.6k

Content Warnings: *Explicit, minors DNI. smoking, pet names, smut, unprotected piv, daddy kink lowkey, smoking, f & m orgasm, fluff, aftercare, parental estrangement, emotional strain, phone sex (?) non edited

Summary: After seeking refuge at Joel’s house to escape family tensions, you begin rebuilding your life while navigating complex emotions and relationships. A new job brings stability, and connections within the household grow deeper, with moments of closeness becoming increasingly intense. As you work to find your footing, the bonds around you shift in unexpected ways, setting the stage for personal growth and new challenges.

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“Rollercoaster”

You close your bedroom door behind you, hoping in vain that it will block out the sounds drifting from upstairs. It doesn’t. The muffled moans and low thumps make your stomach twist, and you press your palms flat against the door, willing it to stop. Why now? You bite your lip, a flare of anger and embarrassment rushing through you. It’s bad enough your dad brought Linda here so suddenly—now you have to endure this?

Your eyes dart to your phone on the bedside table. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab it, scrolling through your contacts until you see Joel’s name. You hover there for a moment, heart pounding in your chest. Is this a bad idea? Maybe. But you need a distraction—any distraction—from what’s happening above you.

With a shaky breath, you tap the call button. The dial tone rings in your ear once, twice, three times. You’re about to hang up when you hear the low rasp of Joel’s voice.

“Hey,” he answers, his tone softer than you expected. “Everything okay?”

You close your eyes, letting the sound of his voice ground you. “Not really,” you admit, keeping your voice low. You sink onto your bed, curling your free hand into the comforter. “My dad… and Linda…” You swallow hard, not sure how much you want to reveal.

There’s a pause on the other end, then Joel exhales. “Yeah?” he prompts gently, sounding concerned.

Your cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “They’re… you know… doing it—above my room. I can hear everything.” You scrunch your eyes shut, wishing you could erase that last sentence from existence. “I just… can’t deal with this right now.”

Joel lets out a sigh that crackles over the line. “That’s gotta be rough,” he says, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the low static of the call and faint noises from upstairs that you’re doing your best to ignore.

Finally, you clear your throat, your heart thumping in your ears. “Joel,” you say, your voice wavering with a mixture of nerves and longing. “I—can we just… talk? Or—”

“Or?” His voice dips, taking on a note of hesitation and something else—interest?

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you gather your courage. “I just… need a distraction,” you admit, your pulse racing faster. “Anything to keep my mind off of what’s happening.”

Joel is quiet for a beat. When he speaks again, there’s a softness in his tone, laced with concern and maybe a spark of the tension you both felt before. “Okay,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me what you need.”

A tiny tremor of relief courses through you. “I want to focus on us for a bit,” you whisper, turning onto your side so you’re facing away from your closed door. You breathe in, centering yourself on the comforting thought of Joel rather than the humiliating noises overhead.

Joel shifts on his end of the line; you can hear it in the subtle rustle of fabric. “I’m listening,” he says, and there’s a quiet intimacy in those words that sends a flush through your cheeks.

You close your eyes and let your free hand drift to your stomach, resting just beneath your shirt. “You remember the last time we were together?” you begin softly, recalling the heated moment in his house when lines blurred. “When you… pinned me against the door?”

Joel inhales sharply. “Yeah,” he murmurs. His voice dips to a husky undertone. “I remember.”

The images of that night flicker in your mind—his firm grip, the fire in his gaze. The way the world shrank to just the two of you. It’s enough to drown out the sounds above—enough to remind you there’s something else waiting, something that feels like an escape from your current reality.

You keep talking, your voice low and measured, weaving little memories of his touch, how his breath felt against your skin. With each word, you imagine you’re back there, heat building between you instead of the awkward tension in your own house. Joel doesn’t interrupt; he listens intently, his steady breathing in your ear.

Eventually, he hums, a quiet, encouraging noise. “Feels good thinking about it?” he asks gently.

“Yes,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “I just… I wish you were here.”

He lets out a slow exhale. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both fall silent, just the sound of each other’s breaths traveling across the line. In that hush, you can almost feel him next to you—the warmth of his body, the way his presence steadies your thoughts.

Joel clears his throat. “I’m right here on the phone, though,” he says in a voice that’s low and intimate, “if you want to keep talking. If it helps.”

You let your eyes close, sinking further into the moment, letting Joel’s quiet reassurance fill the space in your mind. It might not solve everything—your dad, Linda, the complexities that still hang over you—but for right now, it’s enough to have Joel’s presence, even through a phone line.

Your grip on the phone tightens. “Stay with me,” you whisper, the plea laced with all the vulnerability you’ve been feeling for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he answers softly, and in that promise lies a shred of comfort that finally drowns out the unwelcome sounds from above. You focus solely on his voice, letting the tension ease as you slip deeper into the conversation that’s more than a distraction—it’s a reminder of the connection you share, a place that feels like it’s just yours and his, if only for these moments.

You lie back on your bed, phone pressed to your ear, Joel's low voice still filling your mind. Every syllable seems to heighten the warmth building inside you, and as you shift your hips slightly, you can't ignore the need pulsing through you. With a quiet inhale, you ease your hand downward, letting your fingertips rest lightly over the front of your underwear.

You close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of Joel's breath on the other end of the line. The rush of blood in your ears nearly drowns out your dad and Linda upstairs—a small, welcome reprieve.

Joel's tone drops, concern threading through it when he hears your soft exhale. "You alright?" he asks gently, though there's an undercurrent of awareness there, too.

Biting your lip, you tilt your head back against the pillow, letting out another shaky breath. "I'm fine," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation,

"just... keep talking."

He seems to catch the hint in your tone.

His next words come out low, husky.

You barely process what he's saying— some reassurance, something about being with you-because every syllable feels like a slow thrum under your skin.

Your hand moves a fraction, pressing lightly. A quiver runs through you, and a soft, involuntary sound escapes your throat. Embarrassment flickers for a second, but Joel's voice anchors you, warm and calm even as his breath catches.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, almost inaudible.

Heat flushes through you, and you swallow hard. "I don't know," you whisper. "I just... need something. Need you."

Joel lets out a quiet, unsteady exhale.

"I'm here," he says simply.

Those two words send a shiver down your spine, and you let your eyes drift shut, focusing on the sensation of your own touch and the steady cadence of Joel's voice. In the hazy quiet, with the world narrowed to just this moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of wanting him-letting it crowd out everything else.

Your breath hitches, the sound of it catching in your throat audible even over the phone. You press your hand more firmly against yourself, heart thudding at the thought that Joel can hear every shift of your breathing.

He goes quiet for a beat, as though he’s listening intently for your every reaction. His own breathing sounds uneven, and you imagine he’s trying to keep himself composed on the other end of the line. The thought sends another wave of heat rolling through you.

“You still with me?” he asks, his voice low and tinged with that undercurrent of need you’ve grown so familiar with.

“Mhm,” you manage, your voice faint. You swallow, forcing yourself to speak more clearly. “Yeah. Just… feels good.”

A soft exhale comes through the speaker—like relief mixed with desire. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone gentle but charged. “Then let it, darlin’.”

You bite your lip, your eyes sliding shut as your body reacts to his words. Even though he’s only there by voice, it’s enough to steady the anxious hum in your chest, enough to remind you that you’re not alone in this moment. For a few precious minutes, it drowns out everything else: the noises upstairs, the tension at home, the nagging complications that wait beyond this phone call.

