joannasteez

[joannasteez]

[joannasteez]

Stop biting your lip you slut

[joannasteez]

I received a text from Ryan that said, "Do you play piano?" And I texted back and I said, "I don't play keyboard, but I took a lot of lessons when I did 'Crooklyn' back in 1993, whatever year that was, in '94." And I think I said, "Why do you ask?" I didn't hear anything. He sent me a couple of additional texts over the next two and a half, three weeks. And then finally, the last text he sent me, I said, "What's this about, man?" And he said, "I have a project I want to talk to you about." – Delroy Lindo, CROOKLYN [1994] vs. SINNERS [2025]

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[joannasteez]

yes maam yes maam

love when you write for him🤧

Featuring: Dr. Jack Abbott x Nurse!Fem Reader Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: 18+, implied smut, a lil angst, and a lil fluff. You and Dr. Abbott should know better than to do this... A/N: I love writing these lil snippets for Jack and I'm thinking of writing a mini series for him...but are y'all gonna fwm if I switch reader to an oc? 😖

Could there have been a moment you missed? Something lingering in his smile that he tried to smother when you made him laugh during lunch that one time? Or maybe a touch too tender when his hand rested on your lower back when he went to squeeze between you and Dr. Mohan in the hall? It had to be something, something you overlooked, something that found you here...

Your eyes on his lips which weren't smiling now but there was a softness. Slightly parting with a slip of breath that you inhaled. And his hand was on you again but not your lower back. Fingers curled gently at your jaw to tilt your face up. To look at him. Not his lips or the salt that was peppered on his scruffy beard, your mind wondering if the hairs would be soft on your skin. But his eyes — brown eyes that seemed to be just as curious as yours. About your softness. About how he got here, too. 

Something was missing but maybe not. Not when you did remember the way your heart did a little flutter whenever he said your name. Not when he called it, summoning a doctor or your attention for a case. But when he simply said it. Your first name, a lightness to it like it was delicate, like it made him feel like he had to be gentle with you. And not because you couldn't handle something firmer, god, if you weren't made of sterner stuff, you wouldn't be working in the ER at The Pitt…even though some days you questioned your ability to see so much…so much blood and suffering. And perhaps that’s why he wanted to be gentle. His fingers still gentle at your jaw, a thumb caressing over your cheek. His breath grazing your lips again as he said your name again now along with a statement. 

“This is a bad idea, you know.” The bass in his voice was a little thin with a rasp, with that twinge of curiosity you felt was thick in your throat and made your heart pound in your chest. Because, well, obviously. It was a mistake to let Dr. Abbott pin you to the wall and stroke your skin as his lips hovered near yours. He was your boss. you were his nurse. And while there wasn't a strict rule against workplace fraternizing, you both knew this was inappropriate. It was common sense. 

“Yeah. It is,” you replied, maybe a whisper's worth but he heard you. His eyes falling shut as you pressed your lips to his, feeling coaxed by his words, the truth in them, the need in you, closing your eyes, too, and feeling the softness of his mouth, his beard. Not quite as scruffy as you imagined and you imagined things like this a lot. The heat of him drawing a bit nearer as he leaned on you more, your hands finding his chest and the warmth of it behind his black scrubs. His fingers falling from your jaw and to your scrubs, too, settling onto your lower back, a familiar tenderness as he pulled you to him. His other hand was not busy enough for your and his hands were always busy and perhaps needed a break…but you were grateful when you felt that hand find the back of your head, his fingers settling through your hair tied back into a bun, deepening the kiss.

Something still lingering on his lips as he shaped them to yours...that gentleness. Like he needed this kiss to be as delicate as you. And you felt that, a quiet whine escaping you and into his mouth, making him pull you to him tighter. Your heart making a scene like it always did, you could feel your pulse all over, his heat all over, and as you let another faint sound slip, he returned it, a sort of groan as his fingers locked in your hair. Tugging gently, always gentle, until his lips trailed down to your throat, smudging a kiss to your pulse that wouldn't keep calm. 

Because this was wrong. Because opposites didn't need to attract this way. Not a boss and an employee, not a stoic man and a wavering woman. And yet that wouldn't stop the pull, the air a bit cool this evening and giving you both more reason to stay hidden and warm together behind the EMT truck in the alley. It was quiet here, a safe place for wandering minds to explore thoughts and maybe feelings that needed exploring. No matter how wrong they may be.

And surely you were both missed back inside, in the chaos of the ER, but this needed to be settled. You needed to know what was still missing here, in the muscle of his body on yours, in the taste of his tongue when it dared to enter your mouth. You needed to know how this would end if you couldn't quite remember how it started. 

“What are you doing tonight after shift?” you mumbled as your palms held the sides of his face, a short breath you wasted to catch on a question you were pretty sure you knew the answer to. Jack's lips a hint of a smile on yours, making him smile as you often did, as his hands fell to your hips. 

“Sleep would be nice. But maybe I'll invite a little company over, instead.” A tender peck at your lips as you grinned before his forehead rests on yours for a moment. His voice was gentler now, almost teasing. “That is...if she’s in the mood after our shift.”

“Oh, I think she will be.”

Jack hummed a little laugh but his next words came out with a sigh. Maybe regret, maybe relief, maybe both. His eyes followed the curve of your hip where his thumb traced before he looked at you. Maybe to see that something in your eyes to make that decision final. “And she’s sure about that? I might keep her up for a while...”

And you almost laughed, too. Not at what he said but at the absurdity that you wouldn't want to make that decision final, as well. Because would you really have let it lead you here if it hadn't been made already? All those lingering smiles and glances and touches weaving together like your fingers at the wisps of his dark, greyish hair on his nape. That pull...pulling him back to your lips and listening to him nearly moan in your mouth. 

