#drink a few beers and catch up on each other’s life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daryltwdixon · 2 months ago

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Summary: Neither you or Joel had realized the fallout of facing each other after trying for a baby—something that never would have happened if Tommy could have given you one himself. And when the first time doesn't stick, you're back at Joel's door, asking for another favor.

|| smut MNDI 18+, pinv, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, no outbreak, not cheating but still def not kosher!!! don't do this!!!, breeding kink, rule breaking, baby making, talk of infertility, joel is absolutely filthy when he's turned on what can I say || notes: Tommy, hunny, if you're reading this, im sorry. im sure you're great in bed. im sorry this got so long!!! I was hella sick the past couple days and mightve wrote this with a fever sooo

You hadn’t meant for it to change anything.

In the days after the first time you… tried with Joel, you hadn’t really spoken to him. He’d left in a hurry, barely looking at you as he pulled his clothes back on, and you’d been too drunk on the aftershocks of what was possibly the best orgasm of your life to really think about what came next. Not until the hours stretched into days, and the reality of what you’d done started to settle in.

Now, standing by the pool in the thick, hazy heat of late summer, you realized just how weird it was going to be when you saw him again.

It was Frankie’s birthday, the last big cookout of the season—an annual thing the Morales family threw without fail, and especially this year with Marie now expecting their first baby. The beer was always cold, there was always too much food, and the night always ended with everyone gathered around the fire pit, full and tipsy and laughing. You’d been coming to these parties for years, always bringing appetizers, just as the Miller brothers always brought the beer. It was tradition. Comfortable.

Except this time, nothing felt comfortable at all.

You were in your string bikini, your loose, sheer cover-up thrown over the lounge chair you inhabited, still slick from the last dip in the pool. The air smelled like sunscreen and charcoal smoke, the buzz of cicadas tangled with the sound of splashing and distant laughter. You had just grabbed your drink from the poolside table when movement caught your eye.

Joel.

He was stepping into the backyard, a case of Miller Lite hooked in one hand, his other hand pushing through his hair. He looked good—annoyingly good—worn jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sunglasses tucked into the collar. He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched. Not because of him—of course not—but because the moment stretched just a little too long.

And then Tommy turned, sitting next to you with an easy, unaware grin, and Joel’s eyes flicked to his brother like he’d just been caught red-handed. He gave an awkward nod—more of a grunt than a greeting—before turning on his heel and heading straight for the house.

You flushed.

Right. This was going to be weird.

Tommy laughed, like he hadn’t noticed the way you went red beside him. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting to his feet. “Guess I better go say a proper hello before he drinks all the beer himself.”

And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you sitting there, drink in hand, watching the back door swing shut behind Joel.

The sun was starting to dip lower, stretching long golden streaks over the yard, and you were starting to feel it—the kind of lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion that came from too much heat, too much pool water, maybe one drink too many. The party was still going strong, laughter rising over the music, but you were more than happy to hover near the patio with a few of the other wives in the shade.

You hadn’t seen much of Joel.

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse—his broad shoulders making their way through the small crowd, the sound of his laughter, the sun catching in his hair—but he never seemed to linger anywhere long. It was like he was playing some kind of unspoken game, orbiting close enough that you were aware of him but never so close that you had to speak.

Which was fine.

It was fine.

You were definitely not hyper-aware of him. Not tracking his presence without meaning to. Not letting the memory of the filthy things he said to you crawl into your head every time you glimpsed those big, soulful eyes.

You exhaled, shaking the thought loose just as Marie called your name. She stood at the grill next to her husband who was flipping burgers, her hands full of side dishes that had to be put out for dinner.

"Can you grab the potato salad from the fridge?" she asked, nodding toward the house. "I meant to bring it out, but my hands are too full!"

"Yeah, of course," you said, already stepping toward the back door.

The second you slipped inside, the air-conditioning cooled the heat still clinging to your skin, the quiet settling heavy after the constant hum of the party outside. It felt nice. Like taking a breath you hadn’t realized you needed.

The house was mostly empty, everyone still out in the yard, and for a brief moment, you let yourself just enjoy the quiet. Then you stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

He was standing near the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other loose around a beer as he looked out the kitchen window into the yard. His shoulders tensed when he heard you, but he didn’t turn, just flicked his gaze toward the fridge like that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel.

You ignored the way your pulse kicked up, forcing yourself to be normal. Chill.

“Hey,” you said, casual, like this was fine. Just another Saturday afternoon.

Joel nodded once, barely glancing at you. “Hey.”

Oookay.

You moved toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. “Just need to grab something for Marie,” you said, reaching for the container of potato salad.

Joel exhaled, shifting to the side so you had more room, but he still didn’t look at you. His grip flexed around his beer, his jaw tight like he was concentrating very hard on ignoring you.

Fine.

Grabbing the container, you shut the fridge and turned to leave, but you found yourself hesitating.

You sighed, shifting your grip on the bowl before turning back around. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “Like what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “The awkward. The avoiding.” You paused, tilting your head. “You can’t even look at me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before his eyes flicked to yours—quick, hesitant. “I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

You huffed out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah. For the first time all day.”

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, his fingers tapping once against the beer bottle. “Ain’t avoidin’ you.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

Joel sighed through his nose, glancing at the floor before dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he admitted, “maybe a little.”

You crossed your arms, letting that hang in the air for a second.

Joel took a long breath like he was trying to collect his thoughts. Then he finally—finally—looked at you, really looked at you, with something almost hesitant in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, low but firm. “You’re right.”

Your arms loosened slightly, tension easing just a fraction. “I do that a lot.”

Joel huffed a little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down—quick, instinctive, before he caught himself and looked away. But not fast enough. You saw it.

The humidity outside had been enough to keep you from throwing your cover-up back on after the pool, but now, standing here in the cool dim light of the kitchen, it felt like a mistake. The shift in temperature sent a shiver across your skin, every inch of you laid bare in nothing but damp, clinging fabric. You knew this bikini was thin but damn your nipples for hardening in the sudden cool air. Water still beaded along your collarbone, trailing in slow, lazy rivulets down your stomach, disappearing beneath the tiny scraps of your bikini.

And it seemed like Joel was very aware of these things as well.

You weren’t sure if he swallowed, but you thought you saw his jaw go tight. Then, just as fast, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach. Was he thinking about that night, too?

Not supposed to. That was Rule #2.

Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it outside the four walls of your bedroom.

Joel cleared his throat. “You feelin’ alright and all?”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”

His fingers tightened around his beer bottle. “Any signs yet?”

Oh.

You shifted your weight, trying to collect yourself. “No. Won’t know for a few more days. Won’t show up on a test yet.”

Joel nodded, looking thoughtful, like that was news to him. His gaze flicked downward again—this time, toward your stomach.

“Did Tommy not tell you that part?” you asked, amused despite yourself.

His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.”

You smirked. “You mean you didn’t ask.”

Joel scoffed, almost like a chuckle, shaking his head. “Wasn’t exactly a conversation I was rushin’ to have with my brother. Haven’t… had to think about this stuff in 15 years.”

That made you laugh—a soft, breathy thing—and just like that, something tilted in the air between you.

The tension didn’t go away. It just… changed.

Joel was still standing where he was, but now it felt like he was closer, and he was even smiling a little bit.

Maybe you were the one who had stepped closer.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the space had shrunk, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The air between you was buzzing, and you could feel his presence—solid, warm, steady across from you.

Joel’s fingers flexed once against the counter. His gaze flicked down again—quick, but not quick enough.

This time, when his eyes met yours, he didn’t immediately look away.

And neither did you.

The kitchen was quiet.

Not just in the absence of sound, but in the way the air felt thick, in the way neither of you spoke, in the way neither of you moved.

But you weren’t imagining it.

Joel’s eyes were still on you, his body still angled slightly toward yours, and you were very aware of the space between you.

Your skin prickled, still damp from the pool, and you wondered again if he was thinking about that night. If the way his fingers flexed against the counter meant he remembered how they’d felt on your skin. If the way he swallowed meant he was trying real hard not to think about the words you exchanged, low, filthy, depraved–

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment like a stone thrown into still water.

“Y’all hidin’ in here?” Tommy’s voice was easy, oblivious as he crossed the threshold, already making a beeline for the fridge.

“What?” you squeaked, “No, why’d we be hiding?”

Oh god. Your stomach flipped as heat prickled up your spine. Why the hell had you said it like that?

Tommy, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“It’s hot as hell out there. Think I saw Frank fannin’ himself with a paper plate like some old lady in church.”

Joel straightened immediately, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just snapped to attention. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the beer bottle. “Damn near a hundred degrees, I’d say. Just… takin’ a minute.”

Tommy barely looked up, cracking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer for himself, glancing toward you. “That for Marie?”

You nodded, heart still kicking a little harder than it should. “Yeah.”

“Good. She was about five seconds from sending out a search party for it.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose—maybe a huff of a laugh, maybe just a breath—but he made sure to avert his eyes from you now.

You just nodded once, shifting the container in your arms before turning on your heel and walking out the way you came.

Joel

A week had passed, the tightness of unspoken things curling around him until the evening settled low one night and Joel finally started to relax.

The TV’s blue light flickered against the golden glow siphoning through the blinds, the last rays of daylight painting the floorboards in long, slanted streaks. The house was quiet aside from the hum of the sitcom playing, its canned laughter punctuated by the real thing—Sarah, curled up beside him on the arm of the couch, feet tucked up against his thigh as she giggled at another dumb joke.

But Joel was distracted.

He’d been distracted for days, really.

It wasn’t just the wrongness of it—though there was plenty of that, enough to make his gut twist every time he let himself linger too long on it.

It was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling it.

The way you’d tightened up around him, shuddering, gasping, falling apart with his name on your lips. The way you’d let him take you, let him fill you, let him say things he had no right to say.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Wouldn’t let himself remember the way you felt, the way you sounded, wrecked and breathless beneath him. Wouldn’t let himself think about how easy it had been to lose himself in it, to let every filthy thought spill from his mouth like he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

But you.

You had let him. Had taken everything he gave you, had needed it.

And worse than any of it—the thing that really messed him up—was knowing that Tommy, his own brother, couldn’t make you finish the way he had.

That knowledge had settled deep in his bones, twisting something dark and selfish in his gut. That he was the one who had made you come apart like that. That only he had. And God help him, but the idea stroked his ego like a cat purring into your hand. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.

And maybe that was why, when the knock came, it took him a second to register it.

Joel blinked, dragging himself out of his own damn head. He turned to Sarah, their eyes meeting in confusion. “You expectin’ anyone?” he asked. Sarah shook her head, brow furrowing. Joel exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch with a few protesting cracks in his knees before heading for the door, rubbing at the tension settled in his jaw before pulling it open.

For a second, he had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.

You stood on his porch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, stuffed into the front pocket, your hair mussed from the evening breeze. The light had dipped enough that everything was softer now, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t hide the red rimming your eyes, the way your shoulders curled in just slightly.

Joel’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sarah appeared beside him.

He watched as your expression shifted instantly, the smile pulling at your lips effortless, natural. A mask, maybe—but a convincing one.

“Auntie!” Sarah beamed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you. And just like that, your smile became real. He saw the way your eyes softened as you hugged her back, tucking your chin briefly over the top of her head.

Sarah pulled away just enough to grin up at you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Your gaze flicked between her and Joel before settling back on Sarah. “Was wonderin’ if I could steal your dad for a sec,” you said easily, voice light, “that okay?”

“Please,” Sarah teased, shooting Joel a smirk. “Any chance to take him off my hands is always appreciated.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as Sarah turned back toward the couch, giggling to herself. But when he looked back at you, the brightness from a moment ago had already dimmed. The smile had slipped—not completely, but enough. Your lips were still quirked at the edges, but your eyes… your eyes looked tired.

Joel exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you sighed, shifting slightly on your feet. “Can we talk?”

There was something in your voice, something heavy, something that sat thick in the air between you. And Joel knew. He knew what this had to be about, but that didn’t stop his mind from racing, didn’t stop the sudden, gnawing pull in his gut as a dozen worst-case scenarios started clawing their way forward.

Were you here to tell him it was all a mistake? That he should’ve never come near you like that, never agreed to something so ridiculous? Were you going to say you couldn’t look at him the same, that you didn’t want to, that whatever had happened between you was too far over some invisible line?

Or worse—were you here to cut him out entirely? To tell him he was done, that he’d never step foot in your house again, never see the baby he had tried to put in you?

The thought settled cold in his stomach, but he didn’t let it show. He just jerked his head toward the hall, leading you through the quiet house and out to the back door.

The porch creaked beneath your weight as you moved, wordless, settling onto the old swing. Joel followed, standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the railing. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

Your eyes were fixed on the pool in the yard—the above-ground one he’d put in for Sarah and her friends this summer, the water still rippling from whatever movement had last disturbed it. The tubes and pool rafts floated aimlessly, bobbing in the quiet evening breeze.

But you weren’t really looking at them. Joel could tell your stare was a thousand miles away.

Just say it, he thought. Just tell me you think it was all a mistake, so I can stop going crazy in my head.

“It didn’t work,” you finally said, voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and for a moment, all he could do was look.

You were beautiful in the dying light—soft gold settling over your features, catching in the moisture gathering in your eyes. Your chin wobbled, lips parting slightly as you sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control.

His chest ached.

Joel had never been good at this. Never been the type for soft reassurances or knowing what to say when someone was hurting. But he couldn’t just stand there, not when you looked like this. So he moved, stiff and uncertain, stepping toward the swing before lowering himself onto it beside you.

The wood groaned slightly beneath his weight and for a second he hesitated, fingers twitching against his thigh. Then, after a beat, he lifted a hand and rested it on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sound you let out was small, choked, a breath away from a sob. Your hands flew up to your face as your shoulders curled inward, your body trembling against the weight of it.

And then—before he could react—you turned into him. Pressed your face against his chest, curled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel stiffened.

For a long, still moment, he didn’t move, his body locked up tight. His breath was shallow, caught somewhere in his throat, but the sound of you—soft, muffled cries against his shirt, the uneven tremble of your breath—made his chest pull even tighter.

Carefully, slowly, he let his arm settle around you.

He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer, but he could do this. He could be solid. He could be warm. He could let his fingers trace slow, steady strokes over your arm, grounding you, letting you take what you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

You sniffled, your body shifting as you pulled back slightly. It was like you suddenly realized how close you were, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but clearer now.

“It’s—” you exhaled shakily, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “It’s okay. Not your fault, of course.”

Your shoulder still pressed lightly against his, and Joel’s arm, solid and steady around you, didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort you or to keep himself grounded, but his thumb was still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your arm, like if he stopped, something might shift in a way he wasn’t ready for.

The quiet between you stretched, thick and full, the weight of everything that had transpired the past few weeks hanging in the warm evening air. The swing creaked softly beneath you, the distant chirp of crickets threading through the silence, but neither of you spoke.

Joel wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if you even wanted him to fix it. So he just sat there, his fingers still moving, his eyes still studying you—your profile washed in golden light, the way your lashes were still damp, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

And then—

“Would you…” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

Joel felt like his lungs stopped working, his heart kicking up before he even knew why. You were still staring down at your lap, fingers twisting together, your teeth catching at your lip as you sucked in a breath like you weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to.

You tried again. “Would you be okay with…”

You trailed off, shaking your head. Still not looking at him.

But Joel knew. Knew before you even said it, before the words could form, before you could force yourself to meet his gaze.

“You want to try again?” he asked quietly.

That got you to look at him.

And when your eyes met his, something shifted. Because Joel suddenly realized just how close you were.

Close enough that he could make out every ridge and curve of your soft lips, every delicate flicker of color in your irises, every tiny freckle that summer had kissed onto your skin. He hadn’t noticed it before—not really. Not in the dark of your room, not when he’d been too caught up in the moment to see you the way he did now.

Yes, you were nice-looking—Tommy always had good taste in women. But Joel had never let himself notice something like that. Not before. Not until now, until you were watching him with that hesitant, quiet hope, until something deep and unfamiliar curled in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He could feel you shifting beside him, like you were fighting some sort of urge, like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He got it. He felt it too. That strange, electric wrongness, the awareness that neither of you was saying what you were actually thinking. His fingers twitched where they laid, but he didn’t move them.