Joel’s voice wraps around you again, low and comforting, guiding you further into the warmth of this connection. His breathing staggers once in a while, a subtle sign that he’s right there with you—wanting you just as badly, missing you just as deeply.

And in the background of your mind, you remind yourself that for now, that’s all you need: his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the promise of something better waiting when you finally see each other again.

Joel's breathing shifts on the other end of the line, becoming more ragged by the second. You can hear it-how he's losing that tight control you know he tries to hold onto. It's almost a mirror of your own state: that heady mix of anticipation and need.

"Joel...?" you venture softly, voice trembling with the knowledge of what might be happening there. He inhales sharply, and you can practically feel the tension crackling through the phone.

"I'm here," he rasps, his breath hitching on the last word. There's a moment of silence, punctuated by nothing but the distant hum of the connection and the sound of him exhaling in quiet, uneven spurts. He doesn't say what he's doing, but you sense it-the rhythmic pace of it, the telltale hitch in his voice.

Your own heart pounds, and you press your hand more firmly against yourself.

Even separated by distance, there's an odd intimacy in sharing this charged moment. The background noise of your house fades to static, and all that matters is the low timbre of Joel's voice, the rasp of breath as he gives in to the same pull you feel.

"You feel good, darlin'?" he manages to ask, his words laced with both concern and raw desire.

"Mhm," you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink deeper into the warmth coiling in your belly. "You?"

Joel's response is a rough sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

"Wish I could see you," he breathes, and you imagine him leaning back, eyes closed, wanting this moment every bit as intensely as you do.

A flush spreads through you. "Me too," you admit. There's a pause as you catch your breath. "Tell me... tell me something," you plead, not entirely sure what you need but desperate to keep him talking, to feel him close.

He exhales shakily. "I'm thinking about that night... when I had you against the door." His voice drops into a husky whisper. "How you felt under my hands, how you tasted..."

Your breath stutters at the memory, the vivid recollection overtaking any coherent thought. Your fingers flex in response, pressing just enough to send a spark of pleasure zipping up your spine. Joel's voice falters too, a quiet hitch that tells you he's right there with you.

Neither of you speaks for a moment-just the shared, labored breathing over the phone line, the muffled hush of two people seeking comfort in each other.

At some point, you hear him mutter your name under his breath, soft but urgent, and it sends a delicious jolt through you.

It's intense-almost too intense, knowing he's on the other end, wanting this as badly as you do. You curl onto your side, phone balanced against your ear as your heart pounds. The world outside your door might be messy and complicated, but here and now, it's just you and Joel and the connection that keeps growing despite every obstacle.

Your lips part, and you whisper his name. His ragged exhale is answer enough. In this moment, you focus on each ragged breath, each brush of fabric, each sound that testifies to a need both of you can't deny. It's not perfect-nothing about your situation is -but for now, it's a lifeline neither of you wants to let go of.

Joel’s breathing hitches again, and you can almost hear him wrestling with the urge to stay in control. There’s a pause, then the faint sound of him grabbing his keys or something metallic in the background.

“Darlin’,” he says low into the phone, voice still rough from the moment you’ve been sharing, “I can’t do this like we are. I need to see you. I need to come get you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. You shift on the bed, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. The tension coursing through your body has you wanting to say yes immediately, but the memory of your dad and Linda upstairs makes you hesitate.

“Joel,” you whisper, unsure if he can sense your uncertainty. “They’re here… I don’t know if I can just walk out.”

He exhales, frustrated. “I’ll park down the street if I have to. But I’m not waiting around, baby. I want you with me tonight. Let me pick you up.”

Even through the phone, you can feel the warmth of his determination, and it nearly wipes out every other worry. Slowly, you exhale, your mind whirling with the risk of sneaking away now, of the complications that might follow if anyone notices.

But then Joel’s voice drops, all sincerity and urgency: “I just want you. No more phone. No more distance.”

Your breath comes out in a shaky rush. Deep down, you know exactly what you want, too. “Okay,” you whisper, the single word filled with every bit of unspoken longing.

He’s immediately in motion, you can hear the jingle of keys, the creak of a door opening. “I’m on my way,” he promises softly, before a click ends the call.

You drop your phone to your side and lie there in the darkness for a few beats, heart pounding, thoughts tumbling. Regardless of what waits for you tomorrow—family tension, questions you can’t answer—for tonight, you can’t deny how much you need the escape Joel’s offering. And, you remind yourself, he needs it too.

With a nervous flutter, you sit up, fishing for your shoes, grabbing a hoodie. Every sound from upstairs sets you on edge, but your resolve is clear: if Joel is willing to take the chance, so are you.

Within minutes, you’re slipping out of your bedroom, careful to stay quiet as you make your way outside. The air is cool and still, stars scattered above. You walk a short distance, heart thudding in your chest, scanning the street until you catch sight of Joel’s truck rolling slowly up the block.

The passenger door opens with a soft click, and there he is—anxious, intense eyes on you, one hand on the steering wheel. You climb in, nerves and excitement tangling in your stomach.

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls away, the tension in the cab thick with anticipation. His free hand finds yours, giving a brief, reassuring squeeze. Everything else—your dad, Linda, the complicated mess of it all—fades into the background. Right now, it’s just Joel, the hum of the engine, and the promise in his voice when he says, “Let’s go,” low and certain.

You breathe out, finally letting yourself feel that surge of relief and desire. Whatever comes next, at least you won’t be alone in it tonight. And judging by the way Joel glances over at you, his gaze heated and intent, neither of you plans on holding back.

Joel’s hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly as he spots the light on inside his house. “Sarah’s home,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, glancing over at you with an apologetic look.

He drives past the house without slowing, and you notice his jaw tense. It’s clear he’s not prepared for questions—or for Sarah to see you together like this. After a few minutes, Joel turns onto a side street and pulls into a dimly lit, vacant parking lot. He parks and cuts the engine, the silence inside the truck suddenly feeling heavier.

He turns toward you, eyes full of equal parts desire and frustration. “Didn’t expect her back so soon,” he murmurs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Guess we can’t go inside.” There’s regret in his voice, but the undercurrent of need between you both hasn’t faded at all.

You shift in your seat, the adrenaline from sneaking out still running high. “It’s okay,” you say quietly, forcing a small smile even though your nerves are jangling. “I wasn’t exactly looking forward to running into her, either.” The thought of explaining anything to Sarah tonight makes your stomach twist.

Joel’s lips press into a thin line; he seems torn, like he’s trying to figure out the next move. Finally, he exhales, leaning back against the headrest. “We could…talk here,” he offers, but his voice betrays him—there’s more than just talking on his mind.

The truck’s cab is dark except for the faint glow from a distant streetlamp. You can sense Joel’s focus on you, though, the same tension that crackled between you earlier still palpable. You realize he’s giving you the choice: to stay, to go, to figure out some middle ground.

You meet his gaze, your heartbeat still unsteady. “I don’t mind staying for a bit,” you murmur. It’s an understatement of everything you’re feeling, but you don’t know how else to say you need him just as much.

Joel nods, sliding his hand off the steering wheel and resting it near yours on the seat. The quiet hum of nearby traffic underscores the moment, and you both sit there, weighing your next steps, trying to figure out how to navigate this meeting that neither of you wants to end.

Outside, the night carries on, but in the confines of the truck, it’s like time has slowed. He studies your face, and you can tell he’s battling the same swirl of thoughts you are: the risk of being caught, the complicated feelings, and the undeniable pull that brought you both here.