“Yeah. I'm sure,” you breathed in that moan, the curiosity growing of what moments remain to be explored between you both making your own breath hitch. Jack’s nod as he squeezed you like a delicate thing in his hands telling you he wouldn't let another moment be missed. Not when he just made it known he’d keep you up for as long as it takes to uncover every single one.

. . .

Moments

Thanks for reading! Read more of my stuff here, if ya care. 🖤

[joannasteez]

we are so back… like we never left

being in a bad mood and jack abbot helping you by fucking it away.

the man's got you pinned at the edge of the bed and pounds into you from behind, rendering you gasping for air and all but helpless.

he had spotted it instantly–your bad feelings in the form of frown-twisted eyebrows... tense shoulders... short, clipped tone and even shorter fuse. whatever trepidations had wiggled their way onto you nerve, latching and eating at your mood, jack shoos them gone with ease.

both of your arms are pinned behind your back, held snug by jack as you groan with every pummel of his hips. stoke by stroke, it's all stripped away. the layers of anger peel themselves from you, leaving only the full feeling of his cock slicking itself deep inside your hole. stretching you with a sweet burn and nudging at the spot that steals your breath with no intentions of returning it.

the bed rages beneath you, clunking and shaking almost as bad as your wobbling legs. jack senses the balance you're loosing with a single scan, pausing balls deep inside you to shift you closer. he tugs you right up against him, front pressed into your back, arms wrapping tight to hold you steady.

"'ve got you, sweetheart," he promises, voice gravelly thanks to the way you flex around him even tighter like this. choking his cock and making it weep as it squelches along your walls. a kiss plants at your shoulder, lips remaining in a wet press against your skin as jack resumes his thrusts, your ass clapping against him in unhurried, filthy smacks. "just keep taking it, yeah? lemme keep makin' it better..."

when the speed starts to pick up again, it's almost too much–just what you need. you feel the thick of him all over, your entrance starting to cream and spasm, engulfing you inside an intense wave that makes you feel as if you're touching another universe.

jack plucks your peak from you with quicker but deep thrusts and a slew of praises.

there we go. there you are. bein' nice and sweet for me again, just how i like. needed someone to fuck you nice and deep, huh? take your mind off things...

after you come, you're putty. weeping and begging jack to keep fucking you because you need to come again and wanna feel him stuff you full of the load you know he's been holding back. he shushes your tears with soft coos, forcing his thrusts to reach a new, relentless depth inside you.

jack rambles lowly the entire way to the next finish, promising that he'll fix whatever it is every time. just come to him and he'll make it better. clear the clouds away and return the sun to your skies with an endless lasso and sturdy tug.

he finally releases his load with long groans, dragging another leaking orgasm out of you as he clings to your figure with a reassuring embrace.

the two of you collapse onto the bed, jack atop you in a warm smother as you struggle to remember why you were so upset in the first place...

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[joannasteez]

MONDAY NIGHT RAW | 06.09.25

[joannasteez]

ICE is in Los Angeles conducting raids and arresting families and children on their way to their court dates and raiding workplaces. Trump has called the National Guard in to stop protestors and is spreading a false narrative about violence, raiding, etc. to distract from the fact that ICE is abducting children in a SANCTUARY CITY.

Do not look away, do not be silent. If you or a loved one is detained by ICE, stay silent except to ask for your lawyer. Keep your documents on you. Call legal aid foundations who are standing by.

If you are NOT in LA and want to help, you can contact rapid response networks and ask how to help or donate. Donate to ACLU, the Mexican American Legal Defense Fund (MALDEF), or the Immigrant Defense Project.

Here are some slides with good tips to share and a list of SoCal rapid response networks:

DO NOT LOOK AWAY!

And as a not so gentle reminder, if you voted for Trump or his ilk you can unkindly get the fuck off my page. You're not welcome here.

[joannasteez]

BIKER DAMIAN

i too would be susceptible to a dangerous man with a bike but cheating on punk??!!! these are peak levels of conflicted i must say

Featuring: Biker!Damian Priest x Black Fem Reader Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, angst, and a lil fluff because Damian and you just can't stay away from each other. 🥺 Word Count: 2.5k

Happy reading! Read my other Damian stories here, if you'd like. ✨

There was no reason to be weary of the sound of a motorcycle engine, no reason to be afraid of a knock on the door. Two very common sounds to hear at almost 9:30 p.m. when your neighbor one house down also drove a Harley and sometimes left mixed up mail at your doorstep when he got off work in the evenings. But this was a different man. And he gave you a good reason. No, he was no real threat, even if he stood nearly seven feet tall, even if his shoulders were nearly as wide as the door. Big as that man was, it was less his physical stature that made your heart flip in your chest, and more it was his mere presence. He shouldn’t be here. And he knew that.

That skip in your pulse that you felt in the vein in your neck was so dramatic and you silently cursed to yourself. Your nerves had no sense or rhyme or reason, tangling together and twisting anxiety with excitement because while he really shouldn’t be here, it was a daydream reserved for lonely nights and wandering hands and hushed thoughts. Forbidden fruit was always the sweetest…and that man was quite ripe and tender, leaving a sweet taste in your mouth when you dragged your tongue along his.

And that was precisely why he was uninvited from your home, kicked out, actually. Damian never made things easy, of course. Not when he would hold your wrists in his massive hands like you were some dainty thing, something fragile he had to keep together as he broke you apart. Had the nerve to whisper, “I can cum in this pussy, baby?” when you were under him in pieces only he could make whole again. So, you answered his question. A shaky whisper, too, more of a whine, “Yesss, please.” But that was before you came to your senses, mostly, head still a little fuzzy and body frazzled under the sheets that you held to your chest as you watched him pull on his black boots after he’d gotten dressed. He was already on his way out and it could have been so simple for him to just leave and never come back — but of course because you told him he couldn’t come back, he fought even harder to stay.