“Would you be okay with that?” you asked softly. “I’ll talk to Tommy, see what he thinks, of course. He’s out tonight, but I just—I couldn’t stand being alone. After taking the test this morning, it just felt so empty in the house. It’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. We can figure out something else, maybe a donor or some sort of IVF or surrogacy—”

You were rambling now, your words tumbling out too fast, your hands twisting in your lap, your eyes darting away from his like you didn’t really expect him to say yes.

Joel didn’t know what the hell to do with the mess of feelings twisting inside him as he watched you stumble over your words. It wasn’t like you to hesitate, to second-guess yourself—but now, you were looking anywhere but at him, your fingers fidgeting, your breath uneven. He should’ve let you work through it. Should’ve waited. But before he could think better of it, his hand moved, fingers brushing beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched as he lifted your face toward him, guiding your eyes back to his in a slow, careful motion that had nothing to do with the things he wasn’t supposed to think about.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. And damn him, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered to your lips as they parted when he said, “We can try again.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest as he held your hips, fingers squeezing gently.

His smile was soft, easy—full of the kind of warmth Joel had no business standing in the middle of. There was so much love in your eyes, so much familiarity between you, and Joel felt like he was intruding.

But that didn’t make much sense, did it? You’d both invited him here. You’d both agreed to this. And yet, here he was, sitting on the damn couch, trying not to watch the way you looked at your husband—like you’d rather he stayed, like you weren’t about to let his older brother take his place in your bed for the night.

“Listen, hun,” Tommy said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know how Frank’s been feelin’, all the pressure of havin’ a baby soon. Marie’s gonna pop any day now, and the least the fellas could do was plan a night away.”

You pouted up at him, fingers playing absently in the longer strands of hair at his nape.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking on the wall. The hum of the fridge. The feeling of his own damn skin crawling.

“Joel here’ll take good care of ya,” Tommy said, and Joel’s body locked up.

His head jerked up, his whole body locking up like he’d been physically struck.

When he met Tommy’s gaze, there wasn’t even a flicker of mischief there. No teasing, no knowing smirk. Like he hadn’t just said the worst goddamn innuendo Joel had ever heard in his life.

Christ.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel muttered under his breath, but his brother didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he just ignored him.

Either way, Joel didn’t look. Didn’t watch the way Tommy leaned down, kissed you slow and lingering. Didn’t watch the way you melted into it, or the way his little brother looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Not with what the night had in store for the two of you.

When the door shut behind Tommy a few minutes later, you turned, your eyes flicking to Joel—hesitant, uncertain—before darting away just as fast.

There was no getting over how weird this was.

“Can I… get you something to drink?” you asked from across the room, your voice just a little too casual, like you were trying to make this feel normal.

Joel nodded. Something to take the edge off was exactly what he needed.

With Sarah at a friend’s for the night, there was no rush, no curfew, no reason to be anywhere but here. He could take his time. He should take his time, not rush into it like last time. He still felt bad about how long it had taken him to get it up. But what the hell did anyone expect?

This was weird.

His younger brother asking him to put a baby in his wife.

His sweet, pretty, sexy wife.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Joel cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his jaw as you turned to grab the bottle from the cabinet. His eyes flicked down—just for a second—catching the curve of your waist, the slope of your back as you reached for two glasses.

He needed to get his shit together.

“Whiskey, really?” he asked, surprised.

“I thought it would be for the best. Ya know. Calm the nerves.”

“You’re nervous?” He didn't mean for it to come out so rough, so low and gravely, but something in the way you were standing there, hand wrapped around the wide glass as you looked between him and the drink.

You handed him his glass, fingers brushing, and you pulled away as soon as his hand wrapped around it, grabbing yours and walking into the living room, “Aren’t you?”

Joel brought the glass to his lips, giving himself a second before responding as he sat down across from you. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the look you gave him over the rim of your own glass.

"Wouldn’t call it nervous," he muttered, setting his drink down on the table.

You hummed, taking another sip. "No?"

"Nah." He shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath him. "Just... y’know. Wrappin’ my head around it."

You studied him for a long beat, fingers curled loosely around your glass. "So you’re sayin’ it’s not weird for you at all?"

Joel let out a little chuckle, rubbing his palm over his thigh. "Didn’t say that."

Your lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Maybe more like you were just relieved that he was talking to you again. Something in Joel shifted at the realization. He should’ve been better at this—at talking, at making this easier. At not making things so damn weird.

"Guess I just figured the second time would be easier," you admitted, voice softer now, quieter.

"Easier how?" Joel asked, his hands twitching on his thighs before he grabbed his glass again, taking another sip just to do something.

You hesitated. "Jus’ didn’t expect it to feel so…" Your eyes, previously glued to the contents of your drink, flickered up to meet his. Joel felt his stomach flip, his pulse tick up. Your gaze was steady, unsure but searching, and he could feel it— the weight of it settling somewhere deep in his chest, in the thick, charged air between you.

“Tense.” you finished, and Joel swallowed down his last sip of whiskey, the burn sinking all the way to his gut, welcome this time—anything to settle the fire licking up his spine.

It took a moment before Joel realized the both of you were staring at each other, gazes locked and burning across the room.

The silence stretched, thick and unmoving, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. He should look away, should say something to break whatever spell this was, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His fingers flexed around his empty glass, his breath slow and measured like he was trying real hard not to give himself away.

Then, you blinked, inhaled, and wet your lips before forcing out a quiet, “Should we… get to it, then?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over your face, searching. “That what you wanna do?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, lower, like the whiskey had settled there and refused to budge.

You let out a breathy laugh—nervous, unsure. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just set his empty glass down on the table, slow and deliberate, the soft clink against the wood the only sound between you. Then, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice low, “we got all night, don’t we?”

You nodded, slow, absent, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. Your bare legs shifted slightly, restless, and Joel could see the way your body carried the same tightly wound energy thrumming under his own skin.

And for the first time, he wondered if it wasn’t just him who felt different. If you’d been thinking about that night all along too. If this thing, this quiet, simmering thing between you, had started to crack open something neither of you were ready to face.

Joel swallowed, flexing his fingers against his knees before dragging one hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, but when your eyes lifted to his, there was something there—something nervous, maybe, but certain.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m sure.”

Joel nodded once, slow, measured. “Alright.”

But neither of you moved.

Not yet.

And that might’ve been the worst part, the way the space between you suddenly felt charged, humming, like a live wire sparking at both ends, neither one of you quite willing to touch it first.

Joel finally sat back, spreading his legs slightly, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How you wanna do this?”

The words sent something sharp curling low in his stomach, but he kept his expression even. Neutral. Like this wasn’t the strangest damn conversation he’d ever had in his life.

Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t expected him to ask that, and something flickered in your gaze.

“I…” You hesitated, shifting again. “I don’t know.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like,”

He meant it as a practical question. But the second the words left his mouth, something about them felt different. Felt thick.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, lips parting again—but no words came.

Joel’s fingers flexed where they rested, and then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“C’mere.” His voice was low, rough, unwavering. His other hand patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Your eyes went wide.

Joel’s gaze stayed steady, dark and unreadable, waiting, watching. And when you didn’t move, when you stayed frozen in place, teeth worrying your lip like you weren’t sure if you should—

He tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t be all shy now,” he murmured. “You helped me last time. I’ll help you this time.” A pause, thick with meaning. “Come on, now.”

Your fingers twitched, and then slowly, hesitantly, you moved towards him.

You set down the empty whiskey glass with a soft clink, and Joel caught the slight tremble in your hands as you made your way over to him. You sat beside him, close but not too close, your body angled toward his, but still not touching. He could feel the heat of you, though, could sense the way you hovered in that charged space, your breath just a little uneven.

Your eyes flickered to his, uncertain, waiting.

Joel let the moment stretch before speaking, voice low, rough with the remnants of whiskey and something heavier. “Now,” he drawled, slow and deliberate, as his hand rested on the back of the couch as he turned towards you, “what’s got you all worked up, hm? Why you nervous tonight? Weren’t nervous last time.”

You blinked at him, “Yes, I was.”

Joel shot you a look, brows furrowing slightly.

You were?

Hell, he was the one who’d been in damn ribbons last time, all wound up so tight he couldn’t even get hard at first. But you…you’d been steady, patient, pulling him out of his own head with soft hands and softer words, guiding him through it like you’d done this a thousand times before.

But now, looking at you, at the way your fingers twisted absently in your lap, at the way you were still hesitating, hovering, he realized maybe he’d had it all wrong.

Maybe you’d just been better at hiding it.

Something in him shifted at that thought, something warm and unexpected. And then—just like that—the corner of your mouth quirked up, barely there, but enough.

Enough to break the tension just a little.

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, watching the way your lips twitched with that barely-there smile, the way you shifted in your seat, still wound up tight. You might’ve been trying to play it off, but he could see it now. The way your body was holding something back, how much you were overthinking, just like he had last time.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and edged with something darker.

“How do you usually get off?”

He watched the way your body reacted to the question, your thighs pressing together just slightly, the way your fingers tensed against the couch cushion, like you needed something to hold onto.

“Joel—”

“C’mon, now,” he murmured, tilting his head, gaze flickering down your body before finding your eyes again. “You asked me the same question last time. Let me help you relax, sweetheart.”

Your breath came a little faster now, chest rising and falling, and for a second, Joel thought you might overthink your way out of this. Might shake your head, pull away, break the moment before it could go any further.

“I, um…” Your teeth caught your bottom lip harder now as your eyes flicked away, like you were thinking, trying to find the right words. “Tommy—he usually… he’ll go down on me.”

Joel hummed, urging you on. “Mhm.”

“And usually I’ll get off then—”

“Usually?” Joel interjected without thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you.

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes it takes a while,” you admitted. “So I tell him to give up and—”

“Give up?!” Now Joel was incredulous. His head jerked slightly as he wiped a hand down his face, like he could scrub away the mental image of his little brother trying and failing to make his own damn wife finish on his tongue.

"Jesus Christ."

You gave a small, amused shake of your head. “Not everyone is as talented as you, Joel Miller.”

The words left your mouth so easily, a throwaway comment, but the second you said it, your face went red, realizing what you’d just admitted. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, but Joel wasn’t remotely amused.

Because he’d seen the way you shrugged when you said give up. Like it was normal. Like you didn’t expect anything else.

No. He wasn’t having any of that.

His expression hardened, jaw ticking.

“Lay back.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting as you released your lip from between your teeth. “What?”

“Lay back, dammit. Pants off.”

“Joel, we’re—”

“You keep breakin’ Rule Number Three, doll, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t give a damn about ‘em.” His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost breathless, and Joel’s stomach tightened at the sound of it.

Joel was already moving, shifting forward, his body his broad frame eclipsing yours, forcing you to either back up or let him take what he wanted. You braced yourself against the couch, your hands gripping at the cushions as he hovered over you, broad and unrelenting.

“You don’t have to–”

“I said lay back, baby,” he murmured, voice low and firm, edged with something dark and determined. His fingers brushed against your thigh, coaxing, teasing, his eyes locked onto yours. “Lemme show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling too quickly, lips parting like you wanted to say something—maybe protest, maybe challenge him—but instead, you obeyed.

You let him guide you down, sinking back against the cushions, legs still bent, thighs pressed tight together.

Joel hummed at the sight of you beneath him, at the way you looked up at him now—uncertain, but wanting. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers twitched like you didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, dragging his palm up the length of your thigh, heat radiating from his touch even through the fabric of your shorts.

He should take his time, should tease you like he’d been dreaming about in the weeks between last time and now—the way he’d pictured you squirming, begging for him. But then he remembered what you’d said.

How sometimes it took too long.

How you’d just tell Tommy to give up.

Like it was your fault. Like you were too much work.

Bullshit.

Joel’s jaw ticked, something dark and dangerous curling in his gut. His fingers flexed against your skin before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down before you could say anything else.

You sucked in a breath, hips lifting instinctively, letting him pull them past your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands settled firm on your legs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your inner thighs as he spread them wider.

And fuck, you were already so wet, your panties clinging to you, a darkened patch right where he wanted to put his mouth.

His smirk was slow, satisfied.

"What’s this all about, hm?" he purred, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric, rubbing just enough to make you jolt. "Wanna tell me what’s got you all dripping for me already?"

Your breath hitched, a little mewl escaping you as you tried pushing your thighs together, squeezing tight, making the soft, puffy outline of your lips press perfectly against the thin fabric.

Joel swore he started salivating.

His hands ran up your legs as he sank onto the floor, knees pressing firm against the couch cushions, palms settling against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He wanted you spread open for him, wanted all of you.

"Tell me, baby," he urged, voice thick, coaxing.

Your throat bobbed, lips parting, your breath a little shaky. "I was…" You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the couch cushion, "I was just remembering."

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, heavy-lidded and dazed, thick with want. "Rememberin’ what?"

You met his gaze, lashes low, voice barely above a breath. "How good you made me feel last time. I’d never… felt that before. Not like that, at least."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joel let out a low groan, his cock stiffening behind his zipper, aching in a way that made his breath come slow and deep through his nose. You had to feel it, the hard press of denim against your ass, the way his body reacted to your words, to the way you looked at him like you were already cock-drunk before he even touched you properly.

"You felt so good, Joel," you murmured, your voice thick, dreamy, like you were already sinking into it. "Made me feel so good."

His fingers curled against your thighs, pressing in just a little harder.

"Gonna make you feel real good again, baby," he muttered, voice rough as his fingers hooked into your panties. He pulled them down slow, savoring the sight of them peeling away from your slick folds, strings of arousal clinging to the fabric.

"Open these pretty legs for me," he murmured, gripping your thighs, easing them apart as he settled lower, gaze locked on the glistening heat between them.

You let him hold you open, bare to him, and all Joel could think about was getting his mouth on you, making you come undone the way you were supposed to.

The way he knew he could.

Joel’s breath was heavy, measured, but inside, he was burning.

He slid his palms up your thighs, pressing them wider, his thumbs tracing firm, slow strokes along the sensitive skin. His hands felt big where they gripped you, broad and rough, like they could hold you there forever, keep you open for him until he was satisfied.

And right now, he was hungry.

His gaze stayed locked between your legs, taking in the way you glistened in the low light, slick and dripping for him, already so ready. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his cock pulsing behind the tight confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, almost to himself, dragging his thumbs over your inner thighs, watching the way your muscles twitched beneath his touch. "You got no clue how pretty you are down here, do you?"

You whimpered, a small, needy sound, and Joel felt it straight in his gut.

He leaned in, inhaling against your core, lips just barely brushing against you—not quite a kiss, not quite a touch, just enough to tease, to let you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds.

You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.

He smirked, the ghost of it pressing against your skin.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs, grounding you, keeping you spread open for him. "Ain’t gotta rush. Gonna take my time with you."

And then, finally he let his tongue drag through your folds, broad and slow, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit.

You shuddered.

Your fingers scrambled at the couch cushion, a broken moan spilling from your lips, thighs trembling beneath his hands.

"That’s it," Joel muttered against you, voice thick, satisfied. He dragged his tongue over you again, slower this time, savoring the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

He loved this—loved watching you come undone beneath him, loved the way your body melted, how you gave in so easily when someone actually took their damn time with you.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your back arch off the couch, another moan breaking free.

"Joel—oh my God—"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.

You were practically dripping onto the couch, coating his lips, his chin, and Joel loved it. Lapped it up like he was dying for it, groaning against you, letting himself drown in you.

He flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, before dragging it down, prodding your entrance. His hands slid up, fingers pressing against the dips of your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dipped inside you.

You choked on a breath, your thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel grinned.

"Yeah?" he rasped, pulling back just slightly, his lips slick and shining with you. "That feel good, sweetheart?"

You barely managed to nod before his mouth was back on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your hands fisted in his hair, and he groaned against you. He loved how messy you were, how you squirmed just as he’d imagined, how you kept whispering his fucking name, breathless and desperate like you just couldnt help yourself.

He knew there was a reason that was a rule.