“Come here,” he finally says, voice soft but insistent. He lifts his arm, making space for you to slide closer if you want. It’s a simple invitation—one that speaks volumes. You hesitate only a second before you move toward him, closing the gap in the quiet, empty lot.

For now, you both ignore the outside world, taking refuge in these fleeting minutes, where it’s just the two of you—no questions, no judgment, and no prying eyes. It won’t solve everything, but it’s enough to feel his warmth, to hear his low voice comforting you in the dark. And for the moment, that’s all either of you needs.

You shift in the passenger seat, feeling your pulse quicken, then make a decisive move: swinging your leg over Joel’s lap and settling yourself there, knees braced against the edges of his seat. He inhales sharply, the soft leather squeaking under your weight.

“D-darlin’?” Joel stammers, his voice a mixture of surprise and rough-edged desire. He automatically brings his hands up, hovering near your waist as though unsure if he should rest them there.

You just look down at him, a playful grin curving your lips. The tension in the truck cab is thick enough to taste, the cool night air streaming faintly through a cracked window doing nothing to quell the heat building between you.

Your eyes lock on Joel’s. For a moment, neither of you moves, your heart pounding in your ears. Then, slowly, he settles his hands at your sides, steadying you.

“You all right?” he asks, swallowing hard, his eyes flicking between yours as though he wants to be absolutely certain.

A soft laugh escapes you. “I’m good,” you whisper, leaning in just enough that he can feel your breath. “Don’t you want me here?”

Joel’s fingers tighten slightly at your waist. “More than I can say,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

A rush of warmth flutters through you at that, and for a moment, the complications and fears fade into the background. Right now, in this vacant parking lot, it’s just you and Joel—no one else.

You slide your hands up, resting them on his shoulders as you lean in closer. His jaw sets for a moment, gaze darting across your face. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lets go of whatever lingering reservations he’s had and pulls you closer still, eyes fixed on yours.

Neither of you knows how long you’ll have before reality intrudes again. But for now, pressed together in the darkness, it feels like enough just to let the moment unfold.

You shift slightly on his lap, and a surge of electricity rushes through you as you feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire. A soft gasp escapes your lips, and Joel's eyes flutter shut for a moment at the contact. The air in the truck seems to tighten around you both, charged with heat and unspoken need.

His hands slide up to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you in place. When he finally opens his eyes, there's a look there-part longing, part disbelief. As if he can't quite believe this is happening, but can't bring himself to stop it, either.

You let your palms rest on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Everything about this moment feels magnified: the soft hum of the engine cooling, the faint buzz of a streetlamp in the empty lot, the press of Joel's body under yours.

He inhales, and you see his resolve waver. "This okay?" he asks, voice rougher than usual. You can sense he's giving you a chance to slow down, to reconsider.

But you don't. You lean in, brushing your nose against his, letting your own breath mingle with his. "I want this," you whisper-soft, but certain.

Joel answers with the lightest pressure of his hands guiding you closer, until your foreheads touch. The tension that's been mounting since you climbed into the truck now feels almost unbearable.

But it's not a bad kind of tension; it's the ache of longing, the thrill of surrender.

You shift again, a deliberate test of boundaries, and he gives a quiet groan

-somewhere between pleasure and warning. You catch his gaze, your body humming with anticipation.

In the hush of that parking lot, you both hover at the edge of something that feels impossible to ignore. And for a moment, the world narrows to just this, just the warmth of his lap beneath you, and the quiet promise of what might come next.

Joel's patience breaks in an instant. He grabs you firmly, and before you can catch your breath, he's pushing you down onto the seat, the worn upholstery pressing against your back as he pins you beneath him. His breath is ragged; yours matches, coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he murmurs, voice low and edged with a hunger that sends a fresh rush of heat through you. His eyes lock on yours, pupils blown wide, and for a moment, the only sound is the uneven rasp of both your breaths in the close confines of the truck.

You can feel the tension coiling in his body-held back until this very moment.

Your heart thuds, and you can't help but let a soft gasp escape when his hand settles against your hip, fingertips digging in just enough to hold you in place. He looms over you, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he's deciding just how far to take this.

When he finally leans down, you catch the faintest hint of cologne mixed with the night air. His stubble grazes your jaw as he whispers again, "You okay?" despite the thin thread of restraint that's barely holding him together.

"I'm good," you manage, voice trembling with anticipation. You slide your hand over his shoulder, anchoring yourself to him, silently giving permission.

That's all it takes. Joel's lips descend on yours, the kiss urgent and consuming.

The pressure of his body, the rough warmth of his hands roaming, erases any lingering thought of caution or fear.

In that moment, there's only him-the heady heat between you, the darkness of the parking lot, and the headlong rush toward whatever comes next.

He nips at your earlobe before trailing kisses down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a series of love bites in his wake.

He moves down your body, pushing your shirt up as he kisses and nips at the exposed skin of your stomach and chest.

He lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor of the truck before returning his attention to your now-bare torso. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your sides and cupping your breasts in his large palms. “So damn perfect…”

Joel leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth as he begins to tease and toy with the sensitive bud. His tongue circles around it, flicking and teasing, before he gently nips at it with his teeth. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist as he continues to lavish attention on your chest.

He grins against your skin, enjoying the sound of your gasp as he switches his attention to your other nipple. He gives it the same treatment, his tongue swirling around the hardened bud before he begins to suck on it. His hands move lower, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants as he continues.

Joel's breaths are shallow as he eases your pants down, inch by inch. His lips haven't left your skin, and each new patch of bare flesh makes his heart pound harder. You arch against the seat, a soft moan escaping when his mouth lingers over your nipple, tongue flicking in slow, deliberate strokes. Every sound you make only seems to spur him on.

His fingers finally manage to free you from the last barrier separating you, and he lifts his head. The warm press of his body shifts, and he pauses to look at you-truly look at you. Half-naked, your pulse racing, you feel the heat of his gaze sweep from your flushed cheeks down to where his hands rest on your hips.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, and the hunger in his eyes makes your stomach flip. The slow rise and fall of his breathing matches the heavy thud of your heart. It's all you can do to stay focused on his face, on the intense need reflected there.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs at last, his voice husky. He slides one hand along your side, anchoring you beneath him, letting you feel the warmth of his palm.

You swallow hard, skin tingling where his fingers roam. "Joel..." you whisper, unsure what you're asking for, only knowing you need more.

He dips down to kiss you again, gentler now-a slow, lingering press of lips that contrasts the urgency coursing through both of you. "I've got you," he murmurs, and despite the heated rush of desire, there's a tenderness threaded through every word.

You shiver at the promise in his voice, bracing a hand on his shoulder as he settles back over you. The truck's interior seems too small to hold this moment, every breath and heartbeat magnified. Though this might be reckless, complicated, and a thousand kinds of dangerous, right now all that matters is how right it feels to have him here, looking at you like you're all he wants in the world.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes locked on yours as he gently but firmly pins your wrists above your head. He holds you there, his grip firm but not tight, his gaze burning with intensity.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive.

He lowers his head, trailing a path of kisses and bites down your neck and collarbone once more, his free hand tracing a teasing path along your inner thigh.

Joel’s lips trail from your collarbone up to the curve of your neck, each small nip and kiss sending sparks of anticipation through your body. You arch into him, a soft sound escaping your throat, but he just smiles against your skin—a silent acknowledgment of how close you are to begging for more.