Some choice words, mostly curse words, and then deafening silence when you finally got the man on the other side of your front door. 

Yes, there was no reason to be afraid of that man that now stood behind your back door, likely shuffling those boots on your wood patio. The creaking beneath his feet giving away his position, the porch light you just flicked on giving the metal cross chain around his neck amongst the patchwork on his leather cut some glimmer. You peeked through the slightly parted blinds of the window on the door, observing Damian indeed shift his weight to his left foot and stuff his hands into his jeans pockets. Dark, brooding eyes that were down suddenly flitted up when you turned on that light to look through the window, too, and somehow look right into your eyes that you were sure he couldn’t see with his reflection and the night behind him bouncing off the glass, instead. And still your heart did that flip…especially when he spoke.

“You gonna let me in?”

No reason to fear him, but the bass in his voice made you tremble like his breath was right on your nape as he said those words. And they were, a little over a month ago, the warmth of those words seeping into your soul along with his kisses that melted on your skin. Standing behind you with those hands swallowing the curves of your hips to pull you back to him, and you weren’t far, just a foot or so away as you stirred your sauce you’d brought down to a simmer on the stove. And thank goodness you did that because it’d be a while before you tended to it and the dinner you’d been trying to make for him because he’d lost his appetite for everything but you. “Keep her open for me,” that command rolling out soft yet heavy like the lapping of his tongue as you spread your two fingers around it, your pink, almond-shaped nails glistening and giving him more room to coax those whispers he liked from you. Letting him pin you like a dainty thing again, gentle hands on the backs of your thighs that sunk into your sofa cushions.

“No.”

You spat it out before you could finish the memory, before you could think yourself into a decision you’d regret. And you were already regretting the tingle at your fingertips to turn the lock and grab the door knob. The temptation of that forbidden fruit still fresh on your taste buds, the source of that temptation looming on your patio, ready to give you that something sweet until he was the only thing you craved. Because that was his goal, you were sure of it. Make you believe like he did that there was just one man you needed — and make you believe that there was just one woman for him.

“C’mon. I know you in there by yourself.” His voice traveled through the door, low yet silky smooth. The slant of your blinds covered his eyes as he tilted up his chin, but you could see the small smirk forming on his lips before he licked them and added, “You won’t get in trouble, baby.”

“I told you not to call me that,” you flung at him and you meant it, despite the butterflies flinging themselves around in your belly. That sensation swift and strong enough for you to take to a bad habit to steady yourself, your nails pinching at the loose threads of your cotton sweatshirt sleeve. You’d unravel it thread by thread before you let him in. “See, you don’t listen. Because I also told you not to come over here anymore, too.”

He laughed quietly at that, a short breath through his nose, before you could just make out through the blinds his hand reaching up to wipe over his mouth and beard. He’d trimmed it since the last time you saw him, a closer cut to his jaw that you noticed him clench for a moment. His eyes found yours again even though you were certain he couldn’t detect the way your fingers now twirled a stray box braid that had fallen from the messy knot atop your head, your hands looking for anything to do but open that door. You thought about walking away from it altogether, disappearing upstairs into your bedroom and pretending he wasn’t here until he wasn’t. He couldn’t stand on your porch all night, not when it was already cool and bound to get colder. A fact you were expecting him to remind you of as to give you reason to ignore all the other reasons he shouldn’t be here.

“That means you told your man about me, then, right?” That smirk of his returning like he could feel the leap in your chest this time. “What…you back to wearin’ that ring on your finger now?”

It was none of Damian’s business what you told or haven’t told your husband, nor was it cute that he thought he knew you better than the man you’d been married to for three years. You’d known Damian for less than a year and you didn’t appreciate the insinuation that he’d tell Phil anything before you did. You folded your arms on your chest, feeling your mouth fill with bitterness, feeling your resolve harden to keep that man outside right where he was. You were almost impressed with how quickly he could go from sweet to this when he didn’t get his way — those choice words and curse words you both hurled at the other echoed in your head before you let them spill from your lips.

“Don’t make me call the cops to come gather your ass off my porch, Damian. Ain’t no favors you can call until morning so unless you wanna spend the night in jail, you need to go. Now.” 

And you knew the harsh volume of your voice carried through the door, you could see it ripple along his shoulders as he shrugged them. He let his head hang, then, shaking it, but you shook a little when you realized he was laughing again. Those eyes piercing through the window pane at you, revealing a glint from your porch light and something else. Something that made your blood hot with nerves, yes, but they were knotting together again. Tying emotions together that belonged nowhere near one another: frustration and fomentation, the fluttering in your tummy falling into a dense coil that should have been the fear.

This oversized man who refused to leave your property even when you said the one thing that was supposed to make him mount his Street Bob and peel out of your neighborhood for good. If he wasn’t a threat at first, your threat was supposed to turn him into one. Because you’d helped clean the blood from his knuckles with cotton rounds as he towered over you in your bathroom when he’d end up at your place after handling some unfortunate soul who threatened him with less. At best, it was a flippant remark at the leather on his back and the SGT. AT ARMS patch on his chest as he tried to enjoy a drink with his crew. And at worst, it was a run-in with the punks who got caught trying to steal the tires from his motorcycle.

While that was a reason why you shouldn’t be around Damian and why he shouldn’t be around you…you didn’t fear him or what he did or could do. Because you knew he wouldn’t do it to you, not when that trace of laughter in his tone was replaced with your name, trickling through the door with a gentle knowingness in the depths of it that settled deep in your bones. No, that wasn’t fear, but another beast entirely.