Because it sounded too fucking pretty coming from your mouth, tangled up in all those sweet little sounds you were making, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

"Ain’t learned your lesson yet, huh?" he muttered against you, voice thick with sin, pressing a kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue over it again, slow and deliberate, feeling the way you jerked. "Keep breakin’ that rule, sweetheart, and I’m never gonna stop."

A little choked noise escaped you, hands pulling harder in his hair, but you weren’t pushing him away—you were pulling him in.

And fuck, did that make him ache.

"Bet you don’t come this quick for him, do you?" he rasped, letting his tongue dip down, teasing at your entrance before pressing inside, groaning as he felt you pulse around him. "How long’s it take you on my brother’s tongue, huh? You gotta work for it? Tell him it’s okay to give up?"

You whimpered, a full-body shudder rolling through you, your hips rolling up, chasing more, and fuck, that answer was all he needed.

Joel grinned against you.

"Not with me, baby. Nuh-uh. You come when I tell you to, and you ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get what I want."

His fingers dug into your thighs as he devoured you, tongue working you over, sucking slow, firm pulls on your clit until your whole body seized beneath him.

"Joel—"

Your thighs clamped around his head, hands flying to your mouth like you could stop it, like you knew you weren’t supposed to say it.

Joel groaned, filthy and deep, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down against his mouth, forcing you to take it.

"That's it, baby," he growled against you, tongue curling, licking deep. "Say it again. Come on my tongue saying my name, just like that."

You shattered, a strangled, broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed against his tongue, whole body trembling, thighs shaking around his head.

And Joel fucking loved it.

But he wasn't done. Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body twitching from the aftershocks, when he kept going.

"Too much—" your voice was a high, breathless plea, hips shifting like you were trying to get away, but Joel chuckled, gripping you tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Nah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked folds. "Tommy might let you tap out, but I ain’t him. You’re gonna take everything I give you."

And then he was back on you, devouring you, tongue pushing into you, working you open, tasting you like he was fucking starved for it.

You gasped, legs trembling, but Joel just held you still, broad hands locked tight around your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pinned you down.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in these moments. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like this before. He couldn’t remember another time a woman made him feel this insatiable, this hungry. He kept telling himself one more—just one more, to wring you out and leave you spent beneath him. But you were still so soft, still so wet, and he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled back just enough to watch the way you twitched beneath him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling fast. Your thighs gave a little shake where he held them apart, and fuck—you looked downright beautiful.

You were panting, wrecked, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, legs trembling where he held them apart.

And Joel was grinning against you.

Because you hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And until you did, he was gonna pull another from you.

And another.

By the time you came the fifth time, you were boneless.

Joel leaned back slightly, watching the way you just lay there, sprawled out against the couch like your body had melted into it, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Your legs were still twitching, little aftershocks making you jolt every now and then, and he could feel the warmth of you still slick and messy against his mouth, his chin, his fingers.

He wasn’t sure if you were even conscious after that last one.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tightening at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, looking like you hadn’t even processed what the hell had just happened to you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, pleased, then dragged himself up over your body, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. You barely stirred, eyes fluttering, a sleepy little hum slipping from your lips as his hand slid into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

You made a noise, something breathy and spent, your eyes opening just barely.

“Hm?”

Joel smirked. "You need a break?"

There was a beat, like you were trying to process what that even meant—then a sleepy little giggle bubbled up in your throat, your hands finding his hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Maybe like, five minutes," you murmured, smiling up at him, wrecked but glowing.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pulling you against him. You let out a surprised squeak as he stood up, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“What the—?”

Joel shot you a lazy grin, shifting you higher against his chest. "My brother would kill me if I told him I knocked you up on a couch like a teenage boy."

That finally seemed to wake you up.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes going a little wide as reality set in.

"Oh, god…" you murmured, voice a little hoarse, your hands gripping at his shoulders. "I can't believe we just… I just did that…"

And fuck, something in Joel sank at the sound of your voice.

Because he knew that tone. Knew it well—that creeping guilt, that second-guessing, the way someone’s mind started running ahead of them, thinking about what it all meant instead of how it felt.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t even know what came over him. He should’ve stopped earlier, should’ve slowed down, should’ve given you more space to breathe before he just took and took and took.

But Jesus, the way you responded to him, the way you gave it all back, the way you opened for him like you’d been waiting for someone to finally take care of you—

It did something to him. Still, he had to be sure.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, more even, as he shifted his grip on you, keeping you steady in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. "Ain't nobody gotta know. Stays between us."

You blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling a little too quickly, fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

“But Tommy—”

Joel shook his head, cutting you off gently. "Tommy don't need to know a damn thing ‘cept that we tried."

You swallowed, lips pressing together like you were still processing, like you wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how.

Joel exhaled, shifting his weight slightly, giving you something solid to hold onto.

"You still want this, don’t you?" he asked, quiet, steady.

You hesitated—but then, slowly, you nodded.

"Yeah."

Joel nodded back, just once.

"Then that's all that matters."

His hand smoothed over your back, solid and warm, grounding you. "We just keep doin' what we agreed on. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you nodded again.

And Joel didn’t let himself think about why that felt like a lie as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom.

Eventually, he laid you down on the bed, and you settled back against the pillows, your chest still rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. You reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it somewhere, your bra following it to the floor.

Joel took his time. He shucked off his jeans, then his shirt, watching the way heat crept up your neck, the flush deepening across your skin as you took him in.

He told himself he just wanted to see your reaction—wanted to watch the way you took him in, wide-eyed and wanting—but the truth was, last time, he’d been so caught up in his own head, trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck he was doing, he barely let himself process it.

He wanted to commit this to memory.

In case it was the last time.

His hand wrapped around his cock, the poor thing aching, flushed dark at the tip, leaking, desperate for relief. He hissed through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he stroked himself, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second before he climbed onto the bed.

But before he could settle over you, you moved. You laid down flat on your belly, head toward the foot of the bed, your chest pressed flush to the mattress, your ass tilted up just slightly.

And right in front of you—the dresser mirror.

Joel’s body locked up as his eyes flicked up, finding his own reflection staring back at him. But then—your eyes met his through the glass, a little shy, a little hesitant.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His cock twitched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the base like he needed to ground himself, keep himself from losing control too fucking fast.

And then you smiled—small, soft, still lost in that post-orgasm haze, warm and pliant and looking like you’d do anything he told you to.

Joel climbed onto the bed, moving behind you, his weight shifting over your back as his broad hands settled on your hips, gripping firm.

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, watching the way you looked at him, watching yourself.

He smirked.

“You dirty girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he ground his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

A breathy whimper slipped from your lips, your body arching, pressing your ass back into him, and he swore under his breath as his bulbous, leaking tip caught against your entrance.

The heat of you, still soaking, still so tight, made his breath catch as he lowered himself, chest pressing into your back, caging you in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his cock teased against you, notching at your entrance, pushing just barely.

"You wanna watch me fuck you?" he rasped, his voice low, dark, dripping with sin.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel rolled his hips forward, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open, slow, teasing, unbearable.

Your eyes snapped open, a choked gasp spilling from your lips as your gaze locked onto his in the mirror.

That wrecked, ruined expression, that wide-eyed shock as you took him inch by inch, deeper and deeper…

He knew was never gonna forget this.

Joel growled against your ear, his breath hot, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he bottomed out, stretching you open until there was nowhere left for you to go.

"Wanna watch your husband’s own brother knock you up, baby?" he purred.

Your jaw dropped, eyes going glassy, mouth parted in a silent cry as he felt you squeeze around him, your tight little pussy gripping him like you’d never let him go.

Joel had never felt anything this good.

He pulled back, just barely, before sinking home again, slow and deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every drag of his cock as he stretched you open all over again.

You whimpered, nails scraping against the sheets, already wrecked, but not nearly done.

He watched in the mirror as your lips parted, as your lashes fluttered, as your brows furrowed at the overwhelming sensation of it—of him, filling you to the brim, thick and unrelenting.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, grinding into you, pressing his full weight over you, hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm. "Take it just like that. Nice ‘n easy, let me feel you, huh?"

Your mouth fell open, a breathy little moan spilling out as he fucked you slow, letting you feel every inch, dragging it out, stretching it thicker, deeper.

Then he pulled back, bracing a big, rough hand on your hip before thrusting forward, harder this time, deeper, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips as your eyes flew open— and as he looked up and saw your face, he could’ve finished right then and there, your eyes flashing open wide and your wrecked voice crying out for him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hip as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass, the slick wet sounds of you taking him filling the room, mixing with the soft, broken noises slipping from your mouth as he fucked you hard, deep, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do this.

Joel’s body pinned you down, his weight heavy and solid as he laid over you. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move—just him, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, exactly where you needed to be.

The heat of him burned into your back, his chest slick against your skin, his breaths hot and uneven at your ear as he worked himself slow and deep, grinding his hips down into you, forcing your body to take everything he gave you.

You couldn’t move.

You could barely breathe.

Every push forward drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets, holding on as his pace built, each thrust sinking him deeper, stretching you open with long, deliberate strokes.

Joel groaned against the nape of your neck, his mouth grazing your skin as his hips rocked into you, dragging you forward with every heavy roll of his body. His weight bore down, pressing you into the bed, keeping you flush beneath him, letting him sink in to the very hilt, until you could feel every thick inch of him, filling you, claiming you.

He could feel everything—the way your body clenched around him, the way your walls fluttered, pulling him in deeper, tight and wet, keeping him locked inside you.

And in the mirror, he could see how flushed, how spent and wrecked you were, your soft lips in a perfect ‘o’ as he kept pushing himself to the hilt, your velvet walls constricting his cock with every thrust. He relished in the feeling, how deep he was inside you, how good you felt wrapped around him, how you had no choice but to take it.

Your moan was soft, needy, muffled by the sheets, your back arching, trying to press into him, trying to take him even deeper.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?" Joel murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your walls squeezed him tighter, your body locking up, every muscle trembling beneath him. One of his hands slid under you, finding your clit easily and starting to rub slow circles using two thick fingers, "Gonna give me another, baby? Gonna let me feel you?"

His hand slid up, his fingers brushing over your throat, tilting your face to the mirror.

"Look at yourself." he said as his hand wrapped around your face, thumb pushing into your cheek and fingers digging into your jaw as he brought your gaze up to meet his.

Your eyes met his, glassy and fogged, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he ground into you, holding you still, keeping you stretched full and helpless beneath him.

"You see that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening at your jaw, keeping you there, keeping you watching, “See how perfect you look takin’ my cock?”

Joel thrust deeper, grinding his hips against your ass, rocking into you, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you, keeping you full.

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time, wasn’t it?" he rasped, thrusting deep, holding you full, his fingers grinding slow and taunting against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"Go on," he growled, fingers and thumb gripping your jaw, sliding one up to press firmly at your lips before pushing past them, hooking into your mouth. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, a muffled coo spilling around his thick finger.

“All yours, Joel,” you whimpered, voice broken, wrecked, helpless.

Your words turned into a sob, your thighs shaking, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching down tight around him, your walls milking his cock, dragging him even deeper.

Joel groaned, his head tilting into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, trying to pull him in, hold him there, keep him inside you.

You heaved in breaths, trembling beneath him, as he released his tight hold on your face, your head met the bed, too wrecked to hold yourself up.

Joel followed you down, face pressed into your shoulder, holding you still as he thrust once more, deep and final, his body locking up as he filled you, spilling inside you, holding you down, making sure you took all of it.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his body covering yours completely.

Joel didn’t move right away.

His breath was ragged, hot against your sweat-damp skin, his weight still pressing heavy over you, pinning you down, keeping you filled, stuffed, claimed.

His arms caged around you, his chest pressing into your back, the lingering aftershocks of release making both of you twitch, shuddering in the same unsteady rhythm.

But as the haze of it ebbed, something else crept in.

His own words, thrown into the thick air like a brand, still hanging there.

My brother can pretend all he wants.

This pussy’s mine now.

Was mine the second you came on my cock.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes pressing shut, realization sinking into him like a heavy weight.

Jesus Christ.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He’d felt it—deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the way you clung to him, the way you let him take and take and take like you needed it just as badly. But saying it? Letting those thoughts slip out, low and raw and real—

That was something else entirely.

His grip loosened, fingers flexing where they’d held you too tight, his body finally easing up, lifting off you, just a little. Enough to give you air.

His mouth hovered at your shoulder, his breath still uneven, before he forced himself to speak.

"I’m sorry," he breathed, voice rough, thick with something he didn’t want to name. "I… I shouldn’t have—"

“Joel?” Your voice was weak, soft, barely above a breath.

And when he looked up at you, your eyes were open just a little, sleep-heavy, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he asked, voice gentler now.

You sighed, shifting just enough to settle deeper beneath him, your body still pliant as you rested your head on your arms, "Don’t ruin it."

Joel stilled.

You breathed slow, eyes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at you.

"It’s okay. I won’t say anything if you don’t."

Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time since the haze had lifted, he let himself breathe.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes tracing over your face—soft, spent, utterly at peace beneath him.

"Okay." he murmured finally, voice low, rough, unreadable.

And with that, he let it be.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698

#my brain is fried #I havent touched grass in days #family matters #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #tlou #the last of us

2K notes · View notes

sincerelyneo · 6 months ago

Text

igloo | h.rj

“i make him lose his cool, yeah i make him go…”

💿now playing: igloo by kiss of life

❯ summary: No Nut November is stupid—so why is your boyfriend making a bet with Hyuck that he can last the longest? Surely he doesn’t want to actually deprive himself from sex with you for a month? Surely he’s not serious…? Oh, he is. That won’t do.

❯ pairings: renjun x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 4.1k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, petty stupid argument, slight angst, female masturbation, voyeurism, premature ejaculation, begging, slight sub!renjun, lots of teasing, reader uses she/her pronouns, basically just renjun agreeing to a stupid bet and y/n making him regret it

“Personally,” Hyuck says, throwing his hands up confidently, “I think I’d last the longest. Strong willpower and all that, you know?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, swatting him with a light smack on the back of the head. “No, you wouldn’t. You can’t go five minutes without emptying your balls, slut.”

Hyuck growls, winding up to smack him on the back, but he stops short as you stroll into the living room, a few cans of beer balanced in your hands. You drop them onto the coffee table with a loud thud, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

“What are you idiots arguing about now?”

This was how every Friday night hangout went with your boyfriend and his friends. Laughter, drinks, and memories in the making—until Hyuck and Renjun would start bickering. Hyuck started it every time on purpose, and without fail, your boyfriend would take the bait, falling right into his trap.

And when you say fall right in, you mean it. They’re so wrapped up in each other’s throats that neither even acknowledge your question. You turn to Jisung, who shrugs and mutters something about No Nut November. Your mouth drops open in an “oh.”

“I’m just saying, I’d last the longest out of all you boys,” Hyuck insists, crossing his arms lazily.

“Bullshit!”

Hyuck’s brows knit together. “Oh, so you think you could last longer, Junnie?”

“Without question,” Renjun scoffs. “I’d last longer than you in every single way.”

Hyuck scowls. And perhaps it’s the double meaning in Renjun’s words that has him snapping, or just his overall general competitive streak, but all of a sudden he has no interest in dropping this argument or backing down.

“Are you challenging me, Huang Renjun?”

Renjun grins, leaning forward. “I mean, if you’re asking…”

You can’t believe Renjun is even entertaining the idea. No Nut November is stupid on a good day, let alone when someone has a girlfriend, you think. But it’s downright laughable when that someone happens to be your boyfriend—and the two of you go at it like rabbits.

Hyuck smirks, his gaze flickering from you to your boyfriend with a glint of mischief. “Oh, I’m definitely asking. Let’s see,” he drawls, leaning back with an exaggerated grin. “Which one of us can last the longest this month, loser owes the other $1000?”

“Done.”

You stare at Renjun, your mouth slightly ajar. “Done?” you echo, your tone fuming. He doesn’t even flinch, too busy locking eyes with Hyuck like it’s some weird standoff: men and their egos.

“Renjun,” you say, sharper now, catching his attention. His eyes flicker over to you, and for a split second, you think he might come to his senses. “You’re my boyfriend. My boyfriend,” you emphasise. “You just basically agreed to not have sex with me for an entire month.”