His hand drifts upward, fingertips grazing your inner thigh with a featherlight touch. Every slight movement teases you to the brink—close enough to stir a rush of heat, yet never quite landing where you crave it most. The tension coils tighter in your stomach, and you feel yourself pushing against him, wordlessly urging him to go further.

Joel lifts his head for a moment, dark eyes meeting yours. There’s a playful curve to his lips; he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Easy,” he murmurs, voice low, as though he’s savoring every second of your mounting need. He presses another slow kiss below your ear, and you can’t help the breathy whimper that slips free.

“Joel…” His name comes out in a plea, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He responds with a quiet hum, then resumes his path across your skin, each touch deliberate, measured. It’s as if he wants to map every inch of you before finally giving in. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you feel his own pulse racing under your fingertips.

His mouth makes its way back to yours; the kiss starts gentle, but tension lingers beneath it—electric, insistent. When he finally pulls back, he breathes your name, and there’s something in his eyes, equal parts hunger and tenderness, that makes your whole body tremble.

“Patience,” Joel whispers, though his own voice sounds anything but patient. The hand at your thigh inches closer, making you gasp as he keeps you hovering on the edge. Every kiss, every breath, feels like a promise of what’s to come—slow, unhurried, and far too enticing to resist.

Joel keeps his touch featherlight, each pass of his fingers a deliberate tease that leaves you trembling with anticipation. Your breath hitches, and you arch into him, chasing that frustratingly elusive pressure he’s holding just out of reach.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. The smirk on his lips only deepens when you whimper in response, your body all but pleading for more. “You want me so badly, don’t you?”

A needy sound escapes your throat as your eyes meet his. The smug, playful curve of his mouth tells you he’s enjoying every second of your helplessness. He grazes his knuckles along the edge of your underwear, drawing out another shiver that runs the length of your spine.

“God, you’re so damn needy,” he goes on, almost amused by your reactions. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart…”

Your cheeks burn at his words, but you can’t deny they send another pulse of heat right where he’s hovering. He’s right—you can’t remember the last time you felt this on edge, this desperate for someone else's touch. Every nerve in your body feels attuned to his movements, and every time he shifts closer, it's like a spark of electricity arcs between you.

You lift your hips in a silent plea, but Joel only chuckles under his breath, keeping the contact tantalizingly light.

His free hand moves to brace against the seat, caging you beneath him. The dark promise in his gaze makes your heart hammer. You can tell he's savoring this-savoring you-and the knowledge only stokes the ache building in your core.

"Easy," he murmurs, voice low as he leans in to brush a teasing kiss to your lips. "I'm not done having my fun just yet."

His patience might be wearing thin— your pulse thrums wildly, sensing the undercurrent of urgency in him-but he still wants to take his time, to draw out every gasp and moan you have to offer.

And despite the frustration twisting in your stomach, you find yourself clinging to every second of it, letting the tension coil tighter until you're right at the brink.

Above you, Joel's gaze bores into yours, and the corner of his mouth quirks in a knowing smile. Even though he's in control, you can see he's far from unaffected. His breathing is harsh, his eyes half-lidded with want. The need between you crackles in the enclosed cab, drowning out any lingering thoughts of where you are-or what waits outside this moment.

All that matters is his next move, the promise of satisfaction hanging just out of reach. And it's clear Joel intends to make you wait until the last possible second to give you exactly what you're craving.

“Daddy, please”

Joel’s smirk falters for half a second the moment the word “daddy” slips from your lips. Something shifts in his gaze, heat flaring behind his eyes as your plea reverberates in the charged space between you. It’s clear that single word hits him like a spark to dry tinder, testing the very edge of his restraint.

His breath catches, and his hands tighten at your hips in a sudden spasm of want. For a moment, he just stares at you—lips parted, brow furrowed in a turmoil of desire and warring emotions—like he’s deciding whether to give in or keep drawing this out.

Finally, he exhales a slow, ragged breath. “Careful, darlin’,” he rumbles, though his voice shakes with the effort of holding back. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You cling to his shoulders, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. Every muscle in his body seems coiled, tense with the effort of not losing control right then and there. But you see the flicker in his eyes—that razor-thin edge where playful teasing is about to break into something far more urgent.

He leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “You really want me to lose it?” he asks, voice low and thick. The question sends a tremor through you, and you nod without hesitation, every nerve in your body taut with anticipation.

Joel’s control finally frays. His next kiss is fiercer, hungrier, like he’s answering your dare head-on. The gentleness he showed a moment before is still there, but it’s now threaded with raw intensity. As he presses you further into the seat, you feel the full force of his need—and know that calling him "daddy" was the last nudge he needed to unravel.

Even in this moment of heady passion, there's a current of tenderness in the way he holds you, a silent promise that he won't push you beyond what you want. But from the look in his eyes, you can tell he plans to give you exactly what you're asking for-and then some.

Outside, the world remains quiet, the vacant lot enveloping you both in darkness. In here, the tension you share burns bright as a live wire, impossible to ignore, impossible to resist any longer.

He quickly sheds his clothes, his hands trembling with a mix of anticipation and urgency. He breaks the kiss, his eyes burning with desire as he takes in the sight of you beneath him, flushed and desperate.*

He runs a hand over your thigh, his touch firm and possessive.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasps, his voice thick with need.

He takes off your underwear and positions himself at your entrance. He leans down, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss as he slowly, teasingly pushes into you. He groans against your mouth, the feeling of being inside you almost overwhelming him.

“Are you sure about this darlin?” joel asks again

You groan in annoyance.

“God you talk too much…just fuck me already, Miller!!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he snaps his hips forward, driving himself deep inside you in one swift motion. He sets a relentless pace, his body slamming into yours with an almost brutal force. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he takes you hard and fast.

He groans, the sound a mix of pleasure and disbelief. He hadn’t expected to get this close so quickly, but the feeling of you clenching around him is almost too much to handle.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his thrusts growing more erratic as he struggles to hold back his release. “Fuck I think I’m gonna cum ..darlin…”

And all you’re thinking is really?

He knows he needs to slow down, to focus on your pleasure instead of his own. He adjusts his position, angling his hips so that each thrust hits your sweet spot, determined to bring you to your peak before he loses control.

“Come on, sweetheart” he growls, his voice strained with effort. “I want to feel you come around me…”

you finally feel yourself getting closer to the edge, you bring one of your hands down to rub yourself as Joel continues working his hips

He feels himself getting closer and closer, the sight of you rubbing yourself combined with the feeling of you clenching around him driving him to the brink of madness.

“Fuck…I can’t hold on much longer,” he grits out, his thrusts growing erratic as he fights to maintain control. “I’m so close, baby…”

And there you go, coming hard from just his words of restraint and vulnerability. Your body begins to tremble.

He pulls out of you at the last second, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release. He grips the edge of the seat tightly, his knuckles white as he watches you come undone beneath him, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. He lets out a low, guttural moan as he spills onto your stomach, his hot seed splattering against your skin.

He slumps forward, bracing himself against the seat above you as he tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving with exertion.

He chuckles breathlessly, his voice hoarse from the intensity of their encounter.

“That…was incredible,” he pants, still struggling to catch his breath. “You’re incredible…”

Joel clears his throat, cheeks flushed as he grabs his discarded shirt from the floor of the truck. He leans over, gently wiping your stomach with it, his touch far more tender now than it was a few moments ago. You can tell he’s trying not to meet your eyes, still caught in a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire.