“That’s how you wanna play this? You done with this? Done with me?” And there was a pull now instead of a leap, your chest getting tight with his questions that felt too soft, too florid. You saw his hands find your door jamb to hold as his eyes found the corner of the window to fixate on, eyes that you were nearly convinced could see you but now you realized it was a front. Maybe all of it was, the swell of his height falling as he leaned in on one foot, the bass of his voice reaching out to you a few seconds later but in a murmur as he spoke your name again when you didn’t respond. Maybe this was yet another reason why you should keep him on his side of the door while you stayed on yours. 

Because the vibration you could feel coming through it was too effortless in its destruction as well as its seduction. One moment, you were at each other’s throats…and the next moment, his hand was around your throat with his mouth on yours. One moment, you wanted to be “the good wife” and renounce “the bad boy biker”…and the next moment, you wanted to savor every sweet second with him that you could before Phil got home from being on the road. And he was on the road more than he was home, long hours that vanished into days and more days of you missing your husband who managers at loading docks and cashiers at truck stops got to see more than you. 

And no, that didn’t make it right for you to give that tall, handsome man your phone number just because he spotted you sipping your whiskey and coke alone at the bar and made you feel warmer than the drink ever could with merely his eyes on you. But it suddenly didn’t feel right to leave him out in the cold, either, the slight breeze brushing away the hair he didn’t tuck into his bun from his taut shoulders. Shoulders that relaxed when he heard the latch on your door click, when he laid his eyes on you silently staring up at him. That vibration unfiltered now, nothing in the way of that small tremor down your spine at the destruction you both knew was at the end of all of this…but it yielded to the tremble that was in the seduction of his hands circling your waist, bringing you close, fingers trailing around to dig softly at the small of your back. Your own fingers tracing his bearded jaw, holding him here, moving your lips on his until a quiet whimper slipped through at the flavor of him.

The forbidden fruit was more delicious than you remembered, his tongue flicking in to sip what he’d missed, too, suckling sweet at your tongue like he could never get enough. And that had to be the unspoken truth between you: that there was something sweeter here than simply satisfying a carnal yearning. Even as he moved in, kicking the door shut behind him before he slowly backed you into your kitchen counter, his hands gripping the supple skin beneath your boyshorts — and even as he lifted you onto the marble, finding his place between your thighs as your lips found his throat…this wasn’t the only yearning.

You knew Damian yearned for some peace. A reprieve from the blaring of bikes, the clamor of club meetings, the cracking of bone in the darkest bits of chaos that surrounded him. You knew this because he’d linger with you in your bed, those buried feelings that no man could ever know unearthed if only to live in your heart now, too. He knew they were safe with you, just like your secrets were safe with him…those threats you both spouted at each other ringing hollow when it became more and more true that they were simply cries for help. Of course he couldn’t help but come back to you. Of course you couldn’t help but let him come here…

If it was only a bit of peace at the pit of that forbidden fruit, something to yearn for and indulge in when the time allowed it…why ruin it? You could name all the same, old reasons, but you preferred Damian to spell new letters on your skin with his tongue. His thumbs caressed new shapes at your thighs, holding them like his dainty, precious thing, feeling that tremble in you in his mouth. The shadows of your kitchen granted only the faint glow of your porch light left on, spilling through your blinds and just barely reaching him on his knees. Yet it did illuminate the fine wisps of hair on his head as you smoothed them over with your fingers before you tugged gently. Desperate to steady yourself once more as your whispers shifted into whimpers, low-lidded eyes gazing down at the man who gazed back up at you, the full brunt of his eyes as sweet as the words mumbled through his slick lips on you.

“Can you give me another one, baby? I don’t wanna stop tastin’ you.”

. . .

Reasons

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[joannasteez]

Thinking about tanks of blood again….. every summer it’s on my mind

but if i revamp and take that man out r yall still gonna read it 😞

[joannasteez]

Our Lives Have Become Hell.

We live in extreme poverty, with little food, endless hunger, daily oppression, and constant fear. Children are dying in silence, and large numbers of them are lost in a single day. We have lost hope in life, and darkness surrounds us from all sides.

Your donation can ease this immense pain. 🍁

(Don’t forget, this is the reality—we are not in a dream)

Don’t forget us—do something, anything! Share, donate, like—help us survive.

Donate to his GOFUNDME(1 Dollar equals 10.96 SEK) and CHUFFED (Chuffed allows dollars)

vetted here

[joannasteez]

Imagine this:

Hello! Have you ever heard of a "city of the dead"?

It's a place where the living reside, but they're dead! They're doomed to die, either quickly through direct targeting or slowly due to the absence of vitality in their city

Wherever you turn, you find nothing but death, displacement, homelessness, destruction, hunger, thirst, ignorance, disease, and rampant infection.

It's my city! It was fully with life until the butchers passed through it! Since the beginning of the massacres, I've been struggling to save myself and my family.

I am Mohammed from Gaza I’m sharing my story with hope in my heart, because your kindness has already given us so much strength.

a 31-year-old living amidst the war in Gaza, a place deeply affected by conflict and hardship. I hold a Bachelor degree in Medical Laboratory Sciences , I graduated with very good But Unfortunately, I did not get a job opportunity.

my family

Before the outbreak of war, my family and I had a comfortable life in our beautiful home filled with cherished memories. However, since the conflict began, our lives have been turned upside down. We now find ourselves living in a small tent, exposed to the harsh elements and constant threat of violence.

Our home, which once embraced us, is now destroyed It became a remembrance

👉 Watch the video

A picture of me and my family in front of our destroyed house.