“Well technically, you can have sex but he just can’t cum—”

“Not now, Jisung!” You snap.

Hyuck bursts out laughing, clapping his hands like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all year. “Oh, I sooo have this in the bag,” he cackles. “And Renjun, you can’t take it back now. We shook on it—well, metaphorically. I have witnesses.”

Renjun pales slightly, glancing between you and Hyuck. “I—uh—” he stammers, but Hyuck cuts him off, wagging a finger mockingly.

“Nope! Rules are rules, Junnie. You’re in this now…unless you wanna forfeit—”

“No!”

You cross your arms, fixing Renjun with a glare. “So, let me get this straight. You’re really going to prioritise this over your girlfriend?”

“It’s not like that!” Renjun says quickly, looking genuinely panicked now. “It’s just—Hyuck started it!”

“Hyuck started it?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your excuse? Are we in middle school?”

“No–baby–I–” Renjun stutters. “I just—You know what he’s like. He’d never let me hear the end of it if I said no.”

“Oh, I still won’t,” Hyuck chimes in, grinning ear to ear. “Because there’s no way you’re making it through this, Junnie. Not when your girl looks like that.” Hyuck gestures toward you with a smirk, clearly enjoying every second of this.

Renjun glares at him, a growl of anger leaving his lips, but you’re quick to interject. “So you’re risking $1,000 and pausing our entire sex life for a month—because you can’t handle Hyuck’s teasing?”

Renjun winces. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“That’s because it is bad,” you shoot back. “What are you even trying to prove? That you have more self-control than Hyuck? Congratulations, Renjun. Everyone already knows that.”

Hyuck gasps, feigning offence by clutching his fists to his chest. “Wow, Y/N. You wound me.”

“I’m sure you’ll live,” you retort dryly because he’s pissed you off just as much.

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s just a month. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?” you cut him off. “You do realise this affects me too, right?” You throw your hands up, standing to your feet. “Fine. You know what? Do whatever you want. But if you even think about caving, just remember—you’ll owe Hyuck $1,000 and me an apology.”

With that, you grab your beer and stomp out of the living room, leaving Renjun to stew. Hyuck leans back, grinning smugly before turning to Jisung. “I give him three days.”

Jisung nods thoughtfully. “I’m thinking two.”

Renjun manages to last two weeks without cumming—a new record since the two of you started dating, though it’s hardly an accomplishment. When your girlfriend is mad at you, it’s easy not to cum—mainly because you weren’t offering.

You weren’t outright ignoring him, but your usual affection had taken a sharp nosedive. No lingering kisses, no teasing touches, no late-night “accidental” brushes under the covers. It was like you’d put him on lockdown—and, annoyingly, he was thankful for it.

That pissed you off even more.

Here you were, trying to make a point, and Renjun was treating it like some kind of twisted blessing. He wasn’t sulking, wasn’t apologising profusely like he usually would. Instead, he seemed…relieved, like your passive-aggressive cold shoulder was doing him a favour.

It especially pissed you off one night when Renjun came back from dance practice, his shirt clinging to his torso, sweat beading on his forehead, and his eyes glazed over in exhaustion. Usually, when he came home like that—when it wasn’t No Nut November—you’d order takeout, settle on the sofa, and have lazy couch sex, no effort, no stress.

But not tonight.

No, because it is No Nut November and he agreed to it. So instead of collapsing into your arms, he takes himself upstairs, barely sparing you a glance, getting straight in the shower and tossing on a pair of grey sweatpants—torture, you think—and sits himself down in front of his PC, clicking at the keyboard as he logs online

He. Pisses. You. Off.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you snap, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him as he spins his chair around to face you on the bed.

He raises an eyebrow, pulling his headphones off and letting them hang loosely around his neck. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t miss me touching you, do you?”

“Baby,” he starts, his voice low and soft, “That’s not true—”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “Because it sure feels true.”

Renjun runs a hand through his hair. “I do miss you. I miss you a lot, okay? But you’re mad at me, and I know I deserve it...so I wanted to give you space.”

You shake your head, “That feels oddly convenient.”

“I promise you it’s not,” he sighs, cautiously sliding closer. “How about this… is there anything I can do to at least try and make it up to you?”

You arched an eyebrow. “That depends. Are you planning on sticking to this ridiculous bet?”

He hesitates, and you can practically see the war waging in his head. “...Hyuck will never let me live it down if I back out,” he admits sheepishly.

You groan, sinking back against the headboard. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

Renjun doesn’t make a move to comfort you, doesn’t try to touch or reach for you. He knows you’re pissed, but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to drop this stupid fucking bet. His eyes flicker to you for a split second, and even though you're giving him nothing but cold, angry silence, he can’t help but think how fucking cute you look when you're this worked up.

You’re absolutely right to be mad. He’s an idiot. He misses you so much, misses your lips, your touch, your smile.

Fuck, he feels his resolve starting to crack, and so he spins around in his chair, putting all his attention back on his game and not on your pretty little pout. His fingers hit the keyboard aggressively. And although his eyes stay glued to the screen, he can feel the heat of your stare drilling into the back of his head.

Unbelievable, you think.

He’s really doing this. Pretending like he doesn’t care that you're right there, seething and beautiful and willing. You can see the tension in his shoulders, how his jaw tightens whenever he thinks you’re not looking. He needs this, needs you but he won’t let himself because he’s been in a dick swinging competition with Lee Donghyuck since he met him.

It pisses you off—at first. But then the anger twists into something darker, bolder. Maybe it’s the frustration of going a week without him, or maybe it’s just the pure, unfiltered horniness. Either way, your patience snaps.

You didn’t agree to this no-orgasms-for-a-month bullshit. You had nothing to lose. You didn’t need to punish yourself.

If Renjun won’t help you, fine. You’ll just have to take care of it yourself.

The thought is intoxicating, and once it’s in your head, there’s no shaking it. You shift against the headboard, eyes locked on his back. He’s been insufferable, sure, but the memory of him coming home sweaty and dishevelled—so fucking hot—has you pent up.

Your fingers brush your lips, and you can almost feel his again. Wet. Hungry. God, you’ve missed stumbling into bed together, tugging at his clothes and fighting for breath. You’ve missed the warmth of his body, and Renjun was always warm; the way he feels against you—scorching, consuming, addictive. He’s practically a fire hazard for your senses.

Your hand trails down, teasing over your chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric as you imagine it’s his touch. He could be doing this—should be doing this—but he won’t. Because you both know it wouldn’t stop there.

You let out a slow breath, the ache between your thighs growing more unbearable with every passing second. It’s the closest you’ve been to sex for the past two weeks and still, Renjun hasn’t looked at you once, his focus stubbornly locked on his stupid game.

The memory of him murmuring “Look, it’s just a month,” as he ran a hand through his hair flashes through your mind, and it makes you want to scream. He had no idea how badly you’d need him, how badly you’d miss him, and how much it would hurt when he started pulling away. Or maybe he did and perhaps he was being selfish.

But that’s okay, because you were about to do your own version of self-indulgence.

Your hands drift to your thighs, nails raking lightly against your skin as you glare at his back. He hasn’t even flinched, acting like he can’t feel the fire you’re staring into his hair.

You start slow—fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties, the warmth pooling low in your stomach making you shiver. You bite your lip as you press down harder, a sharp pang of pleasure hitting you as you add a small amount of pressure. The thought of him watching, of him finally snapping and turning around, sends a thrill straight through you. But he doesn’t move.

You want him to move.

You try parting your lips with a quiet sigh to get his attention—hands still teasing yourself, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You know exactly how to touch yourself, how to work your body into a frenzy. But it’s not enough—it’s never enough—not when you know how much better it feels when it’s him.

When he still doesn’t look, your last ounce of patience snaps. Fine, if he wants to ignore you, you’ll make damn sure he can’t.

Your hand moves to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with just enough force to make it rattle. You grab the vibrator—the vibrator, the one he’d bought you for your birthday with that smug little grin, saying he wanted to “make things interesting.” Well, you plan on making tonight very interesting.

This isn’t for fun. This is revenge, pure and simple.

You lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs just enough to get comfortable, the cool air hitting your heated skin. Your thumb presses the button, and the low buzz fills the room, cutting through the quiet. It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it’s enough to make Renjun’s fingers pause mid-keystroke, his entire body going still.

Good.

You don’t even look at him. Not yet. Instead, you drag the toy against your inner thigh, a soft moan slipping past your lips, breathy and deliberate, as you let your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut.

And then, just like you planned, he turns. And when he sees you—legs spread, vibrator in hand—his eyes go impossibly wide.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

You hum softly, dragging the toy up your thigh with evil slowness. Your lips part with a quiet gasp, and his breath hitches audibly. “I’m watering the plants. What does it look like I’m doing!?”

“Y/N,” he tries again, this time more forceful, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as he takes a long deep breath. His hand clenches the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I’m serious. Turn that off.”

You finally meet his gaze, expression dripping with mock innocence as you scoff. “Why? I never agreed to No Nut November. I can entertain myself all I like.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. You can see the panic flickering in his eyes, the video game in the background long abandoned flashing with the ‘respawn’ screen as a flush creeps up his neck. You can tell he is desperately trying to hold onto whatever self-control he has left. So far, No Nut November had been surprisingly easy for him—mostly because you’d been at each other’s throats all week. But now? With you looking like this? He’s fucked.

“Y/N, I mean it,” he warns, his voice shaky. His gaze darts to the vibrator in your hand, then to the way your legs are spread, and then back to your face. You can tell he’s trying not to look, but his resolve is cracking with every passing second.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you trace the toy over your clothed clit. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. You don’t miss the way his hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you as you whimper.

“You know…you could always just look away,” you say with a shrug, your tone light, teasing. “Unless, of course, you like watching.”

His eyes snap to yours, panic flashing behind them, but there’s no hiding the way his chest is rising and falling faster now. The blush staining his cheeks deepens as he shifts again, and your eyes drop—just for a second—to the bulge straining against his pants.

Like you said, those grey sweatpants are torture and you can see everything. It only spurs you on to pull your panties to the side and run the buzzing toy between your slick wet folds. The first real contact has you gasping, your back arching slightly against the headboard, and Renjun visibly twitches in his chair.

“Y/N, I’m warning you,” he tries again, but his voice is shaky, almost pleading.

“Warning me?” You echo. “What are you gonna do, huh? It’s not like you can do anything. You’re just gonna sit there and play your game while I get myself off because of a stupid dumb bet.”

His hand flexes against the armrest, his breathing ragged now, and you know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

“Go on,” you taunt, your voice dropping lower, dripping with mockery. “Prove how much self-control you have. Or…” You trail off, letting another soft moan spill from your lips, your eyes locked on his. “You can always give up that stupid bet and come help me.”

Renjun moves before he can stop himself, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stands. His body betrays his mind, the bulge in his sweats unmistakable as he strides toward you, breath shallow with desperation.

Fuck the bet. Fuck Hyuck. He just wants to fuck you.

“Alright, fine,” he growls, “You’ve made your point. Just—just stop, let me—”

But before he can close the distance, before he can even get a touch of what he’s been missing, you press your foot firmly against his chest, halting him mid-step. His eyes widen, lips parting as he gasps, completely caught off guard by the sudden force of it. For a long moment, he stands frozen, confused.

“Hmmm, I’ve changed my mind,” you say in a low voice. “You don’t get to make the rules and then break them the second you get hard. Sit. Back. Down.”

“Y/N,” he whines, the sound ragged and desperate. His hands hover around you like he doesn’t know whether to push forward or pull back. “I thought—”

You simply smirk, leaning back into the headboard with an air of defiance, your leg still pressed against his chest, keeping him in place and giving him a perfect view of your open-spread legs. The vibrator hums between your thighs, and you can feel his gaze searing into you, his eyes flicking down to where it rests beneath your wet soaked panties.

Fucking torture.

You drag the vibrator over yourself with steady, careful motions, breath hitching as you lean into the sensation (slightly making a show of it to tease him further). “You wanted to prove you could last, didn’t you? Prove it. Watch me.” You purr.

He groans, his head tilting back as his hands curl into tight fists, helpless and frustrated. “You’re fucking cruel,” he mutters, his voice strained, barely keeping it together.

“Am I?” you tease, your words laced with finger-licking venom. “You’ve been avoiding me for days, Renjun. Ignoring me, turning your back, all for a stupid bet with Hyuck? Now you get to feel exactly how I’ve felt.”

His jaw clenches as his hips shift, the fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide his need. His eyes lock on yours, pleading, his chest rising and falling with erratic breaths. “Y/N, please.”

“Please what?” you taunt. “Please stop? Please let you touch me?” You press the vibrator harder against yourself, letting out a loud, shaky moan, and his knees nearly buckle as you continue, your smirk growing as you watch him unravel.

His body trembles, a curse escaping him as he sinks back into the chair, defeated and desperate, fighting the urge to touch you, to do something, anything. Renjun’s never felt a tightness in his body like this before. His muscles are tense, every inch of him on fire, but it’s not the good kind of heat—it’s raw and painful, like his body’s been caught in a vice that won’t let go. His breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, every shift only intensifying the ache. The throb is relentless.

"Y/N, please," he whines desperately, the plea barely a whisper, but you hear it. He looks so broken, so beautiful, eyes fluttering closed as he tries to regain some shred of control.

You smirk at his desperate pleas, the sound making your heart race faster. You’ve never seen him this far gone for you, and knowing you've been the one to drive him to the edge like this—it’s a rush.

You spread your legs even wider, the cool air of the room hitting you and you moan as you pull your panties down and toss them aside. He stares at you—eyes wide, face flushed, lips parted—as you slide your fingers between your slick folds. You’re so wet already, so hot, and all it takes is the combination of cool air and the vibrator on your clit to have you soaring.

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as you arch against the toy in your hand. “God, I’m so close.”

He groans in response, hips shifting against the chair as he fights the urge to move, his body desperate for friction, for any kind of touch.

“Y/N, please,” he tries again, voice so thick with need. “Let me help. Please. Let me—”

You press harder, your entire body starting to tingle as you drive yourself closer to the edge. His own hips roll desperately, and you wonder how close he is too. He doesn’t even need a hand, it seems. His body’s already learning to react without stimulation—and it would be his own fault for blue balling himself for two weeks. The thought of it almost sends you over the edge, but you want to draw this out a bit longer.

“Nope,” you grunt, breathy moans escaping you as your hand speeds up. “No touching.”

His breath hitches. “Fuck, you’re so fucking cruel,” he pants, his body writhing in the chair. His face is flushed, eyes wild, and you can tell he's not far from losing it completely.

You smirk. “And you’re so fucking desperate,” you reply. “So close, aren’t you? And I haven’t even touched you.”

He nods, his hips rolling desperately as he clutches the edge of the chair, knuckles going white with tension. You can almost feel the ache in his body as he strains against himself, fighting against his own needs.

Your eyes flick to where his sweats are straining and you let out a small whimper at the sight. God, he’s so big, and you can practically imagine him thrusting against you, his cock sliding in deep with a rough, possessive motion. Fuck you’ve missed that. You gasp, your body clenching around nothing, and you swear you can feel his touch on you, all over, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“God,” you whisper, your hand moving the toy faster against your clit. “God, fuck—Renjun,” your voice breaks on his name, “Fuck, I’m close.”

His hips snap forward, his back bowing against the chair. “Oh fuck,” he moans, his eyes wide as they stare straight into yours. “Fuck, baby. So pretty—”

You cum with a sharp cry, your hand spasming against yourself as your body trembles through the orgasm. Renjun watches—desperate and hungry—for every second of it, just the sound of your orgasm sending his own body to the edge.

“God, yes,” he groans, eyes closing with a harsh curse. “Fuck, yes. Y/N, fuck, yes.”

You open your eyes to see him bucking in the chair, his body shaking as he stares at you—wide-eyed and panting. You watch his cum spill into his sweatpants, creating a dark, damp stain that makes your chest swell with satisfaction.

Your gaze stays locked on him—your body still twitching as your own orgasm fades—and a slow smile spreads across your face as you realise he came untouched, from just watching.