“I’m real sorry about the mess, darlin’…” he mutters, the last word trailing off awkwardly. He swallows, glancing at you briefly before looking away again. “I just… figured it was better than in…”

He can’t quite finish the sentence, so he busies himself with blotting the last traces from your skin. There’s a faint warmth in his cheeks—part sheepish, part relieved—and you can’t help but find it strangely endearing given everything that’s just happened.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, heart still pounding as you watch him. Despite the flushed look on his face, there’s a gentleness in how carefully he’s cleaning you up, like he’s determined to take care of every little detail.

“It’s okay,” you finally say, reaching out to touch his arm. You offer him a small, reassuring smile, hoping to ease the tension. “Really.”

Joel glances at you, something soft and grateful flickering in his eyes. He exhales slowly, nodding as he crumples the shirt in his hands. “Guess I got carried away.” A faint, self-conscious grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you.”

A quiet moment settles between you, the air thick with the aftermath—both of the desire and the vulnerability that follows. Outside, the parking lot is dark and silent, the world momentarily distant. You reach for him, fingertips grazing his hand, and he laces his fingers gently with yours.

“Stay like this for a minute?” you murmur, voice hushed. The rush of the moment may have passed, but you’re not ready to let go of the closeness just yet.

Joel nods, his thumb brushing a light circle over your knuckles. He tugs you toward him, letting you nestle against his chest. Even in the cramped space of the truck, it feels safe. Comfortable. For a brief spell, neither of you speaks—content to breathe each other in, aware that reality will intrude soon enough, but not willing to face it just yet.

-

Joel’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he takes another slow corner, the streetlamps casting fleeting shadows across his face. Neither of you has spoken much since you pulled yourselves together, but you can feel the tension lingering—an aftershock of what just happened and the weight of what’s waiting back at your house.

He glances over when you whisper, “So this is it?” His expression softens, a mix of concern and something else flickering in his eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs, clearing his throat as he rolls the windows down a crack, letting in a cool night breeze. “I know it’s hard… going back.”

You can’t bring yourself to reply right away. Instead, you stare out the windshield at the empty road stretching ahead, the hum of the tires against asphalt somehow comforting. It feels like you’re both in a holding pattern—neither here nor there.

After a moment, Joel exhales. “We don’t have to head there just yet,” he says, voice quiet, almost tentative. “I could keep drivin’ ’til we figure out what you wanna do.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you wrap your arms around yourself, remembering the warmth of his chest just moments ago. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, swallowing around the ache rising in your chest. “I can’t stay at that house. Not after—after everything.”

Joel nods, his hand flexing on the steering wheel. “I get it,” he says softly. He slows the truck at a stop sign, looking your way. You can see the conflict on his face—part of him wanting to take you somewhere safe, part of him worried about making decisions for both of you.

He takes a breath, forces a small nod, and eases his foot off the brake. The truck lurches forward gently, heading down an unfamiliar street. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, and though his voice wavers, there’s enough determination there to make you believe he’ll try.

The dim glow of the dashboard lights plays across his bare shoulders. Somehow, seeing him like this—shirtless, caught between confidence and uncertainty—makes your heart twist. It’s as though the two of you have crossed a line tonight that you can’t uncross, and neither of you knows exactly where to go from here.

“You can stay at my place,” Joel offers, almost hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t know how Sarah might—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing into a firm line. It’s obvious he’s thinking about all the complications waiting in both of your lives, but especially about Sarah. He doesn’t want to force you back into your dad’s house, though. “Just… an option,” he finishes, voice quieter.

You reach out and place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension still coiled in his muscles. “Thank you,” you say, your tone earnest despite the weight of everything unsaid. “I’m not sure I can face him tonight.”

Joel’s eyes flick to you, and for a split second, you catch a flicker of relief in his gaze. “Then we’ll steer clear,” he murmurs, turning the wheel with one hand and letting the other rest lightly over yours. “At least ’til we… figure out what comes next.”

The truck hums on, street after street rolling by, and neither of you speaks for a while. But his touch on your hand—gentle, reassuring—tells you enough: you don’t have to step foot into that house tonight if you’re not ready, and Joel’s not going to make you face it alone. Not yet, anyway.

Eventually, you lean your head back, letting the tension ease from your body, even if only for the moment. “Thank you,” you repeat, your voice a soft echo in the dark cab of the truck. Joel just nods, giving your hand a comforting squeeze as he keeps on driving, aimlessly, into the quiet of the night.

Joel parks the truck in his driveway, letting the engine idle for a moment before finally switching it off. In the hush that follows, you exhale a shaky breath, heart still pounding from the night’s events. The air around you feels heavy with everything unspoken—your decision not to go home, the uncertain path ahead.

Without a word, Joel slips out of the driver’s seat. In a few swift steps, he’s at your door, opening it gently. A faint chill in the night air rushes into the cab, but the warmth in his gaze makes you feel less exposed than you’d expect.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand braced on the frame of the open door. Even without a shirt on, he somehow manages to look both protective and vulnerable. The porch light casts a soft glow, illuminating the faint worry lines etched across his brow.

You nod, mustering a small smile. “Yeah,” you manage, though your voice quivers slightly.

Joel steps back, giving you space to climb out. As you do, your legs feel shaky, and he notices, sliding his arm around you with quiet concern. You can’t help leaning into him, the familiar warmth of his body a small comfort against the swirl of emotion in your chest.

A soft, relieved exhale leaves his lips when he feels you steady yourself. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing as he leads you up the driveway. Neither of you speaks as you head toward his front door, the silence surprisingly comforting—like you’re both letting the weight of this new reality settle without rushing it.

Once inside, the house is dim, quiet. Joel takes a beat to hang his keys on a hook near the door. You stand in the entryway, heart thrumming, unsure what to do with yourself. It hits you that you’re in his space now, a place that’s become a refuge but also filled with its own complications. Sarah might be sleeping, but the thought of her still tugs at the back of your mind.

“We can talk,” Joel says gently, turning to face you. His eyes meet yours, and there’s a certain earnestness there, as if he’s aware of all the unasked questions and is just waiting for you to bring them up. “Or… if you just wanna rest, that’s okay too.”

A knot forms in your throat at the kindness in his offer. Stepping closer, you let your fingers brush over his forearm in silent thanks. For now, it’s enough to be here in the quiet, together, without the looming dread of returning to the house you’ve been avoiding.

You nod, a faint sheen of exhaustion creeping over you. “Rest… yeah,” you say quietly. There will be time to figure things out—later. When your head is clearer, when you’re ready to confront the reality beyond these walls.

Joel dips his head in acknowledgment, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead. It’s a small moment of gentleness that melts some of the tension from your shoulders. Then, wordlessly, he guides you further inside, leaving the night and all its uncertainties just beyond the door.

Joel leads you to the guest room, guiding you gently by the hand. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows on the walls, and you’re suddenly aware of how exhausted you feel. But the second he steps aside to let you enter, the reality of why you’re here—what you’re running from—crashes down on you all over again.

You stop short in the doorway, tears pricking your eyes. Shaking your head, you try to speak, but your voice refuses to cooperate. Instead, the tears spill over, and you can’t hold back a quiet sob. You feel foolish, overwhelmed, and somehow still painfully grateful that Joel is here.