👉Our house was bombed in the 2008 escalation and we built it, and also in the 2014 escalation the house was destroyed again and we rebuilt it, and in this 2023/2024 war the house was also destroyed.

Every time we start again, the Israeli occupation destroys us again

Life is unbearable. It has become hell for us. destruction, no education, no future

We can't stand it anymore

The situation here is dire. Food and basic necessities are scarce, and famine and malnutrition have become rampant. Our lives are hanging by a thread, and we fear for the safety and well-being of our children every single day.

The cost of living here has become extremely high. All of our resources are going towards securing food and trying to escape from disaster, desperately seeking a lifeline.

We are yearning to escape this nightmare and rebuild our lives in a safe place.

However, the cost of traveling to a safer area was beyond our means.

Each ticket cost $5000 per person,

a sum that was impossible for us to bear. Now, the border crossing is closed, and things continue to worsen.

We want to collect donations to leave Gaza if the crossing opens

That's why I am reaching out to you, dear friends. Your generosity and compassion can make all the difference for me and my family. Your donations will enable us to flee this war-torn region and start anew, away from the horrors of conflict and instability.

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

$5 may seem small, but for us, it’s a little relief, a moment of comfort, and a reminder that kindness still exists. ❤️

Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #533 )✅️

verified by @bilal-sala7 ✅️ ( #36 )

With all my love and gratitude

Mohammed and family

Donation Link

[joannasteez]

my propaganda is working

Featuring: Dr. Jack Abbott x Nurse!Fem Reader Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: 18+, smut, some angst, and some fluff. Dr. Abbott is your boyfriend your boss but things have been off lately...until now.

If there was a discussion that needed to be had at 4 a.m., surely it would be about a case. Something important and worthy of the time that would and should otherwise be spent in the Pitt. 

Yet there were no words leaving Jack's mouth, or yours for that matter. A quiet groan or a whimper, something in between, and a ruffling of your scrubs where his palm ran up your back. Hot and holding you to him as you sat on top of him, thighs at his sides like you were holding him in your own way. Your hands preoccupied with his scrubs, too, fingers sliding underneath them to feel the taut yet smooth skin of his abs. The fact that he’d shaved since the last time you were with him like this was something you didn’t expect — but then again, you didn't expect to be straddling him in his backseat tonight.

4 a.m. was a strange time here. It could be a hotbed of bodies in chairs or rooms writhing, voices wailing, and headaches churning in your skull that you had to at best, find a breather to take an ibuprofen that might kick in before your shift ended; and at worst, ignore the pain and carry on with your cases. Or there could be hardly any cases at all at this hour, the Pitt and its beds still full but your patients were content and you were caught up. At least for fifteen minutes or so. 

And you almost felt bad to spend those fifteen minutes here, on Jack's lap, his palms settling on your waist before they decided to settle lower. A handful of your bottom that made you give him another little sound as your mouth pressed to his, still no words, because maybe they weren't needed right now. 

Maybe there had been enough said beforehand, what with you at his side as his preferred R3 because you are one of the best on the floor — following each other in and out of rooms, talking cases, medicines, diagnoses, exams, injuries, treatments. No time to truly discuss anything intimate, or rather the lack of it, since patients come first. Your relationship came second…while on the clock at least. And that was how you both liked it, throwing yourselves into the night shift that came with enough of its own darkness to offset any gloom that may have lingered in your bones before you stepped foot through the door. 

Because things haven't been great with Jack, not lately. And you hadn't really found the time to say anything about it. Neither had he to you. Those darker, crazier nights that give you headaches would give him a reason to stand on the roof of the hospital. You knew he'd always come back down, but you still worried. Worried that work was too much for him, that this was too much for him. Having to put on two masks instead of one when he got around you on shift because no one needed to know you two were together — and they certainly didn’t need to know your drama. Or whatever this relationship and the emotions that came with it could be considered. Four months of short encounters at work that finally led to long dinners or movie dates or hiding under his sheets in his apartment uptown.

If it was work or the secrets you decided to keep while at work that caused this two week strain, the little escape you both got from it all now could maybe help. Especially if you both let the friction between you turn from rough to warm. And Jack was very warm, his bare chest still touched with hair that you liked to feel beneath your palms. He'd helped you out of your top, as well, leaning in with warm kisses on your collarbone that trailed to the hem of your bra. A sort of whine caught in your throat as his hand cupped your breast, kneading you softly before his fingers tugged just enough to let his mouth find your nipple. Here, you were grateful for the dark. The shadows of the parking garage and the silence that was filled only with his sounds and yours. The slosh of his tongue on you, working in small circles, before his lips wrapped around you with a suckle. The light breath on your skin growing heavy when your fingers sought to graze the bulge in his pants. Still no words.

Just his eyes on yours when you held your panties to the side as you lowered yourself on him. A soft pull of his bottom lip between his teeth before they parted with a whispering almost-curse, the word not fully forming as a hushed moan took its place. Your lips softly pulled at his with a kiss when you felt him making you full, his name nearly slipping off your tongue but not his legal one. A pet name you had rarely called him because it would perhaps be too intimate, too familiar, but the way he pinned you to his lap, the way his thick, dragging thrusts made you grip his shoulders with a bite of your nails…it was a close call. 

Would that confession make him feel better? Would it make you feel better? Would it resolve any of the tension you'd both chalked up to these insane nights that was likely driving you insane? Maybe…maybe if you two were finally honest. But as your lids lowered and your heartbeat soared, the only thing you could be honest about was how Jack made you feel in this moment. When your defenses were down, when he held you, when you let yourself go, when he watched you in awe. Something about the way your moans got airy as it got good, the heat lapping at every inch of you, and he knew how to do that for you easily. Something about the way he squeezed you in his hands as he felt you fluttering around him, and you knew that feeling made him groan as that heat began to lap at him, too. 