Your boyfriend sits frozen, completely caught off guard, his eyes staring blankly at his lap, cum stain splattered over his sweats. He blinks rapidly as he struggles to form coherent thoughts, his mind a mess. A long, long moment passes, and then he lets out an awkward cough, eyes darting around the room in search of an escape. There’s none. He’s just cum all over himself and can’t even blame it on someone else.

He looks mortified.

You bite your lip, a mischievous smile tugging on your face. “I’m sure Hyuck’s gonna love this.”

“Hyuck isn’t finding out,” he groans.

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh, he will. You made a bet about not cumming for a month, and well…”

Renjun growls low in his throat, rising up and crawling onto the bed. “Exactly. I made a bet with him, and if I’m gonna lose $1,000, I might as well fuck my girlfriend properly, and cum inside her, and tell him that’s how I lost, since you wanna be such a fucking tease.”

You smile as he hovers over you, a challenging gleam in your eyes. “Oh yeah? Is that a threat?”

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s a promise.”

#nct smut #renjun smut #nct dream smut #nct x reader #renjun x reader #nct dream x reader #nct oneshot #nct hard hours #nct scenarios #no nut november is so stupid #kpop smut

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smutinlove · 1 month ago

Note

I saw your post for smut asks! How about one where Jason Todd isn't really sexually awakened until he meets reader and he has no idea what to do? Or one where Dick Grayson has been on a year long mission trip so our poor boy is FERAL and STARVED for reader's pu$$y?

YOU FREAKKKKK IM DOING BOTH OMG OMG AHHHHH

jason is a bit of a wimp in this fic hehe

here's the link for the dick grayson fic

Jason sat at the bar, taking small sips of his beer, wondering where his brother, Dick, had gone off to. He swore he saw a woman dragging him by his collar. Jason didn't really think about it too much. He was bored out of his mind and wanted to leave. He sighed, gulping down the beer.

Little did he know that you had been watching and observing his movements all night. You went to order a drink and sat next to him. "Hey, could I get two martinis? One for me and one for the handsome man next to me," you said to the bartender, who winked at Jason, leaving him confused.

Jason fidgeted with his wallet as he handed the bartender some money. "Ah, a gentleman, I see," you smirked. Jason blushed and looked down; that's when he noticed your outfit. You were wearing a white tank top with a deep neck, which you had paired with baggy jeans and black, chunky heels.

Tits. That's what he saw. Jason looked away, trying to remain respectful, causing you to laugh. The bartender hands you two your drinks.

"You're the first shy man I've ever met," you commented with a sly smirk. Jason took a sip of his martini and grinned. "There's a first time for everything," he replied.

Jason looked deeply into your eyes, memorizing every small detail. His eyes followed down to your lips. One kiss, he thought. He had never felt this way before. His hands were shaking with every thought. "Uhm, so, where are you from?" he asked, avoiding your gaze.

The two of you kept the conversation going for an hour, laughing and smiling along the way. Both of you were heavily drunk and looking deeply into each other's eyes. Jason didn't know what took over him as his hands cupped your cheeks. He smashed his lips against yours.

You two shared a passionate kiss.

"Woah," you muttered, scarlet erupting in your cheeks. "Do you wanna head to my car?" you asked, and that's how you found yourself in the backseat of your car.

Jason's eyes were on you as you took off your tank top, revealing your bra. You motioned for him to unclasp it. He unclasped your bra; your tits sprung out. His eyes fell on your nipples; he was frozen. Unsure what to do, he pulled you in for a kiss once more.

As you two kissed, your hands went down to his belt; you slowly unbuckled it and pulled down his jeans. You slowly pushed him down, breaking the kiss. "Can I?" you asked, pointing to remove his boxers. You could already see the outline of his hard cock.

Jason gulped. "I've never done this before," he admitted. You smiled, "Well, you're in good hands, darling. Now, can I?" He nodded. You pulled his boxers down with your teeth, his cock hitting your face a bit.

"This'll be the time of your life," you whispered. He was big—bigger than you anticipated.

Your tongue flicked against his tip, catching the salty-sweet pre-cum. You licked his cock from top to bottom and then took in the first few inches, causing Jason to moan your name. You went deeper and deeper, your tongue swirling around his length.

Jason groaned, his cock twitching in your mouth. Finally, he came—it was hot and thick. You slurped some of it up and took his cock out of your mouth, gasping for air.

Jason lay there, awestruck. "That was... amazing," he murmured a few more praises, causing you to smirk. Jason sat up and started speaking. "I... you're... so different," he finally admitted. "You've awakened something in me, and I need more."

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dumbbitchgalore · 1 year ago

Text

tf141 hanging out together and finding out that old man!Price has a girlfriend 💫

The crowded pub bustles with the commontion of drunkards of varying degrees. Some slightly tipsy while others have decided to forgo their pants in the name of the King.

And then there's a group of men occupying a table at the corner of the pub. Simon with his balaclava on, Kyle with a cigarette between his fingers savouring the arcid flavour and Johnny ogling some girls on the other side of the pub.

All that was left was John, who makes his way to the table with four pints of beer. He sits down at the table with a grunt as he passes each on of the boys a glass. They all start chatting and catching up about everything's thats happened after Price's retirement.

Johnny begins to bitch and whine about the new captain saying how uptight he was critising everything the squad does that John would've probably turned a blind eye to.

John chuckles slightly, listening to them all talk about what's is going on with the taskforce. Despite the smile on his face, there is a bitter resentment inside of him, gnawing at him.

Useless, useless, useless

He takes a swig of his drink hoping that it'll calm his worries down. And lo and behold he receives a call from you, his baby. He smiles to himself and picks up the phone.

"Hey birdie, doing okay by yourself at home?" He asks softly.

That one sentence caught the attention of the other boys as they give each other quizzical looks. Who the hell could their former captain be talking to?

His mother, maybe his sisters? Nah, he wouldn't call any other birdie.

They listen to John's gravelly voice and breathy laughs as he talks to the mystery person on the phone.

What felt like hours to the boys and a few fleeting seconds for John, he hangs up and faces the group. He raises an eyebrow when he sees their faces contorted into expressions of confusion and curiosity.

"What?" John asks slightly defensively

"Who's the birdie, Captain?" Johnny asks with a tooth grin.

John shakes his head, "my girlfriend." he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Their jaws drop to the floor. Shocked would be an understatement as to what they were feeling and thinking right now.

"You sure it's not schizophrenia, sir?" Kyle asks.

John huffs in annoyance. What the hell? Couldn't they just accept that John finally had someone in his life. A perfect little doll who patiently waits for him at home.

They all start to laugh obnoxiously, barking and howling as if they were witnessing a circus show. And John's irritation grew tenfold and he huffs a sigh of annoyance.

"Oi captain, why don't you show us a picture of your birdie and then maybe we'll believe ya. Or well just keep thinking that the sarin gas is still in your system." Simon says, followed by a cackle.

John rolls his eyes and opens his photo gallery and shows the trio a photo of you and him. The picture is of the two of you in bed, with you resting your head on his shoulder with a smile on your face as John is still fast asleep. Evidence of the previous night's lustful tendancies still apparent on both of them.

This time their jaws drop for certain as the tangible evidence is placed in front of them. You're beautiful, and that fucked-out, post orgasm face is something else. This isn't fair. How did Price get blessed with a beauty such as yourself.

Soap scowls and scoffs looking away and crossing his arms in annoyance. While Kyle gushes about how lucky Price his to hide his jealously rearing its ugly head. And simon simply stares at the photo with a discerning expression on his face.

John smiply smiles, his ego fuelled and his pride sky high.

"Well boys, I gotta get back to my doll. Maybe next time I'll bring her along." He exits the pub, leaving the boys all confused and jealous.

#john price #john price cod #john price smut #john price x reader #captain john #cod smut #tf 141 #tf141 smut #captain price #john price x you #old man!price #ri's rants

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zozowrites · 2 months ago

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There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays

Paige Bueckers x ex!fem!reader (no Y/N)

Words: 3k

Synopsis: Blackout Wednesday rekindles some old flames.

All the shoes squeak on the sticky floor and the pungent, yeasty smell of beer floods the noses of any new patrons who enter the bar. The Paige-blonde hair is the last head of the newest group to enter, and you catch yourself doing a double take from the makeshift dance floor. Trying to convince yourself it’s just the alcohol coursing through your veins that’s making you see things. You hadn’t seen Paige since either of you left for college. It was better off like that.

But then on your third look towards the booth the group of girls had slid into, you catch the gleam of her blue eyes and there’s no denying Paige is here with her friends in the same bar you and your friends always frequented, and on blackout Wednesday of all nights.

You suppose it was sort of the purpose of blackout Wednesday, especially in a hometown as small as yours. Since it was your senior year of college, practically everyone from your high school’s graduating class that had a social life was out and about tonight. But Joe’s had always been your spot, so it felt weird that Paige would come in here.

The cold fingers of your best friend tap you on the shoulder and it pulls you out of your trance.

“Paige’s here,” You say to her, not quite sure the appropriate volume to be heard over the music but not across the room.

“I know,” She says, a sloppy smirk growing onto her face. “I tapped you so you’d stop staring at her.”

“But she was staring back,” You say, the words slipping out of your tipsy mouth before you even realized you were speaking. Before you even realized that what you had said was actually right.

“So it looks like you have some unfinished business to address then?” She asks, setting her drink down and reaching for yours in your hand. Instead of taking a sip like you thought she would, she sets it down next to hers.

“Oh no,” You scoff, reaching for the drink that she pushes further out of your reach. “Our business is plenty finished.”

“Well the fact that we still talked about it on a monthly basis until last year begs to differ,” She remarks. Of course she would bring this back up. Just because she was the only person you had genuinely felt attraction to before doesn’t mean you weren’t over her. Because you were. It just means whenever you have any sort of romantic prospect, they need to be compared to her. Naturally.

At the buzz of your phone in your pocket you slip it out clumsily and slide into a bar stool, keeping one leg on the ground.

Don’t answer, bitch!!: ur not subtle u know

Your best friend gives you a knowing look that also somehow says “just go and get it out of your system” so you disregard the warning of the contact name and respond.

You: its not like your’e not looking too

“You okay there, Ma? A typo’s not like you.” The beautifully deep and yet still very feminine voice asks and you look up from the white glow of your phone to find Paige standing pretty close, the scent of her baby blue t-shirt wafting into your personal space. You sigh as you take in her soft blonde hair she left down to fall into lazy waves. You push the memory of her head in your lap, of your fingers running through her hair. Or of sitting on the bleachers and braiding her hair before a game. Or of sitting next to her on the bus, leaning your heads on each other to sleep on the way back from an away game.

“Yo I said are you okay there Ma?” She asks again. You get an image of her guiding you back into this stool and you’re suddenly glad you were already sitting in it when she came over.

I should play nice, you think to yourself. There’s no reason to start a tif on Thanksgiving break. Everyone will be back at school and back into their own worlds in just a few short days.

“And why would you care?” You spat back, not able to control yourself. Then you decided to add the nickname to throw it back at her, “Ma?”

She just lets out a sigh and gestures to the seat next to you. “This seat taken?”

“Yeah my best friend is sitting there,” You respond, obviously lying. Paige sits anyways. She leans her forearms on the bar and you wonder to yourself how she managed to get hotter in the two years you haven’t talked. Well, more like the two years you hadn’t responded now. Someone had to make the change so the both of you could move on.

“Yeah I know you and I know her. And I know that she ‘left’ for the bathroom when I started walking over here because she wants me to talk to you. And no matter what you tell yourself, you wanted me to talk to you too.”

The glass leaves a line of condensation as you slide your dirty Shirley across the bar from in front of your best friends real seat to the one Paige had taken.

“You make too much sense. Drink something.” You say. It just earns a chuckle from the blonde. She takes a long sip of your pretty full drink obligingly.

“I came to apologize.” She says when she sets it back down. She keeps it in front of her, swirling the small black bar straw through the ice of the drink.

This makes you scoff.

“Do you even know for what?”

“Yes.” She says, the dead serious look in her eyes breaking through your haze of alcohol. You believe her. That’s not the problem. The problem is that you always do.

This makes you reach back out for your drink, but when you grab it to take a sip, Paige doesn’t let go. Instead she lets you guide her hand and the glass to your lips, and lets you slowly tip it back.

“Then tell me, what are you sorry for?”

“Everything.”

“Not good enough.”

“I know. I’m sorry especially for the last time. That I said I was going to be different and then acted the same. I’m sorry I never called to tell you I was feeling anxious about it again. I’m sorry I just stopped talking to you instead of saying something. I’m really genuinely sorry, you know. I wish I could take it back. I wish I never fucked it up so bad. I wish I could go back and do it all again differently.” She says to you, her blue eyes boring into yours.

You take a second before responding, not wanting to let the drinks influence your word choice. “Do you remember what I said on the first time you called me our freshman year in the spring?”

“That phone call was four hours long, I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific.”

“When you said you always disappear because you’re so afraid of messing it up and hurting me.”

“Yeah.” She says. “Which I realize now probably hurt you.”

“Well on that phone call I also said to stop trying to take responsibility for hurting me. I would never let you fucking hurt me Paige. I learned after the first time in the eighth grade that it wasn’t gonna work, so I learned to just have fun. I learned how to not let you hurt me.” The attitude was coming back out. You really had tried to keep the peace when starting this apparently pretty serious conversation. But this topic inevitably always came up every time you two started something new again.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shut up I’m talking now.” You say and she laughs. It makes you laugh. It’s familiar which is nice, but the niceness of it all makes your heart ache a little bit. The laughter reminds you of late night frozen yogurt runs after admitting you still had feelings for one another and kissing just out of sight of the Ring camera in your driveway. Of playing hide and seek from your best friend and laughing at nothing while shoved into a bathtub.

“Anyways, as I WAS saying, I was trying to bring up that I told you that I would always be here if you wanted to start something again. That I would say yes as many time as it took to get it right. That no matter how bad it went the last time, I probably wouldn’t be able to say no. So I stopped saying anything at all. That’s why I haven’t responded.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“What way?”

“Would you still say yes if I asked?”

“If you asked what?” You responded, being coy with it. It wasn’t your responsibility to say her feelings for her. She can be a grown up just like you.

“I want to be a part of your life again. However much you’ll have me.”

Those were not the words you had expected her to say. If anything you would think she would want to ask if you wanted to try again, or if you wanted to sneak off to the bathroom to hit it just this once. But to ask to just simply be a part of your life? In whatever way you’ll have her?

How were you supposed to say no. Of course you missed her. Over the years the hole of her absence had shrunk, surely, but it never healed. “It’s not like it was with Paige” was always running through the back of your mind whenever you met someone new.

This sort of a proposition is a slippery slope. You two could go to from friends to something more to nothing at all in a blink of an eye. That’s actually what you’re best at together. This sort of opening, presenting as a tame and gentle re-connection is just the sort of thing you needed to actually avoid to not get hurt. A quick fuck in the bathroom wasn’t going to be an emotional rollercoaster.

“Don’t you just want to go fuck in the bathroom instead or something?”

She laughs, but this time you don’t.

“I have two answers to this. Both of which I probably shouldn’t say but will anyways. Yes, I will always want to fuck you in the bathroom. And no, I want to be not just a hook up this time. I want longevity.”

“Well, P boogers, for longevity you’ll have to earn my trust back. Text me tomorrow and let’s make plans for Friday.” You say since your best friend just returned from the bathroom, pointing to her mom on speaker phone.

“She’s here to pick us up,” She says and you slide out of your seat and into the chilly night air, not bothered enough to look back at Paige, whose gaze you could feel following your steps out.

The buzz of your phone had you on high alert all day. The first two were spam emails, and the third was a series of texts in your friend’s group chat. As you pulled your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket it was actually who you wanted to hear from this time. You stood and went into the kitchen under the guise of retrieving more snacks to avoid your siblings’ wandering gazes.

Don’t answer, bitch!!: how’s the parade this year?

Of course she remembered you and your family always watched the Macy’s day parade together after brunch. And of course she opened with that. It was only the first day and it was getting harder and harder not to keep hating her.

You: just as boring as it was last year

You: how’s football?

Paige immediately answers with a picture of Drew mid-griddy in their makeshift backyard end zone. You can’t help but smile at the sight of the kid in his happy place with his sister, half covered in mud.