“Hey,” he murmurs, concern lacing every syllable. He comes closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay.”

You turn to face him, tears streaking your cheeks. “I—I just…” you start, but you can’t finish. Everything—your dad, Linda, the guilt, the uncertainty—presses in on you like a weight you can’t carry.

Joel’s arms wrap around you, drawing you into a steady, reassuring hug. His palm glides up and down your back in soothing circles. “It’s alright,” he repeats, his voice gentle and low. “Take your time.”

For a moment, you stand there, trembling in his hold, letting the tears come. The events of the night have left you raw and fragile, and it feels like you’re still on the edge of shattering. But Joel’s presence, the warmth of his body, grounds you just enough to keep you from falling apart completely.

Eventually, you manage a shaky breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. Joel steps back a fraction, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of everything unsaid. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

He gently touches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly. “Don’t apologize for feelin’ it.”

His words loosen the knot in your throat just a bit. You nod, trying to steady your breathing, and Joel stays close, not crowding you but letting you know he’s right there if you need him.

Sniffling, you glance around the room, the bed neatly made, the walls decorated with simple, comforting touches. In that instant, you’re struck by how much you want—no, need—a moment of real rest, away from prying eyes and suffocating situations.

“Thank you,” you manage, voice unsteady. “For letting me stay… for everything.”

Joel studies you, a flicker of sadness crossing his features, but he just nods. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly. “Get some rest, alright? I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

You muster a small, watery smile, nodding as he steps out and gently closes the door behind him. The room falls quiet, your breathing the only sound. And for once, despite all the chaos still waiting beyond these walls, you feel a tiny spark of relief: you’re not alone tonight.

•

You settle into the guest bed, your body finally succumbing to a wave of fatigue you can’t hold back any longer. The pillow feels cool against your cheek, and the lingering warmth from Joel’s embrace calms the tension in your shoulders just enough for you to let go. Your eyes drift shut, and almost before you realize it, the weight of the day’s emotions fades into the background. Sleep overtakes you in an instant, heavy and dreamless, granting you a moment’s escape from everything waiting outside that quiet room.

•

You take a few groggy steps into the hallway, still half-asleep and barely registering where you are—until you see Joel at the stove, spatula in hand, the smell of eggs hitting you before your vision fully sharpens. Your eyes dart around, and that’s when you spot Sarah, sitting at the kitchen table with her phone in hand. She slowly looks up, gaze flicking from your bare legs to your flushed face.

You freeze mid-step, suddenly aware you’re wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and underwear. A jolt of embarrassment snaps you out of your morning daze. Sarah locks eyes with you, then pointedly looks away, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated show of exasperation.

Joel, sensing the tension, turns his head slightly and notices you standing there, looking like a deer in headlights. “Uh—mornin’,” he says, his voice low but careful. He doesn’t stare, instead focusing quickly back on the stove, though the tips of his ears redden.

Sarah sighs dramatically. “Good morning,” she mutters, her tone making it clear she’s not thrilled to see you in such casual attire. She picks up her coffee mug and takes a slow sip, as though she’s forcing herself to stay calm.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Of course she’d be here. This is still her home, after all. You swallow hard, nodding at them both. “Morning,” you manage, trying not to squeak. “I—sorry.”

You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for your appearance, for being there at all, or just for existing in this awkward moment. Sarah rolls her eyes again, tapping a finger on the table. Joel clears his throat, refocusing on the eggs in the pan.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says gently, not meeting your eyes. It’s an out, and you take it with relief, darting away before either of them can say anything else.

As you vanish around the corner, you hear a faint, tense silence settle in the kitchen. Your cheeks burn, and part of you wants to sneak out a window to avoid any more confrontation. But after a moment, you remind yourself: You needed a place to stay. You’re allowed to be here. Even if Sarah’s reaction stings, it’s better than going back to your own house right now.

You close the bathroom door behind you, pressing your back to the cool wood, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your nerves. With one hand, you fumble for the lock. The embarrassment still throbs in your stomach—but for the moment, you have a small corner of privacy where you can breathe before facing them again.

Sarah sets her coffee mug on the table with a little more force than necessary, causing the liquid to slosh near the brim. “Why is she here, Dad?” she asks, her tone sharp and annoyed, eyes cutting over to him.

Joel looks up from the stove, spatula in hand, and exhales slowly. “She needed a place to stay, Sarah. It’s complicated.” His voice is calm, but you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, trying not to provoke her further.

Sarah folds her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Complicated. Right.” She glances again at the hallway you disappeared into, then back at Joel. “And you thought you’d just bring her here without telling me?”

Joel sets the spatula down, his brow knitting in frustration. “I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” he explains, voice low. “And I didn’t think you’d mind—”

“Obviously, I mind,” Sarah snaps, cutting him off. She rubs her temples, sighing heavily. “I just don’t get why she’s here. With everything that’s happened…is this even a good idea?”

Joel rubs a hand over the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “I know it’s a lot,” he says, a note of regret in his tone. “But she’s going through hell at her place. I couldn’t turn her away, not last night.”

Sarah opens her mouth as if to retort, but then her expression falters—just for a moment. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the flash of concern she’s trying to hide. “Well,” she mutters finally, crossing her arms again, “maybe give me a heads-up next time?”

Joel nods, relief tempering the lines of tension on his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I will.”

The air in the kitchen still feels charged, tension lingering despite the surface calm. Sarah picks up her coffee mug again, tapping her fingers restlessly against the handle. She shoots Joel one last pointed look before turning her attention back to her phone, the conversation seemingly at a standstill.

Joel clears his throat and returns to the stove, refocusing on the eggs. But his shoulders are hunched, and you can sense the weight of Sarah’s disapproval pressing on him—even if she doesn’t say another word.

•

You exit the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind you and still feeling a bit unsettled from the awkward exchange in the hallway. Suddenly, Sarah appears, heading down the corridor in your direction. She doesn’t even slow her pace; instead, she cuts you a sideways glance as she passes.

“Maybe you should just move in here while you’re at it,” she mutters, half under her breath, but still loud enough for you to catch every word. The sarcasm drips from her voice, and she doesn’t stop walking until she’s at her bedroom door.

You stand there for a moment, your cheeks heating from embarrassment and a fresh wave of guilt washing over you. Before you can think of a response—an apology, a retort, anything—Sarah slips into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

For a second, you just stand in the hallway, staring at the now-closed door. Part of you wants to hurry back into the guest room and avoid any more tense encounters. Another part of you knows you can’t keep hiding forever, no matter how uncomfortable things may be.

Finally, you exhale and take a tentative step toward the kitchen. Joel might not be able to shield you from Sarah’s ire, but at least you won’t have to face the morning’s awkwardness alone. And deep down, you try to remind yourself that you have as much right to be here as anyone—whether Sarah sees it that way or not.

Joel’s quiet voice breaks through the thoughts swirling in your head. You glance up to find him watching you from the doorway to the kitchen, a soft, reassuring look on his face.

“Don’t worry about her, sweetheart,” he says, his tone gentle, as if sensing the turmoil Sarah’s remark left behind.

You shift on your feet, nerves prickling under your skin. A wave of gratitude washes over you at his attempt to comfort you, but part of you still bristles at the tension lingering in the house.

Joel steps closer, one hand resting lightly on the small of your back. “She’ll come around,” he continues softly. “She’s just… not too thrilled with the situation. Doesn’t mean you need to feel bad.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding more to yourself than to him. “Thanks,” you manage, trying to offer a small smile.