A silent shift in positions, the backseat thankfully spacious, a gentle tap on your thigh to get you on your hands and knees for him. Jack's hands found your hips as his own rocked into you, pressing deep, until you cried tenderly, until he squeezed at you again, a grunt on lips that you nurtured, arching your back to move on him until he squeezed you tighter. Your hair that was usually swept back with a scrunchie falling into your face, a twinge of sweat on your forehead that caught the wisps to your skin as there wasn't enough foresight to roll all the windows down. Just enough to make a little time to be alone, make each other finally say things that would have remained a hesitant thought in the dark.

“Baby.” Your voice small and sweet when his body fell over you as he tucked an arm under you, his lips tucked in the crook of your shoulder. Holding you close as he held the headrest with his other arm extended, finding the balance, the angle, to make your moans slip into the air along with his own. “I missed you.”

“Missed you more.” His words a low, shaky groan back to you with a long kiss to your neck, feeling you tremble slightly as your head hung low before your cheek smudged to the leather seat. Your hair still covering your face and you felt his nose nudge through, another kiss on your jaw. “Missed you more.”

. . .

4 a.m.

Thanks for reading! Read more of my stuff here, if ya care. 🖤

[joannasteez]

new normals

pairing: jack abbott x reader warning: some slight angst? fluff. hurt and comfort, my bread and butter authors note: my first jack fic!!! lets fuckin go! apologies if its a lil ooc, im still getting my footing with him. word count: 875 beansss

we make our normal. making things take place, over and over, or even, the things that take place make us. will of the world meeting all the mess that resides on the inside. we don't always make our normal though, do we? skin like clay and blood like water. those outside of us intentions forming us up so grand and terrible until we have no choice but to come into the shape it's ready for us to be. jack thinks normal is a compromise, maybe. a touch of some of everything, like being what you want it to be, what you make it and what it makes you. 

normal was blood and dust and bone. war pitching a tent in the heart. the ground undone from a shift and a boom. explosions and popping recoil. soldiers, and their skin coming apart like paper. his hands covered with so much blood his nail beds tinged pink for weeks at a time. the grain and grime of the earth, caked in his hair and smeared at the face. 

normal is the calm amidst the storm. a brush stroke of red painting over the whole of the emergency room, but the stillness takes him all the same. one normal traded in for another, not so dissimilar. that fast moving horror, like sisters, or mirrors. war and death and life leaving, some with kicks and screams and others too quiet to be recognized. him, wired, so tight to save, drudging through hell with two hands, but still with the unfortunate knowing, that he'll have to fall back when his all just isn't enough to do the impossible. 

normal is the pressure and pain after too much standing. beer on his tongue and his palm soothing over where the prosthetic fits at his leg. 

normal is a touch of some of everything, like being what he wants it to be, what he makes it, and what it makes him. 

and there ain't much wrong with this type of normal is there? key in the door and a singular sweetness greeting him. lavender and smooth jazz and creaky hardwood as he moves to sit on the living room couch. normal now, is waiting for you to appear, sure footed and a thumb lifting to skim his cheek. kneeling into the cushion beside him, your eyes like his own hands, ready to examine with the urge to save. and normal is letting you close enough to look so deeply, him sitting in all this ache and exhaustion, a silent presentation, growing weary some even, at the idea that someone else has a gaze that holds as strongly as his does. 

from his cheek to combing a hand through his hair, a smile pulling soft. "how you feelin' old man?"

his fingers motion, a weak come hither that gets you slipping into his lap easy. a deep sigh and a firm dig to settle his touch into your thighs. a type of grounding he supposes. another new normal. warmth and a different type of fluttering in the chest that leaves him speechless sometimes. "pretty fuckin' terrible". 

and there you go still, nailing and tugging dull at his short grays. a dizzying effect that lulls him in, your tenderness of voice doing the rest. "i don't think they have a cure for that just yet, not the good kind anyway". 

"why do you think i'm here? m'not showin' my mug for shits and giggles". 

your arms gather about his neck, and his about your waist. nudging your nose to his own and teasing the delicate play of a kiss at his lips. the faintness of it so true he's chasing it quick just the keep the possibility of the feeling. a wordless confession, or rather, maybe, an incontrollable reveal of all the stuff he's yet to say. 

"s'alright to say the quiet part out loud sometimes jack".

"meaning?" 

a kiss at the corner of his mouth and he's a small ways away from mush. one of your hands coming in to press at his chest, rubbing nicely, as if to coax out the things you'd like to hear. his hands growing tired, palms flattening to sit at your waist, eyes dimmed and an itch at the lips to kiss you still. 

"a woman knows when she's needed". 

"wanted". he corrects. raspy and frail. either from exhaustion or from the anxieties of such a grand feeling admission, he isn't sure. 

you only hum, short and acknowledging. not wanting to linger too much in the wake of that vulnerability for fear that he might shrink. might withdraw his short words of passion in the future. licking into his mouth for a kiss. your lips pulling soft and your fingers even more so in his hair. a short, tight moan singing, before another one, longer, drawling and not so graceful, but you don't seem to care. smiling small. pecking sweetly, once, and then twice, before breaking for breath. 

"you knew i was coming". 

"i saw the news. figured you wouldn't wanna go home". 

jack's eyes roll, a smile to follow. "because you know me so well huh?" 

"you're here aren't you?" 

another one of your smiles, slipping in easy, another fine thing added to his list of new normals. 

[joannasteez]

Save My Brother Samer’s Life 🚨

If you scroll past this, you are ignoring a life that can be saved.