Don't answer, bitch!!: tied 108-108

You: how long have you been playing?

Don't answer, bitch!!: both too long and yet still not long enough

You: typical

Don't answer, bitch!!: so Friday, I’ll pick you up at 10:15 if that’s chill

You: sure

You: are you going to tell me what we’re doing?

Don't answer, bitch!!: no

Don't answer, bitch!!: dress casual, don’t eat breakfast

You wait for another text but none comes. You simply like the message and slip your phone back into your pocket, trying to return your attention to the parade. It’s practically the same every year, but your parents still insist you watch the whole thing as a family each time. Some traditions never die, you guess.

On Friday morning, instead of the typical Paige pull into the driveway and honk pickup method, you’re actually greeted by her ringing your doorbell. You open the door to find her version of “dress casual” as camo cargo pants and a UConn bball hoodie. Yours was ripped jeans and a pink long sleeve, paired with a cutie vest you thrifted a few years ago.

You walk the six strides to her car in silence before Paige tries to open the door for you. You place your hand over hers and shut it.

“This isn’t a date, Bueckers.” You say.

“I know.” She responds, a cheeky grin on her face. You don’t have the brain space to think about what that means right now. “What if I’m just trying to be nice?”

“That ship has sailed for us.”

“Aight then” She says and goes around to the drivers side, letting you get situated on your own.

She starts to drive without putting anything in the maps, but you quickly know you’re going to your favorite breakfast spot in town, which is right across the street from the infamous fro-yo place.

The smell of pancakes and coffee overtakes you before you’re fully into the booth. Paige unsticks your menu from hers and passes it to you, and you thank her.

“So are we going to talk or what?” You ask.

She doesn’t look up from the menu. Instead she puts a finger to her lips and responds “Shhhh I’m thinking.”

“Oh well if you’re thinking then I’ll be quiet, I know it’s hard for you.”

“Hey!” She says looking up now, the same smile from when you were fifteen together on her face.

From there the conversation progresses naturally, her telling you about the season that’s just starting and you recapping your own soccer season for her. She makes a funny retirement joke and you spend a few minutes laughing at how the orange juice almost flew out of your nose. Then the conversation moves on to classes and futures, whereas she still wants to play in the WNBA, and she asks if you still want to be a graphic designer. You follow up about Azzi and her friends, and tell her about your own adventures in the last year. It’s good times. It’s good.

Since you’re both in agreement that it’s not a date, you split the bill and head across the street for frozen yogurt. You hip check each other out of the way so you can each get the toppings you want to the extent that you each want them, pushing each other back and forth between fits of giggles. This is what it was like, and you guess still is now, when you’re together.

You easily let the giddy feeling overtake you, and willingly forget about all the reasons this could be bad, and all the reasons why you shouldn’t watch the way her hair falls over her hood, pushed back by the sunglasses on her head. Why you shouldn’t let your gaze linger on her when she has her back turned. Why you shouldn’t feel excited when you can tell she’s “secretly” watching you too.

Back in the car you eat mostly in silence, except when she tries to take a bite of your yogurt from your bowl, attempting to dip her chocolatey spoon in your fruit-flavored concoction. You lean way out of the way and she follows, an almost messy impromptu game of half keep away half wrestling. There’s no giggles but only because you’re both so concentrated, and you each have a pretty big smile on your face. The magic is still there when you catch her eye.

Eventually she stops chasing after your bowl because you feed her a bite of your yogurt from your very own spoon. And you know what you want to happen next.

Placing your bowl on the dashboard, you know you have her attention. She sets hers aside the same way.

An inkling feeling tells you she won’t initiate it this time, because she’s “trying for longevity” or whatever. But the real tipping point is when you’re reminded of a late-night phone call admission, during an “on again” phase where she said she found it really hot when you were slightly more assertive.

So, you take your index finger and hook it around the collar of her sweatshirt, pulling her by the place where the sides of the hood meet until you faces are very close together, yet still feel distances apart. Looking into her blue eyes, you can sense the question. What will this mean? What do you want? Does this mean today fixed a lot of things? Will it ever happen again? Is this the last chance?

“Please?” You ask her, knowing she knows what you’re asking for.

“Whatever you want, Ma.” She replies. And you don’t hate the nickname. Slowly, you pull her face closer to yours until your lips meet. It’s soft and warm and slightly sticky from your dessert. Slow at first but it turns faster, and suddenly she’s rubbing circles into your hip with her thumb and you’re doing that thing with your teeth you know she likes. It familiar like when you were in high school but also a million times better.

She lets out a soft “mh” and you break apart slowly, moving only far enough away that your foreheads aren’t touching by a gap the size of a sheet of paper.

No questions anymore. It’s just eyes and a little happy exhale, shy smiles. You close your eyes, trying to cement the memory into your mind, just in case, and this time Paige is the one to kiss you.

#paige bueckers x fem!reader #Paige bueckers #Paige bueckers x reader #wcbb #uconn #huskies #uconn huskies #lesbian #queer #wlw #fanfic #fanfiction #wnba #x reader #y/n #basketball

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propertyofwicked · 1 year ago

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TAKE ME DANCING - LN

based on this request! ✧ my inbox is open for requests (or if u just want a chat!) ✧

warnings - smut! MDNI!! oral (fem receiving), possessive!lando (but also kinda cute - smut is marked ✿)

masterlist the playlist

the pulsating beat of the music reverberated through the club as lando and y/n made their way inside. the flashing lights, the energy, the sheer about of people everywhere was overwhelming, and she couldn't help but feel a little out of place.

this wasn't her scene; y/n would rather be sat in a beer garden, fearing she wouldn’t enjoy the loud music and drunk people bashing into her in a club. but lando - this was his type of place, he seemed to just exude confidence, especially in clubs, and especially when he wore that white shirt, the top few buttons undone.

lando noticed her hesitance, giving her a reassuring smile.

"don't worry, you wanna leave, we leave - ok? ," he said, squeezing her hand gently.

she nodded, trying to keep an open mind as they moved further into the crowd. the dance floor was packed, bodies moving mostly in sync with the pounding rhythm. lando led her to the bar first, using his grip of her hand to pull her closely behind him as they manoeuvred through the crowds of people, smiling occasionally at people he recognised. lando’s hand dropped hers, though not before pulling her close, so he could rest his tanned hands on the bar, leaning forward to catch the attention of the server.

“….and a double malibu coke,” he called out, trying to be heard over the music, before turning to y/n, checking that was what she wanted. she nodded at him quickly.

“and two shots of tequila please!” she added quickly, watching the server nod quickly before settling on lando’s intrigued gaze, “- the quicker im drunk, the quicker i’ll feel comfortable,” she called out, moving her head closer to his so he could hear her.

lando nodded at her, not one to discourage her, though it did concern him when managed to take back both shots without so much as a flinch.

"come on, let's dance!" lando shouted over the music, pulling her towards the dance floor with his free hand, his drink sloshing around in the other as he moved. y/n followed closely, still apprehensive, and still too sober, but lando’s energy was hard to resist.

she moved tentatively at first, unsure of her own movements, her hand reaching to pull her dress down as it rode up her legs. as the drink and music flooded her veins, y/n got into her own rhythm, her hips moving in time with the beat as lando’s hand rested on her hips, his own body moving almost in sync.

lando watched her with a mix of surprise and delight. he had expected her to tolerate the experience at best, and only for his benefit, but here she was, dancing with abandon, lost in the music. he grinned at her, matching the energy and enthusiasm.

“drink?” he asked her, bending down to speak directly in her ear. her hand grabbed the side of his face, keeping it next to hers as she replied with a loud yes, before moving him back to press a sweet kiss to his lips. she was about to follow him back to the bar but a familiar face came bounding towards the two of them.

“y/n in a club? im shocked,” alex called out, “i love your dress,” she added, holding y/n hands out as she stood back to take another look.

“thank you, you look gorgeous,” y/n replied, smiling at the girl.

“is charles here?” lando asked her, not really feeling like joining the girly conversation, to which she simply responded by point at the bar, “perfect - ill be back,” he continued, pressing a kiss to y/n’s forehead before walking over to greet charles.

he kept glancing back at y/n from the bar, half-expecting her to need a break, or to be looking at him, eyes begging him to come back. but each time he looked, there she was, dancing with alex, having the time of her life. the two men decided to join the girls on the dance floor, their hands full with a drinks for their respective partner.

as the night wore on, she showed no sign of stopping. despite not drinking much, y/n found herself emersed in the music, enchanted by the way lando’s hands stayed firmly on her waist as she danced, her back pressing into his chest with every movement.

there was something about the way she moved that made everything else fade into the background. lando could barely think straight, the desire to have her all to himself surged through him, and he found himself drawn to her like a magnet. and when she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with joy and surprise, he couldn’t help but lean down, his lips brushing against the skin of her cheek before moving to her ear.

“you drive me crazy,” he told her, his voice deep enough to send a shiver down her spine, “you wanna go soon?”

“but im having fun,” she pouted, though he couldn’t see as his face was resting in the crook of her neck, kissing at her skin.

“so am i,” he replied, moving to hold her head in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead softly, before leaning down again to add, “but i think id have more fun with my head between your legs.”

her breath hitched at his words, a flush spreading across her cheeks. the intensity in his voice, the possessiveness in his touch, the way he said it so casually. lando’s hands roamed over her body as she pretending to think about his offer, continuing to whisper sweet, sinful promises in her ear.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

it only felt like a few minutes had passed by the time the two were stumbling through the front door of lando’s apartment. y/n remembers saying a quick goodbye to alex, before lando had practically dragged her from the club, though she followed him more than willingly.

lando groaned quietly as soon as his lips pressed on her inner thigh, his fingers pushing the hem of her dress up her body quickly until the fabric pooled on her stomach. his hands ran softly down the sides of her stomach, reaching the band of her underwear, tugging it down her legs, before moving to hold her thighs open for him.

it took one swipe of his tongue on her clit for his brain to grow blank. the grip on her thighs grew firmer, hard enough to leave little marks, nose bumping against her clit as his tongue travelled through her folds.

“you taste so fucking good,” he breathes, his face pulling back to take in the sight in front of him “fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

then, he’s all over her again. lando’s lips wrap around her clit - he can feel himself growing hard at the whines she emitted for him. every flick of his tongue had her back lifting from the bed and her hands tugging at his curls, to which he responded with a quiet moan. the vibrations sent pleasure through her body, her brain turning to mush as she loosened her grip on his curls.

“do that again,” lando grunts, guiding her hands back into his hair, “keep doing that angel.”

his head is spinning, his tongue gliding through her folds before flattening against her clit over and over again. lando’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her heat closer to him. his fingers to brush against her, coating them with her slick and circling her entrance before slipping his middle finger inside. only the first knuckle was enough to have her squirming beneath him, the arm around her waist fighting to keep her pushed down on the bed.

lando feels the way she tightened around him, desperate to feel him as he pushed his finger fully into her, pulling out quickly before adding a second. his tongue moved through her heat again, tasting her slick as he circled her clit, his fingers curling up into her.

“lan - fuck i-” y/n started, her grip on his curls tightening. her hips jutted up, pushing his face further into her heat as she reached her climax. his finger curl open and closed inside of her as her hips rocked against his face, the grip on his hair loosening as each second of her high passed.

“so good,” lando moaned, kissing at her clit. “taste so good. you can do one more, right, angel?”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year ago

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♡︎ 𝙖 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘 ♡︎

characters: sub!gallagher x nb!dom!reader

warnings: usage of aphrodisiacs, exhibitionism, slight dumbification, thigh riding, dry humping, begging, cumming untouched, gallagher being an old man loser, just a mini drabble guys. nothing big (i say as i write down 1,7K words)

notes: @lufenianwol you knew exactly what you were doing when you sent me gallagher’s leaked idle animation didn’t you, you gayyyy🫵🏳️‍🌈 (im gay too😔)

sigh…

another day, another long work of hunting down criminals or outlaws who came to penacony uninvited and detaining them. the most time gallagher could ever get to de-stress were behind the bars, mixing up a drink his customers asked for or when with you. you were a fellow bloodhound, a high ranking one too, so never had enough time to spend some quality time with your tired lover.

but today, you wanted to be a little mischievous. and what was that on your mind? you slipped just a teeny weeny bit of aphrodisiacs into his usual alcohol in his personal flask of course! just a little. maybe a pinch or two. a bit of a sprinkle of magic as a gift.

or maybe even a whole mini bottle. but you won’t say it until your tired lover comes crawling over to you, huffing and puffing, whining whimpering as he begs for your help at “restocking” some of the alcohol at the backrooms.

at the other end of the bar, you watch with a barely hidden smirk whenever your lover takes a sip from his personal flask during his break times. each time he does, getting more and more intoxicated in the taste. you purposely chose one that tasted delicious and soft on the tongue, a way to reward him for his hard work of running after criminals and preparing him for what was about to happen.

he started out strong, as expected of a bloodhound officer. barely felt it, focusing on work, wiping a glass or two, mixing up a drink. but the more he drank from his flask, the more you noticed it. the little stuttering over his words, the slight flush in his cheeks, the jumpy way he reacted whenever you passed by him with a hand on his waist or lower back. that bulge in his pants. that damn delicious bulge that you love to bully.

shaking your head, snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you focus back on work to wipe the bar clean and serve the customers drinks and desserts of their liking. you and gallaher were a good pair to serve amazing cocktails after all.

finally, the rush hour had ended, meaning fewer customers. the fewer there are, the more noticeable gallagher’s show of being affected by the little sprinkle of magic became. at first, he tried to play things off as signs of cold, or just the warm and low lighting of the bar being the reason his cheeks are pink. hell, he even coughed a few times to make his act believable. believable to the nosy customers but never to you.

“[n-name]…” the man barely manages to muffle his whimper when calling out your name, low lidded eyes, hazy vision and slightly shaky hand tugging on your necktie. you hum, turning to him with a raised brow as if you weren’t the reason behind this panting mess in front of you.

“yeah? what’s up?” you ask, putting down the bottle on where it’s supposed to be as your hands come to rest on his waist. the rush hour just ended, the bar still had a few customers but they were either too drunk to care nor engrossed in their own sob life stories to share you two a glance. and gallagher was damn glad for it too.

“w-we, ahem, need to head to the backrooms. we’re running out of some beers and fizzy drinks in the fridge” he quickly clears his throat, hoping that no one had caught onto his little stuttering. you did, of course. you would catch onto anything your lover says or does. even the tiniest things. such as how he was trying to make it seem like an innocent half-hug when you could feel his cock twitch in his pants as he pushes his crotch against yours, hoping to conceal it while also giving you a little heads-up.

as if you needed the heads-up.

“alright. you can go first, i’ll come after you once i wipe my hands” you nod your head, watching as your lover disappears behind the door with a sign that read “staff only”. it was cute how gallagher was so trusting of you, never even thought for a moment how you could have been the one to drug his flask of alcohol. though, judging from his cloudy eyes and stuttering, you could guess that he could barely even think to begin with. how adorable of him.

soon enough, you follow after the steps of your lover, walking into the “staff only” part of the bar and later onto the door with the sign “backrooms”. the pretty decent sized dark room where the bar keeps their ingredients and drinks. the same exact room where your lover pushes you against the wall the moment you entered, shaky hands fumbling with the buttons of your button down shirt as he humps his hardened cock against your crotch.

“woah woah, puppy. easy now. what’s going on? i thought we needed to restock on our drinks?” you ask, feigning innocence as your hands rest over gallagher’s shaky ones, stopping his fumbling and managing to catch his attention for a minute. he looked so dumbfounded. bottom lip on the brink of bleeding due to his chewing, panting, cheeks flushed a pretty red as his dilated eyes try to focus on you. you swore he looked like he was almost on the brink of crying with how damn pathetic he looked.