He gives a reassuring squeeze, guiding you gently toward the kitchen. “Come have some breakfast,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “Let her cool off, okay?”

Your eyes flick down the hall where Sarah disappeared. You know it won’t be that easy, but Joel’s presence soothes at least some of the anxiety knotted in your chest. With a tentative nod, you follow him, hoping that a quiet morning meal might dull the edges of everyone’s frustration.

•

Joel’s phone buzzes, the number on the screen making his stomach twist with unease. He glances at you, then presses it to his ear. You catch fragments of his side of the conversation—pleasant enough at first, a forced casualness in Joel’s voice.

“Hey, man,” Joel says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Uh, how’ve you been holding up?” He shoots you a quick, uneasy glance, as though trying to gauge how you’re doing.

There’s a pause, long enough that you can imagine your dad’s sharp exhalation on the other end. Then Joel presses his lips together, nodding like he’s hearing some clipped reply.

“I get it,” Joel says, careful. “Sounds like… well, it sounds like things have been rough.”

He’s trying to small-talk, to buy time, but your dad isn’t having it. You hear a sharper tone spill through the receiver—though you can’t make out the exact words—and Joel’s face tightens.

“Joel, I need her. Where is she?” comes your dad’s voice, loud enough for you to catch every syllable. The question crackles through the line, loaded with anger and urgency.

Joel’s gaze flicks to you. You can see him weighing his options in the small, tense silence, torn between what’s right and what’s safe.

After a breath, Joel forces a calm he might not feel. “She’s, uh… she’s taking some time, alright?” he says, keeping his tone as even as he can. “Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

You watch him grip his phone tighter, the tension radiating from him in waves. The truth remains suspended, unsaid: She’s here, she doesn’t want to come home.

“Listen,” he continues, lower now. “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.”

A bark of frustration from your dad echoes through the earpiece. Joel’s jaw clenches. He glances at you again, brow furrowed, before giving a small shake of his head—as if to warn you not to panic.

“No, she’s not in trouble, she’s just—” Joel says, then stops, letting your dad’s words pound through the speaker. “I understand you’re worried, but look, I’m telling you, she’s okay. That’s all I can say right now.”

His voice almost trembles with effort, fighting to remain composed. Finally, he gives a tight nod to himself and ends the call with a short, “I’ll let her know you called.”

Silence descends in the kitchen, heavy and electric. You can practically feel Joel’s pulse hammering as he sets the phone down on the counter. He exhales a ragged breath and looks at you—eyes full of concern.

“He’s… not too happy,” he says quietly, stating the obvious. “Says he needs you. But I’m guessin’ you’re still not ready to face him?”

You swallow, heart pounding. “No,” you whisper, the word catching in your throat. “Not yet.”

Joel nods, running a hand down his face. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice grim but resolved. “We’ll figure out what to do. Together.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you glance down to see your dad’s name lighting up the screen. Joel gives you a questioning look, but you shake your head, pressing your lips together before answering. Part of you hopes it might be some sort of apology or an offer to talk things through. But the second you put the phone to your ear, that hope dissolves.

“Hey, kid,” your dad begins, his voice more casual than you expect. “Listen, I need a favor. Linda and I are going out tonight—there’s this fancy spot she’s been dying to try. Could you spot me some money? I’m tapped out right now.”

You’re stunned, eyes going wide. You glance at Joel, who’s hovering nearby, clearly picking up on your reaction. “You… want me to give you money?” you repeat, unable to keep the disbelief out of your voice.

Your dad sighs, sounding almost impatient. “Yeah, I mean, I’ll pay you back. Eventually. It’s just a couple hundred. You know how pricey those places can be…”

A hot wave of anger surges up your spine. Joel notices the way your posture stiffens, and he moves a bit closer, concerned. “You left,” you say, voice trembling. “You completely checked out, came back with Linda like it was no big deal, and now you’re calling me for cash?”

“Kid, calm down,” your dad mumbles, like he’s talking you down from a tantrum. “Don’t make a scene. This is just a favor between family.”

That word—family—tips you over the edge. “Family?” you repeat, bitterness coating every syllable. Your free hand curls into a fist at your side. “You barely acted like family when Mom died. You walked out when I needed you, and now you’re strolling back like nothing happened. And you want money for a date with her?”

There’s silence on the other end, and you can practically sense the annoyance in his exhale. “That’s not fair,” he counters, voice rising. “It’s complicated, and I’m trying here—”

“You’re trying?” you snap, tears of anger burning in your eyes. “Where were you all those nights I was alone, cleaning the house, trying to deal with Mom’s stuff, and then dealing with your absence on top of it? You left me with all that. And now you want my money?”

Your dad lets out a frustrated breath. “Look, we can talk about that another time, okay? I just need—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice shaking with rage. “You don’t get to call and ask for a handout like everything’s fine. Because guess what? It’s not fine. You’re barely a dad anymore. You lost that right the minute you walked out and came back with Linda, acting like our lives are just a pit stop on your way to something better.”

“Kid—”

“Stop calling me that!” you practically shout into the phone, your chest heaving. “Don’t act like we’re in some normal situation. If you want money, go ask Linda. Or pick up more shifts. Or maybe think about someone besides yourself for once.”

He goes silent again, and you can almost feel his anger bristling through the phone. After a long, tense beat, his voice drops, turning cold. “Fine,” he mutters, sounding every bit as spiteful as you feel. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Yeah,” you snap, tears threatening to spill. “You do that.”

You stab the “end call” button, your hand trembling from the surge of adrenaline and emotion. The kitchen is quiet except for your ragged breathing. Joel moves closer, gently prying the phone from your hand and setting it on the counter.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft. He can tell you’re on the edge of breaking down. “You alright?”

Your chest aches, and you swipe at an angry tear that slips free. “No,” you admit, voice quavering. “But I’m not giving him a dime.”

Joel nods, his expression a mix of sympathy and frustration on your behalf. Slowly, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough so you feel the reassuring pressure of his presence.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Joel says quietly. “Not after what he’s done.”

You nod, silent tears coursing down your cheeks. For now, you let yourself lean into Joel’s hold, heart hammering, anger still pulsing in your veins. It’s messy and it hurts, but deep down, you can’t help feeling a small jolt of relief: at least you finally said what you’ve been carrying for far too long.

A surge of white-hot anger floods you as you watch your phone skitter across the floor. The clatter echoes in the tense silence, Joel’s startled voice calling after you, but you’re too far gone—too furious to focus on anything but the pounding in your head. You barrel through the front door, letting it slam behind you with a jarring thud.

Outside, the early morning light feels too bright, the air too still. Your hands tremble as you fumble in your pockets, finally pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You shove one between your lips, flicking the lighter once, twice, until the small flame ignites. Smoke sears your lungs on the first inhale, sharp and acrid, but it’s exactly what you need in this moment—a jarring counterpoint to the storm raging in your head.

Joel’s footsteps sound behind you, hesitant on the porch, but you don’t turn around. You keep your back to him, gaze fixed on the street beyond, trying to steady your shaking hands. The cigarette crackles softly as you take another drag, the tightness in your chest easing just enough to breathe through the anger.

You can sense Joel hovering nearby, his concern palpable. He doesn’t say anything, though, seeming unsure if pushing you to talk might only worsen the outburst. Instead, he lingers, ready to step in if you need him, but careful not to invade the small space you’ve carved out for yourself.