I’m writing as a brother watching Samer struggle for survival. His health has deteriorated to the point of falling into a coma, and we are unable to provide him with the necessary treatment. 💔

Samer suffers from bipolar disorder, and his stability relied on daily medications including LeponeX (Clozapine), Depalept Chrono (Sodium Valproate), and Lithium CO3 (Lithium Carbonate). These medications helped stabilize him, but without them, his health has worsened significantly. Every moment is crucial, and the pain and worry are relentless. 😞

There is no place for my brother in the hospital, and we cannot secure the treatment he needs. Imagine being unable to help your own brother as he struggles, without a way to provide the medicine he needs to recover.

Your donation could be the only hope to bring Samer back to life, giving him a chance to heal and come back to us. 🙏

Every contribution, no matter how small, could make a tremendous difference in saving Samer’s life. 💙

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[joannasteez]

thank u for feeding us friend

Featuring: Damian Priest x Black Fem Reader x Drew McIntyre Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, and such because I am the author of my own universe aaaand this is a pairing I'd like to experience see written about more, I think... Word Count: 1.2k

Happy reading! Read my other Damian and Drew stories here, if you'd like. ✨

Sweet skin made supple with cherry oil that didn’t add the flavor he liked, no, that was all you. Damian was particular about what scents could grace your sweet skin. He liked how you tasted all your own. The oil was merely an accent, something to nudge his nose at the back of your knee as he held your shin in his hands. 

Your foot pressed to his lap, covered in sheer, black tights that let the pretty brown of your skin through. The fabric went up to your thigh, actually, about mid-way, and the rest was laced with a matching garter that attached to the belt along your black, silk thong, and a little further up your bustier had the same feel and look. An ensemble piece your man had prepared for you because just like your fragrance, he believed he knew best how to dress your sweet body, too.

His thumbs worked in little, light circles at your calf, the beginnings of a massage to love on you, loosen you up. You didn’t need much as just one whiff of his cologne went right to your head, right through your limbs with a warm thrill that left you craving the scent all over you like the cherry oil.

A soft sigh left your lips, pouted and pink with gloss, as you sat perched on his downy sheets, a stark red that warmed the rich color of your sweet skin. You thought perhaps this was on purpose, too, Damian wanting to see you glow, inside and out. He watched you now as your head lolled slightly to your right shoulder as he kneaded his thumbs on a soft spot just above your knee and you sighed for him again.

“Look at my sweet girl,” he spoke then, confirming the soft gleam in his dark eyes was a lustful one yet there was something unspoken still in the depths of them — something you trusted him to reveal if you behaved as your lips tugged with a relaxed smile. You still put in a little effort, though, to sit up on your elbows and watch him, too, watch how his big hands swallowed your thigh as he rubbed up and up, slowly. And when you sighed again, he smiled this time, a lazy swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip, before he murmured, “Feelin’ good?”

“Yes, papa,” you whispered back, maybe a little slurred and you weren’t even tipsy. You were simply intoxicated by him, the waft of his cologne that swept over you the closer he leaned in between your thighs to massage you. The heat of him quite heady, he was a big man, big like his palms, wide and warm and wrapped around you, thick thumbs trailing steadily up and up along your inner thigh. “Mmm.”

A light chuckle left Damian’s nostrils, a peak of his tongue again as he licked his lips at the sight of you like this. “You about to let go for me already? All I did was rub on you a little.” Those lips stayed parted as he and his bulky frame bent over, making the space between your thighs to kiss the skin the peeked above your thong. “Can you hold on for me, baby? I got somethin’ for you.”

And if you weren’t feeling a little fuzzy from his lips tracing at that peak of skin, making you tingle as he kissed at your mound behind your thong that clung to you with a soft dampness, his words made your mind fog over with the possibilities. Your lips tried to form a “What is it?” but he was quicker to answer your silent question with his tongue and a swirl of it at the center of your thong. The fuzz in your head spreaded over your sweet skin that he still rubbed.

If this was the surprise — the skill on the tip of his tongue that could part you and taste you all while you were still clothed in silk, albeit messy silk from that dampness that he made soaked until his name stained your lips — you were satisfied. However, that wasn’t the surprise, especially when he pulled back right as you felt the satisfaction beginning to reach its peak.

The heat on your skin rising, anyway, when you heard his bedroom door open with a soft creak. Your eyes fluttered in that direction and from Damian keeping you suspended in the flick of his tongue that he slowly brought back to you, the careful curl of it bringing your thighs to gather around his head that he held in those hands. And maybe the ring of your moan was the signal for that door to be ajar, a tall, brutish figure slipping in quietly despite the long and heavy black boots on his feet. 

You knew those boots, the figure, the tallness lowering himself to your height on the bed, the tendrils of his dark hair grazing your cheeks before his soft lips did for a kiss to greet you for the first time in a while and lead your lips to follow his for a second kiss. The scruff of his mustache tickling your skin like the pads of his wide fingertips beneath your chin, breaking the kiss that nearly took all of your lip gloss with it, his words hushed yet husky in his Scottish snark you missed. “Greedy already?”

You could have defended yourself, throw a bit of snark back at him, but you were quite defenseless, disarmed by Damian and his mouth that moved to your inner thigh to almost let you breathe without a stammer, and yet his hand that wasn’t holding your thigh was finding the seam of your thong with a couple of fingers. Not to pull to the side but sneak in, a lush push in, just to the top knuckle, just to listen to your soft sighs that Drew assisted to coax with his own fingers. Leaving your chin to skim along your sweet skin, down the bustier, and over that soaked fabric to sweep in circles, just above the nudge of Damian’s touch sinking deeper.