“c-can’t… [name], please, help me… ‘s so hot, tight. stupid pants mmngh!” gallagher only moans, tripping over his own words in a jumbled mess as he tries to find some sort of relief for his poor aching cock. looking down, you could briefly make out a dark small patch at the front of his pants. he was so drugged that he couldn’t even tell that he was staining his own clothes with his precum. so cute.

you only hum in response, not bothering to do as he pleads as your hands rest on the fat of his ass, massaging them gently. he only whines, slurred words of how he wanted your hands on his cock falling out as he squirms in your hold. lowering yourselves down to the floor of the room, you shift gallagher on top of you to ride your thigh instead. flexing the muscles in them to make it easier for him as he whimpers at the feeling.

immediately, the man started to hump your thigh. salacious mewls falling out of his lips as he doesn’t even try to silence his loud noises, only dumbly trying to relieve himself as he rubs his clothed cock on your thigh. you could see the dark patch in his pants getting bigger, darker the more he rides your thigh. if he had his dick out, he would probably leave a mess all over your clothes.

“shh shh, puppy. the door isn’t locked, remember?” you chuckle, reminding him of where the two of you were getting naughty at. it was so cute to see his eyes perk up at the sound of your voice. more specifically, whenever you called him puppy. he really did lived up to that nickname, looking like a cute pup as he bites down on his lip.

one of your hands travel up to his chest, opting to play with his perky nipple as he let out a loud squeal at that. his chest was always so sensitive, making him let out the most delicious whimpers each time you roll, pinch or tug at the hardened nub. being so mean to not slip your hands under the opening of his button down shirt at the front, playing with his nipples over the harsh fabrics of his clothes instead. he just wanted your touch on him to relieve the ache pooling in his belly, would you be so mean to deny him of his wishes?

apparently, you would. the hand on the soft fat of his ass moving to rest over his hip, helping him hump his cock on your thigh as your other hand continue their brutal assaults on his chest. poor gallagher, can't even form a single word as his pleads fall out of his swollen lips in a jumbled heap of mess. you could barely make out your own name from it. the words sounding so muddled up as if the bloodhound officer couldn't tell the difference between reality and his drug induced feelings.

"[n-naaammmeee]... sniff pleasheee fuunnghh fucck!! p-pleashh pleaash pleeaasshee♡︎!! ungh!! guuunnhg♥︎♥︎! p-pretty pleaaseee♡︎?" gallagher whines helplessly, stuffing his flushed face into the crook of your neck as his movements become more sloppy and frantic. he was so close to cumming already, it was just so cute to see how easily someone who is apparently always in control to crumble over with just a little bit of thigh riding. and some sprinkle of magic added to the mix.

in an attempt to muffle his loud moans and stuttering of his breath, he hastily lowers the collar of your own button down shirt just a little bit more. just enough so he could bite down over the old, healing bite mark of his so he could attempt to muffle his pathetic noises. you only coo out in a mocking tone, calling him by that nickname again as you tug on his nipple through his shirt as debouched cries of your name falls from his lips over and over like a mantra. gallagher sounded like one of those old, broken down radios that only replay a single song that sometimes is in the bar.

with a final thrust and a meek little bounce on your thigh, gallagher releases into his clothes. the magenta red hue of his pants turning a darker shade as his cum pools into the materials of his pants, staining it as some of the translucent liquid drips down onto your pants. you could just wash them out later.

"done with your little show, puppy?" you ask, the hand on his hip squeezing a bit to snap him out of his hazy mind. instead, you got a shake of his head, his stubble lightly tickling the skin of your neck in the process.

"wan' more... wan' you♥︎" he mumbles, delirious and drooling, as he humps his still hard cock against your crotch, indicating what he craved so desperately. maybe next time you should check the dosage you put into his drink if he's gonna be drugged this heavily by such a small amount.

#nobu.writes #sub hsr #sub honkai star rail #sub!hsr #sub!honkai star rail #sub character #sub!character #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #sub gallagher #hsr gallagher #gallagher x reader #gallagher smut #x dom reader #dom reader #dom!reader

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c4hr4yz3e · 1 month ago

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When in Doncaster: Chapter One

George Clarke x fem!Reader

I noticed a huge lack of George x Reader fics recently so decided to try my hand :) Never written a fanfic in my life, so I'm incredibly nervous about posting this, but this community seems to be wildly supportive so thought I'd give it a go. Any advice is appreciated. Super open to any ideas you guys have too - I do have a fairly good idea of where this story is going, but I am open to any ideas.

This is planned to be a multi-part series centred around ChrisMD's Soccer Saturday video that came out recently (except Becky isn't in this fic). This first part is more of an intro, and doesn't have too much george x reader interaction, but it will come later, I promise lol

Warnings: Language?? My horrible writing?? nothing else really

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: When the boys' night of drinking and filming gets a bit overbearing, a bit of help from a kind stranger might be just what they need.

Disclaimer: Do not use or claim my work without my permission. My work is my own. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents (beyond that ofvreasonability i.e. George, Chris' original video plot) are fictitious in nature, and any connection to any other works is purely coincidental.

Chapter Two out now!!

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“Holy fuck.”

The air was light with the buzz of alcohol and excitement as more and more people flooded through the pub doors to catch a glimpse of Doncaster’s newest visitors. People were pushing past each other, desperate for a photo, hug, or even a side glance from any of the boys. It quickly became clear that perhaps this wasn’t the greatest idea. To be fair, no one could’ve predicted this turnout in Doncaster.

The bar staff were racing to complete drink orders, the quick clinking of the glasses and bubbling of the beer taps were quickly becoming drowned out by the volume of the crowd. Shouts and laughter rang like a constant. It was like the entire town caught wind of the lads’ arrival and flocked to the pub. Like hundreds of moths to 5 unsuspecting flames.

The boys sat nursing their drinks, dreading the thought of having to push through the crowd to get the next round. They made idle conversation, in a vain attempt to have as normal a night as possible. George’s eyes flicked around the room, slightly on edge as more people started approaching the table. The room seemed to be closing in – people were almost pressed against his back, and a group of girls hovered around the end of the table, eager to strike up conversation with Bach. Stranger after stranger seemed to just appear, wanting to hug and touch George and shove cameras in his face.

“This is fucking mental,” Arthur Hill spoke, glancing around the room with a mix of wonder and disbelief.

“I love everyone here,” George started, happy to have a moment of reprieve from his thoughts. “But we are not this important.”

The boys all nodded and voiced their agreement.

Of course, this was beyond George’s wildest dreams – he’d dreamt about being a world-famous YouTuber since he was 12 years old. He’d always envisioned the days when he’d be recognised on the street or in passing. But now that it was happening, he almost missed being able to grab a casual pint with the boys without the chaos of it all. He held nothing but appreciation and love for his fanbase, but in this moment, he just wanted to sit and drink with his best friends. A drink-heavy evening was certainly in order after the long week of filming, streaming, and editing he’d had.

“Anyone up for another round?” Chris asked the table, standing up.

“You’re gonna try and brave this crowd, mate? I’d better come and make sure you don’t get trod on, you little man," Bach laughed before standing and offering to help him carry the drinks. Chris muttered something about Bach being a twat before they turned and began to politely push through the crowd, stopping to take a few photos on their way to the bar.

Watching them waddle through the sea of people, George felt a faint surge of happiness for his friends. They all used to speak about making it big together, and it was such a privilege to witness them getting the appreciation they all deserved. He felt comfort and pride knowing that millions of people around the world loved his friends as much as he did.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts as a young man came up behind him and asked kindly for a photo. Agreeing, George smiled as the guy posed his camera and snapped the picture. After shaking his hand and thanking him profusely, the man left and walked back to his friends on the other side of the pub.

Running a hand through his curly hair, George looked up at the bar, instinctively searching for Chris and Bach. Not seeing them at the bar, he glanced around the room, lifting his head in attempt to spot Bach’s head over the still-growing crowd. Nothing. Where’d they go?

A quick scan around the table showed that ArthurTV was now also missing. It had been over 5 minutes. How long had it been? 8 minutes? 10? How long does it take to get drinks? It is pretty busy but surely not this long... Eyebrows furrowing with worry and his mind quickly filling with the worst case scenarios, he grabbed his phone to call Chris. As if on cue, a notification loaded in.

Bilbo Baggins

We’re okay mate, in case you were worried. Go ask the bartender with the ponytail for some pretzels. She’ll help you out.

Um, what? Rereading the text, George took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down after he nearly scared himself into panic mode. Confused but nonetheless obedient, George slowly rose from his seat, taking a deep breath, and started making his way to the bar. He glanced down at his phone, attempting to memorise his script and hide his face a little. He gripped his phone with both hands, feeling increasingly nervous at the amount of people moving around him, shuffling as quickly as possible to the bar bench. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he reached the cluttered area. The bar top, filled with half-drunk glasses of brightly coloured drinks and spotted with spilled beer, seemed as good a thing as any to hold himself steady. Shifting his phone into one hand, he gripped the edge of the bench. Feeling a sticky puddle under his fingers, he quickly retracted his hand. Wiping his hand on his jeans, he allowed himself to breathe a little. In any other instance, he would've made a joke about the sticky mess on his fingers, but he just couldn't bring himself to lean into the humour with the borderline nervewracking anticipation of being bumped into or swarmed. With the boys nowhere in sight, he did not want to face a large group of strangers on his own right now. Nonethless, the beer staining his hands was a welcome distraction from the chaos occurring behind him, even if just for a moment.

Seeing movementout of the corner of his eye, George looked up, noticing a large man in a tight black shirt walking towards him.

“I got that one, Reece.”

A metre to his left, a woman in a neatly pressed tight black button up and ripped black jeans stood, swiftly spinning bottles and pouring shots for the young girls in front of her. She exchanged a look with the male bartender, and he patted her shoulder as he walked past to serve some other intoxicated patrons. Turning to George, she smiled gently and held up a finger to say I’ll be one second, her little stack of bracelets glinting in the neon lighting and lightly clinking as she did. After seeing him nod in acknowledgement, she turned back to the girls and poured the last few shorts before pushing the tray towards them. Squealing and hooting, they thanked the woman and carried the tray off into the crowd.

After giving the bench a quick wipe, the bartender slung the cloth over her shoulder and made her way over to George. Her elegant ponytail swished behind her as she gently brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

It was like time almost stood still. The shouting and loud laughing behind him seemed to fade into nothing. She peered at him with a mix of gentleness and understanding he hadn’t realised he’d craved. It was like she somehow brought him a wave of calm, and he felt a bit lighter.

He snapped himself out of his trance with a quick shake of his head. God, how long was I just staring at that poor woman? “Um, I’d like some pretzels, please?”

Nodding with a soft and knowing smile, the woman subtely glanced around her before leaning a bit closer to George, "We're just going to go through those doors behind me, okay? When I tell you, we've got to try and be quick. So activate your sneaky-spy persona, or whatever," she offered a cheeky smile. Despite the joking nature, there was something reassuring about her smile, something safe. George felt the tension in his shoulders loosen ever so slightly, and his stomach felt weird. What on earth is wrong with me? I've only had 3 drinks.

She lifted her head and scouted the area before walking out from behind the bar and gesturing for George to follow her. Glancing behind him, he rounded the bench and followed her to the swinging doors she pointed out. With one last look behind her she pushed and held them open for George to step through. He thanked her and shuffled past, albeit a little awkwardly, his hand accidently brushing her arm. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darker ambience of the room, George quickly spotted Chris, Bach, and ArthurTV sitting at a large table in the centre.

After letting George in, the bartender quickly spoke to the group with a warm smile, "I'll be back in a tick guys, just get comfy." Arthur called out a "thank you" after her as she pushed the doors open and walked out of the room.

“Hey, you made it!” Chris walked up and clapped him on the back.

“Yeah, mate.” Still confused, George added, “What’s actually happening?”

“That bartender is a legend, man. She offered us to smuggle us out of the crowd to avoid the shitshow out there, like a fucking espionage mission or some shit. It’s absolutely mad out there,” Bach said. Admittedly, George felt his heart swell a little more than it should have at the act of kindness. Probably just heightened emotions – it’s been a rough few hours, he told himself.

“Oh, she’s so lovely! She even set us up with a free round for the inconvenience,” ArthurTV exclaimed holding up his pint. George couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty that the woman felt the need to compensate for them essentially leading a mob in here. It wasn't her fault at all - if anything, he owed her.

Bach grabbed George by the shoulders and led him to the table. It was a lovely room. With dark oak furnishings and low hanging yellow lights, complete with plush couches and a private unmanned bar, no doubt it was classy.

Gradually, Arthur Hill and the rest of the crew filtered into the room. Admittedly, despite how much they all love their fanbase, it was lovely to have a moment of peace. For the first time in a few hours, they were able to laugh and chat together without being interrupted or bumped into. George ran a hand through his hair, laughing loudly as Chris choked on his drink. He allowed himself to forget about the massive crowd awaiting him outside, and all the people he was bound to meet tonight. He let himself relish in the moment with his friends that he'd been so excited for. But in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder when the beautiful bartender would come back.

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Alrightie so this is Part 1... what do we think?

This is very much an introduction type chapter - if you guys like this concept so far I have a lot of ideas for the coming parts. So far I'm anticipating this will be a 3-part series with the chance of an epilogue kinda thing.

#george clarkey x reader #george clarke x reader #george clarkey x y/n #ukyt #chrismd #george clarke #arthur hill #arthur frederick #italian bach #george clarkey

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dreamofbetterthings · 10 months ago

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Finally Home Wolverine x mutant! Reader

Prompt: “I’ve spent forever thinking about what I’d say to you when I saw you again. Now that you’re here in front of me, I can’t seem to find the words.”

VIP: Logan Howlett aka Wolverine (Played by Hugh Jackman)

Universe: X-Men (Originally Fox), Marvel

Summary: Wade was a man of his word, and managed to get Logan back to his universe, right into the arms of someone he hasn't seen in ten years.

Warnings: This is a different ending from Deadpool and Wolverine. Minor spoilers for the plot. Reader is basically a modern-day avatar (The last air bender universe, not the Jake Sully blue folks lol) since all the good powers are already taken haha. Also, The Last Stand doesn't exist in this universe because I refuse to acknowledge the pain I had watching that movie.

A/N

Holy cow I took my boyfriend to see Deadpool and Wolverine, and we loved it! Originally, there were a couple of stories for these two individually that I had in my WIPS, but I just needed to get a couple of stories out while the movie was still fresh in my mind. The ending might be a little out of character for Wade and Logan, but I had no idea how to end it, so it is what it is. Once again, minor spoilers ahead for the film. I'll have another one out soon for you all.

Enjoy!

Logan was never one to be straightforward with his emotions. Nobody knew what he was thinking, or how he felt about anything. The only thing he managed to convey was anger and rage. Not now though. The party at Wade's apartment was in full swing, and everybody was having a good time knowing their existence wasn't on the verge of collapsing.

Almost everyone, anyway.

Logan sat on the couch and watched Wade interact with his friends, his newfound family, and that damn dog. He watched as they all smiled and joked with each other, passing food and drinks about. It was a domestic life that he hadn't quite learned to adapt. He almost did though, with you. Logan pulls a photo out of his jeans and a melancholy look spreads across his face as he looks at it.

"That's not fair, you can teleport!" Brushing what was left of the water balloon off your clothes, Kurt shrugs his shoulders. "You'll just have to be faster and catch me!" You quickly aim before he disappears again, leaving you without a target.

It was a sunny day, thanks to Storm, and Charles decided to give the students a break. With so much going on in the last few months, everyone was exhausted. He thought it would be a good idea to set up a pool and let everyone relax. Most of them were just kids after all, and they were pushed so much harder than they needed to be for the sake of a world that won't always accept them. They yearned for a day to be themselves, to be kids, and today, was that day.

Everybody was outside either in or by the pool. Students were chasing each other with water balloons and water guns. Others were taking turns jumping into the pool, or playing water polo, or volleyball. There was a barbeque off to the side when the kids got hungry, and of course, alcohol for the adults. The sun was out, and it gave a warm contrast to the nippy water of the pool. The X-Men team, the adults anyway, were sitting in lounge chairs or standing around, making sure the kids were being careful and not hurting themselves. Storm was even walking around and taking pictures of everyone having fun, mentioning she wanted to get them developed and put in a scrapbook. A memento of when life was easier and calm.