You pull another lungful of smoke, letting it mingle with the tension still coiled in your gut. At least out here, you can pace, breathe, feel—even if it’s just the biting taste of nicotine on your tongue. Anything to hold off the sting of your dad’s voice in your head and the shattered pieces of your phone call echoing over and over.

For a few moments, you let yourself be angry—really, truly, furious. You deserve that much. And as the cigarette burns down, the tightness in your chest recedes a fraction, leaving just a dull ache of disappointment and betrayal behind.

Eventually, the stub glows close to your fingertips. You toss it aside, grinding it under your shoe in one jerky motion. When you finally turn around, Joel is there, his concern etched into his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but his silent presence is something—maybe all you can handle right now.

You blow out a final smoky breath, swallowing the surge of emotion that still threatens to choke you. Inside, the phone lies abandoned where it landed. Outside, Joel waits. And the rest of the world spins on, indifferent to the fury roiling within you.

“He’s such an ass, how were you guys even friends”

Joel watches you quietly as you flick the last bit of ash from your cigarette, the anger still radiating off you in waves. At your words, he exhales slowly, shoulders sagging under the weight of his own conflicted feelings.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice low and strained. “Back then, he wasn’t… like this.” He leans against the porch railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “He changed. Or maybe I never really knew him the way I thought I did.”

You take a shaky breath, running a hand over your face. The morning sun feels too bright on your skin, too at odds with the swirl of bitterness in your chest. “I hate him,” you say, quieter this time, eyes fixed on some distant point in the street. “And I hate that I hate him.”

Joel nods, understanding flickering in his gaze. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel,” he murmurs. “It’s his job to make things right. Or it should be.”

You shift, the cigarette between your fingers still smoldering. “I just… can’t believe he’d expect me to give him money. For her. After everything.” Your voice cracks with the remnants of anger and hurt.

Joel steps closer, gently prying the cigarette from your hand before grinding it out on the porch floor. “He’ll have to deal with his own mistakes,” he says, quieter now. “You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

You swallow hard, tears burning at the back of your eyes. I wish it felt that simple, you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you lean against Joel, letting him slip an arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t offer solutions or empty platitudes—just a steady presence that grounds you in the here and now.

As the two of you stand on the porch, the morning air still cool against your skin, you try to let the rage bleed away into a more distant ache. It’s hard to know what comes next, but for the moment, Joel’s warmth at your side is enough.

Joel tilts your chin up, his fingers warm against your skin. The world seems to slow as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s cautious—almost tentative—like he’s checking to see if this is okay, if this is what you need right now.

Your anger and frustration soften, at least for the moment, beneath the tenderness of his touch. You close your eyes, exhaling slowly against his mouth, letting yourself sink into the solace he’s offering. The porch and the whole world beyond it fade into a distant backdrop.

When he finally pulls back, the faint morning light catches in his eyes, and you see a hint of concern there. He’s looking at you as though trying to gauge just how close you are to falling apart again.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, voice hushed but earnest.

You take a shaky breath, still tasting the memory of his lips on yours. “I don’t know,” you admit honestly, leaning into him just a little. “But that helped.”

A tiny smile plays on Joel’s features, a softness that makes your chest ache with gratitude—and something else you can’t quite name yet. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you in the quiet morning stillness, as if promising he won’t let you face this alone.

“Come on,” he says gently, voice carrying a note of resolve. “Let’s get inside. We’ll figure out the rest after we’ve had a moment to breathe.”

Nodding, you allow him to guide you back toward the house, your heart still raw with anger and hurt, but beating a little steadier now—buoyed, if only slightly, by the small kindness of his kiss.

“Let’s figure it out now, I’m tired of saying I’ll figure it out later”

Joel pauses at your words, his hand still resting lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, the morning air feels heavier with the realization that you’re done putting things off. He meets your gaze, his own full of concern and a flicker of uncertainty.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice low. “Let’s figure it out now.”

You swallow, steadying yourself as you lean back against the porch railing. The memories of last night, of your dad’s call and the tension with Sarah, all churn in your mind. “I can’t keep living in limbo,” you murmur, wiping your palms nervously on your thighs. “I’m so sick of avoiding him, of wondering where I’m supposed to be.”

Joel nods slowly, shifting his weight. “I get that,” he says. “But what do you want to do?” There’s no judgment in his tone—just an honest question.

Your eyes flick toward the front door, where Sarah is somewhere inside, likely still on edge. You think of your dad, his demands, his absence, and how much it hurt you. “I…can’t go back,” you begin, inhaling a shaky breath. “Not right now. But I can’t stay here forever, either.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “I get that,” he repeats softly. “You could stay until you get on your feet, but I know Sarah’s not exactly thrilled.” He blows out a sigh. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck hiding.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the conflicting pressure of wanting to stand your ground and wanting to avoid another fight. “Then I need to make some decisions,” you say, your voice quivering with pent-up frustration. “A job, a place to stay—something that’s mine, not his.” And not something that drives a wedge between you and Joel, you silently add.

Joel steps closer, gaze earnest. “I can help,” he offers, then quickly amends, “But only if you want me to. We can look around for a place—maybe something cheap, a sublet, or an apartment. Find you some part-time work if you need it.”

You close your eyes, relief and worry warring in your chest. “That—yeah,” you manage, feeling a slight rush of gratitude. “I…I’d like that. At least then I’d have a plan.”

He reaches out, brushing a thumb over your cheek in a hesitant, comforting gesture. “We start today,” he says, and his voice carries a quiet determination. “We won’t put it off anymore.”

Your shoulders ease a fraction at his words, some of the anxiety loosening in your chest. It won’t be easy—none of this has been easy. But with a plan, and Joel’s unwavering support, you can stop merely surviving and finally start living on your own terms.

-

The next week passes in a blur of tentative steps toward building a new routine. You manage to land a part-time job as a secretary at a small office nearby—three days a week, enough to give you a sense of stability without feeling overwhelmed. Joel often drives you to work, the quiet moments in the truck becoming small pockets of comfort amidst the whirlwind of change.

You’ve been staying in Joel’s guest room, slowly making the space feel more like your own. The tension with Sarah has lessened, and while things aren’t completely back to normal between the two of you, she’s been making an effort. Sometimes she’ll knock on your door and ask if you want to play games, and more often than not, you agree. Those moments are small, but they’re a reminder of the bond you once shared—and maybe still can.

Your dad, however, hasn’t reached out since your heated call. The silence from him leaves a strange ache in your chest, a mix of relief and hurt. You’ve stopped checking your phone obsessively, trying to focus instead on the small victories: waking up in a safe space, earning your own paycheck, rebuilding pieces of yourself one day at a time.

One evening, after a long day at work, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with Joel. Sarah’s upstairs, likely immersed in whatever show or game has caught her attention. Joel pours you a cup of tea, sliding it across the table before settling into the chair across from you.

“You’re doin’ good, darlin’,” he says softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth. “Proud of you.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you feel the sting of tears threatening to rise. “Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “I still feel like I’m figuring things out.”

Joel leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. “You’re supposed to,” he says with a small smile. “Nobody’s got it all figured out. But you’re takin’ the steps. That’s what matters.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. The ache of your dad’s absence still lingers, but here, with Joel’s steady presence and the beginnings of a new life taking shape, it feels just a little easier to bear.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the house filling the spaces between you. It’s not perfect, but for now, it’s enough.