And if you were ready to let go from two hands, four was better. That fourth tugging gently with a grip of hair to bring your mouth back to his and taste the greed in your kisses, on your tongue, easing onto the bed beside you. His nose fell to your neck to inhale that cherry oil, a rumble in his chest like he was pleased with his off and on pal’s choice for you. Because you were the only thing they could ever truly agree about. That a woman like you deserved whatever she desired…and should you desire not just one but two men to be all over you…

“Sweet girl,” Drew breathed on your skin with a kiss, that familiar name rolling off his tongue in a different way that you liked, his fingers steadily tracing the shapes you liked on your sweet spot. Your hips tilted for a firmer, greedier, touch — and accidentally helped you feel the full shape of Damian’s fingers to the hilt.

Your breath got lost in the air of the room as you didn’t merely feel fuzzy but drunk on the pleasure that was delayed if only for them to see and hear you like this. Your sweet body on display in their hands, a slight tremble, and your sweet groans in their ears, a heightened melody they both could make you sing. 

As it was a mutual effort from both men, and certainly your man, because they knew you quite well. But it was Drew’s voice like a deep purr at your ear to make you grasp the sheets as another tremble rocked through you, the haughtiness in his tone as delicious as Damian's kisses to your skin. “Look at you...you were waitin’ to cum just for me, weren’t you?”

. . .

Sweet Girl

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[joannasteez]

if it sucks hit da bricks <- litany against sunk cost

take it easy but take it <- litany against burnout/apathy cycle

fuck it we ball <- litany against perfectionism

now say something beautiful and true <- litany against irony poisoning

[joannasteez]

new normals

pairing: jack abbott x reader warning: some slight angst? fluff. hurt and comfort, my bread and butter authors note: my first jack fic!!! lets fuckin go! apologies if its a lil ooc, im still getting my footing with him. word count: 875 beansss

we make our normal. making things take place, over and over, or even, the things that take place make us. will of the world meeting all the mess that resides on the inside. we don't always make our normal though, do we? skin like clay and blood like water. those outside of us intentions forming us up so grand and terrible until we have no choice but to come into the shape it's ready for us to be. jack thinks normal is a compromise, maybe. a touch of some of everything, like being what you want it to be, what you make it and what it makes you. 

normal was blood and dust and bone. war pitching a tent in the heart. the ground undone from a shift and a boom. explosions and popping recoil. soldiers, and their skin coming apart like paper. his hands covered with so much blood his nail beds tinged pink for weeks at a time. the grain and grime of the earth, caked in his hair and smeared at the face. 

normal is the calm amidst the storm. a brush stroke of red painting over the whole of the emergency room, but the stillness takes him all the same. one normal traded in for another, not so dissimilar. that fast moving horror, like sisters, or mirrors. war and death and life leaving, some with kicks and screams and others too quiet to be recognized. him, wired, so tight to save, drudging through hell with two hands, but still with the unfortunate knowing, that he'll have to fall back when his all just isn't enough to do the impossible. 

normal is the pressure and pain after too much standing. beer on his tongue and his palm soothing over where the prosthetic fits at his leg. 

normal is a touch of some of everything, like being what he wants it to be, what he makes it, and what it makes him. 

and there ain't much wrong with this type of normal is there? key in the door and a singular sweetness greeting him. lavender and smooth jazz and creaky hardwood as he moves to sit on the living room couch. normal now, is waiting for you to appear, sure footed and a thumb lifting to skim his cheek. kneeling into the cushion beside him, your eyes like his own hands, ready to examine with the urge to save. and normal is letting you close enough to look so deeply, him sitting in all this ache and exhaustion, a silent presentation, growing weary some even, at the idea that someone else has a gaze that holds as strongly as his does. 

from his cheek to combing a hand through his hair, a smile pulling soft. "how you feelin' old man?"

his fingers motion, a weak come hither that gets you slipping into his lap easy. a deep sigh and a firm dig to settle his touch into your thighs. a type of grounding he supposes. another new normal. warmth and a different type of fluttering in the chest that leaves him speechless sometimes. "pretty fuckin' terrible". 

and there you go still, nailing and tugging dull at his short grays. a dizzying effect that lulls him in, your tenderness of voice doing the rest. "i don't think they have a cure for that just yet, not the good kind anyway". 

"why do you think i'm here? m'not showin' my mug for shits and giggles". 

your arms gather about his neck, and his about your waist. nudging your nose to his own and teasing the delicate play of a kiss at his lips. the faintness of it so true he's chasing it quick just the keep the possibility of the feeling. a wordless confession, or rather, maybe, an incontrollable reveal of all the stuff he's yet to say. 

"s'alright to say the quiet part out loud sometimes jack".

"meaning?" 

a kiss at the corner of his mouth and he's a small ways away from mush. one of your hands coming in to press at his chest, rubbing nicely, as if to coax out the things you'd like to hear. his hands growing tired, palms flattening to sit at your waist, eyes dimmed and an itch at the lips to kiss you still. 

"a woman knows when she's needed". 

"wanted". he corrects. raspy and frail. either from exhaustion or from the anxieties of such a grand feeling admission, he isn't sure. 

you only hum, short and acknowledging. not wanting to linger too much in the wake of that vulnerability for fear that he might shrink. might withdraw his short words of passion in the future. licking into his mouth for a kiss. your lips pulling soft and your fingers even more so in his hair. a short, tight moan singing, before another one, longer, drawling and not so graceful, but you don't seem to care. smiling small. pecking sweetly, once, and then twice, before breaking for breath. 

"you knew i was coming". 

"i saw the news. figured you wouldn't wanna go home". 

jack's eyes roll, a smile to follow. "because you know me so well huh?" 

"you're here aren't you?" 

another one of your smiles, slipping in easy, another fine thing added to his list of new normals.