Then there was Logan. Off to the side drinking a beer, watching everyone have a good time. He wasn't much for the domestic life, as he didn't make a habit of getting close to people. But, these were his people, and he was thankful to find a community that accepted him as he was, even if he would never say it out loud. He watched all the kids run around, but his eyes always found their way back to you. You looked happy and relaxed, even when chasing Bobby or Colossus around with water in your hands. This was a huge contrast from how you looked during the missions you went on. It was a good look for you.

Logan was pulled from his thoughts when a sudden burst of cold hit his chest. Looking down, he noticed his once-dry black shirt was sticking to his body, water dripping from it. All the kids gasped and stopped their movements. Charles looked at his friend, a slightly amused look on his face. He looked around, trying to figure out who had just signed their death wish before his eyes once again landed on you. Standing next to the pool, you looked around, pretending like you didn't just water bend to hit him from across the yard. Logan did something that confused everyone. He simply grunted, wiping off his shirt before taking another drink of his beer. Everyone relaxed and continued to have fun, although slightly surprised at the lack of reaction from the stoic man.

You had stopped the antics and started talking with Scott, asking him how things had been with him and Jean. The last mission put a bit of a strain on their relationship. Your back was to Logan, so you didn't see when he put down his beer and started to creep up towards you. Scott noticed when he finally made his way behind you but decided not to say anything. After finishing his sentence, Scott quickly excused himself and stepped away. That was when Logan decided to grab you from behind.

You screamed from suddenly getting picked up and tried to reason with the man as he walked towards the pool. "Logan, come on, let's talk about this for a second. You don't have to do this. I'm sorry, please just put me down!" Unfortunately, your pleas fell on deaf ears, and the others sat there laughing as Logan hurled you into the pool. The kids all yelled in excitement. They'd been trying to get you in the water for hours. Had they known it was that easy, they would've splashed Logan themselves earlier. When you finally came up for air, everybody was laughing, and you even heard a couple of shutter clicks from Storm's camera.

Logan just stood there with an amused smirk on his face. You fake pouted before he came over to the edge of the pool with his hand out. "You shouldn't have splashed me." With a huff, you go over to meet him at the edge. "You don't sound too sorry about it." He pulled his hand away and shrugged his shoulders. "Alright, I won't help you out." "Okay, okay. I accept your apology. Would you be so kind as to help me out of the pool?" He reached his hand back out, and you happily took it, only to shock him by pulling the man with all your strength into the pool with you. This got everyone laughing. Scott laughed so hard he fell to his knees. Logan finally came up for air, his poor shirt clinging to his body for dear life, and wrapped his arms around you to keep you from getting out.

He was smiling.

He didn't smile often, and it always warmed your heart to see those pearly whites. Storm ran up and managed to get a couple of photos of the two of you before running off again. "I think that makes us even." You shake your head. "Not even close, however, I don't want the entire school to think you aren't the brooding mysterious man that you waltz around as.” Leaning close to his ear you whisper so the kids can't hear. "So, if you want, you can make it up to me tonight." Logan stays frozen in place, his eyes following you out of the pool to look for a towel.

Storm had the photos developed later that night and slipped a couple under Logan's door with a note. "Don't worry, I didn't put these in the scrapbook. I think the fourth will be your favorite." - Storm

Logan's eyes welled with tears as he held the photo. She was right, the fourth photo was his favorite one. The two of you were soaking wet in the pool with your arms around each other, smiling towards the camera. The picture got crumpled over time, always in his pocket or folded out of reach, but he kept it.

He missed you.

Dear god, he missed you.

Your body was never found when the mansion was raided. He always assumed you were taken and experimented on. He would've rather you be killed instead of kept alive and tortured for who knows how long. After looking for you for what felt like forever, he finally gave up, assuming you were dead. The crumpled-up picture was the only thing he had to remember your smile, your laugh, you.

Logan blinked the tears away when Wade approached. "Hey there peanut. You got a second?" A grunt left Logan's lips. "What do you want?" The self-proclaimed marvel Jesus took his hand and pulled him towards the door. "I got a surprise for you, I think you'll like it. Don't worry about the party, we'll be quick." As the two men walk out the door, Wade pulls a TempPad out of his pocket, and Logan starts to protest. "I'm not about to do more universe jumping with you. Once was enough." Wade nods. "I understand, but I think you might change your mind once you find out where we're going." Before Logan can say anything else, he is pulled through a portal into a hallway that looks like a carbon copy of the one he was previously in. "I swear if I have to listen to another one of you assholes I'm going to kill you both." Wade shrugs the comment off. "It's not another me." He gets serious for a moment.

"I know I lied to you about being able to fix your universe, and I'm sorry. However, I did jump around and find someone that you've been missing for ten years." Wade knocks on the door and then steps back. It opens a few seconds later.

"Logan?"

You stood there, shock and disbelief on your face. Without a second thought, both your feet move until you collapse in each other's arms. A sigh of relief leaves the broken man's mouth as the war in his mind begins to subside. "It's me bub. It's me." Tears spill down your face as you hug the man who you haven't seen in years. The two of you finally pull away, and Logan turns to Wade. "How did you do this? I thought they were dead." The merc shakes his head no. "Took a while to track them down. I almost thought they were dead, luckily I was wrong."

A portal appears behind Wade as he reaches out to hand Logan the TempPad. "I couldn't fix your past, but I at least wanted to give you a familiar future. Don't expect you to, but come visit anytime. My door is always open. We'll miss having you around." Logan took the device from Wade's hands. He starts to walk through the portal before Logan calls him. Turning around, Wade sees tears in the older man's eyes. "Thank you." He nods, before walking through the portal, and everyone in his apartment smiles and waves goodbye, before it closes.

Logan puts the device in his pocket, before looking at his lost love. He reaches his hand out and touches your face, afraid that this is some sick illusion and you'll be ripped away from him. “I’ve spent forever thinking about what I’d say to you when I saw you again. Now that you’re here in front of me, I can’t seem to find the words.” You smile and take his hand in yours. "Well, luckily for us, we have the rest of our lives for you to figure it out." You begin to walk back into your apartment, Logan's hand in yours. He thought about visiting Wade again when the time was right, but right now, he had a life with you to catch up on.

He was finally home.

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monicfever · 24 days ago

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the weight of watching. 𝜗𝜚 matt murdock.

something bitter coils in his chest, tightening with every glance she gives to someone else.

dedicated to s ♡

cw ᝰ .ᐟ fem!reader (she/her) ,, jealous!matt ,, established relationship ,, drinking/partying

matt murdock doesn’t belong in the corner.

not tonight. but here he is, leaning against the brick wall of some too-loud apartment, fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling lazily in the low light. the music pulses through him, familiar but not quite the same as it was years ago — too loud, too fast. too many people, too many bodies swarming around like they're all chasing something they can't catch.

he’s different now. older. quieter. a little more broken. but the party still calls to him in the same way it always has — that same reckless energy, that need to get lost for just a little while. his days of binge-drinking and endless nights of dancing on tables feel like they belong to someone else. someone he used to be, but no longer is.

he’s dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt that’s too tight around the chest, but it’s the kind of outfit that speaks to a version of himself he doesn’t like to think about — the version that used to have an easy smile, a quick laugh, a reputation for showing up at every party, every weekend, and leaving with nothing but a few phone numbers he’d forget by morning.

he used to like the noise. the lights. the smell of cheap cologne and the stench of spilled beer. he used to like it because it made him feel alive in a way nothing else could. it doesn’t pull him in like it once did. now, it’s just background noise, like everything else in his life. a blur.

there’s something about the way the room feels tonight — almost suffocating, but in a way he can’t quite place. the air is thick with bodies pressed close together, their voices rising and falling in laughter, shouts, and the deep thrum of a bass that seems to get under his skin. he can feel it in his chest, the vibrations rattling his ribs, the music turning everything into a dull pulse that doesn’t even make him want to move anymore. it used to.

it feels like he’s watching them from behind glass. he’s here because she asked him to be, because it’s her friends' party, and that’s what you do when you’re with someone — show up when they need you to, even if it’s not what you want. maybe at one point he’d thought this was what life was supposed to be. these loud, carefree nights spent in the company of people who barely know each other but act like they do.

now, standing at the edge of the crowd, he feels... apart. disconnected. he’s not sure if it’s because he’s tired of pretending, or if it’s the way the alcohol mingles in the air, or maybe it’s the way the smiles here feel a little too rehearsed, like everyone’s trying too hard to convince themselves that they belong. he’s lost in a sea of people whose names he doesn’t know, whose conversations bounce off his ears without ever landing. someone clinks a glass near him, their laughter a sharp burst of sound that cuts through the room, but it doesn’t mean anything. it doesn’t even feel like it belongs here, in this space. the walls are decorated with string lights that flicker in and out, the dim yellow glow only serving to make the air feel heavier. it’s supposed to be fun, he guesses. everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves, losing themselves in the moment. but all he feels is this strange sense of dissonance, like something’s off-key.

his girlfriend is somewhere in the house. he can hear her laugh — light, easy, the way she always does, as if she’s still in the honeymoon phase of a friendship he’ll never understand. the way she’s laughing with her friends, the way she belongs in this moment while he’s standing still, unmoving. he’s not sure if he’s jealous of how effortless it is for her to be here, or if he’s just exhausted from trying to make it fit.

the music shifts into something older — a throwback track meant to pull out nostalgia and glittered memories from college parties and summer road trips. it works. the room seems to glow with recognition, people singing along like they’ve all agreed to pretend they’re seventeen again. someone knocks over a red solo cup nearby, and the splash of beer spreads like a dark stain across the hardwood, but no one notices. no one cares. it’s that kind of night.

the kitchen is brighter than the rest of the apartment — too bright, honestly. overhead fluorescents humming, reflecting off the slick marble counter that’s cluttered with mismatched liquor bottles and half-cut limes that have dried out around the edges. someone’s spilled something sticky near the sink, and it clings to matt’s shoes as he shifts his weight, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed, half-listening to a conversation that doesn’t involve him.

she’s maybe ten feet away, standing near the fridge with a drink in her hand — rum and something citrusy, judging by the way she barely sips it. she’s laughing again. that soft, unbothered kind of laugh that spills easily from her when she’s comfortable. he loves that sound. or used to. it feels further away tonight. there’s a guy standing next to her, taller than her by a few inches, clean cut, hair too neat for this kind of party. one of her friend’s boyfriends — matt doesn’t remember his name. doesn’t really care to. he’s talking with his whole body, loud and animated, using his hands in ways that don’t feel entirely necessary. matt hears the shift in his tone — the slight drop in his voice when he leans closer, the way he elongates his vowels like he’s trying to stretch time, trying to keep her attention a second longer than he should.

his girlfriend doesn’t notice. she’s nodding, smiling politely, maybe a little amused. she’s always been good at making people feel like she’s listening. like she sees them. and matt knows her well enough to know it’s not flirtation. not from her. but the guy? matt can hear it. the way his breath hitches slightly when she laughs. the way his heartbeat skips when her shoulder accidentally brushes his. it’s not obvious. not enough to raise flags for anyone else. but matt’s not anyone else. his radar is sharper than that, more precise. the guy’s too into her — not in a dangerous way. just in that annoying, lazy sort of way some men get when they think no one’s watching.

matt shifts again, slow. his drink untouched in his hand. “matt!” her voice floats across the kitchen. “come here!” he looks up, neutral expression in place. that’s the thing — he’s always careful with his face. always unreadable. he’s already walking over before she’s finished the sentence, weaving through a small crowd of half-drunk twenty-somethings gathered around a bowl of punch that looks radioactive.

she smiles when he gets there, places a hand lightly on his chest, like a gesture to prove something. or maybe just because she likes touching him. he doesn’t know anymore. “this is evan,” she says, motioning toward the guy. “he’s dating maya — i told you about her, remember?”

matt extends a hand automatically. “hello.” he greets. evan’s handshake is just a touch too firm, like he’s making a point. “yeah, nice to meet you, man. your girl’s hilarious. we were just talking about that time she got locked out of her own apartment and—”

“i know.” matt cuts in, still smiling, but it's sort of strained. “she tells that story a lot.”

she laughs beside him, like she doesn’t notice the shift, and maybe she doesn’t. maybe she’s too caught up in the hum of the party and the buzz of alcohol and the comfort of knowing she’s liked — adored, even. maybe she doesn’t notice the way evan looks at her just a second too long. the way he stands a little too close. matt notices.

the angle of evan’s stance — open, angled in, just slightly — like he’s subconsciously making space for her, not out of politeness, but expectation. it’s all micro. easy to miss if you weren’t trained to catch every flicker, every breath. matt knows interest when he hears it. knows the way attraction hums low and easy under casual conversation. and more than that, he knows the way men like evan test boundaries. she’s glowing in that way she gets at parties, when she’s had just enough to drink to forget how sharp she can be. softened at the edges. loose. laughing without checking the room first. she tosses her hair over her shoulder like it’s nothing, like she has no idea how that movement lands, but evan watches it fall.

matt’s hand lingers at her waist now, just resting. just there. no pressure. “so how long have you two been together?” evan asks, like he doesn’t already know.

“little over a year,” matt jumps in before you can. he doesn’t look at her, but he feels her smile. “depending who you ask.”

“she said you’re a lawyer?”

“something like that.”

evan laughs — a bit too forced — like he doesn’t know what to do with vague answers. he turns to her again. “you didn’t say he was mysterious.”

she grins. “you didn’t ask.” her voice is light, teasing — the kind of tone she slips into when she’s comfortable, when the room feels safe and her drink’s just strong enough to make everything a little softer. she doesn’t notice how evan’s watching her now.

matt notices.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t change his expression. just shifts the weight of his stance slightly. his fingers flex once at his side. he’s quiet — still wearing that same faint smile like it’s stitched into place. but the air feels different to him now. taut, almost.

evan keeps going. “i mean, she talks about you. but it’s always kind of vague. like, ‘matt did this’ or ‘matt said that,’ and we’re all sitting around like — who is this guy?” he laughs again, and it’s easy, familiar. like he thinks he’s funny. like he thinks this is harmless.

she laughs too, elbow resting on the counter behind her now, posture loose. “he’s not vague. he’s just private.”

“that so?” evan glances at matt, but it’s brief — just a flick of attention before his eyes drift back to her. “you ever think he’s a little too good at keeping secrets?” and it’s not a flirtation, not outright. it’s wrapped in a joke, casual and playful — meant to make her laugh, not think. but it lands wrong in matt’s chest. heavy.

matt finally speaks. voice low, smooth, measured. “well,” he says, “people tend to assume a lot when you don’t perform for them.”

evan raises a brow, like he’s just been handed a challenge. “is that what I’m doing?”

“you tell me.” matt’s voice never shifts. it stays calm, the kind of quiet that makes people lean in closer without realizing why. she looks between them now — not worried, not reading into it, just amused. “okay, you two need a drink or a game or something. this is starting to feel like a chess match.”

matt softens just enough to glance down at her, like he’s remembering himself. “you’re right,” then to evan, “you play?”

“what, chess?”

matt shrugs, almost too casually. “sure. anything with rules.”

evan laughs, but it’s tight now — like it got caught somewhere in his throat on the way out. his eyes flick to her for reassurance, like maybe she’ll laugh too, diffuse whatever subtle thing just passed between them. she does — softly, not quite getting the edge of it, but sensing something shift. “you guys competitive?” evan asks, taking a sip of his drink like he’s trying to buy time.

“not really,” then he pauses, gaze fixed on him, eyes calm. “i just think it’s easier when everyone knows where the lines are.” — his words are intentionally vague, intentionally leave room for interpretation.

“yeah, that’s fair.” evan’s a beat too quick. “boundaries, right?”

matt’s smile returns, softer this time. “exactly.”

she nudges matt lightly with her hip, trying to cut the tension she half-senses but doesn’t name. “okay, now you’re just intimidating people.”

“he’s not intimidating,” evan jumps in, and it’s almost a challenge — not quite, but close. “just intense.”

matt hums. “i only get told that from people who don’t like being read.” evan opens his mouth, then closes it, choosing instead to lift his drink again. she gives matt a look — playful, exasperated, the kind she gives him when he’s being like this and he knows it.

“right,” evan clears his throat, brushing his fingers through his hair, glancing around like he’s suddenly aware of just how many people are standing nearby. “well, i should, uh — maya’s waiting for me.”

“you should.” matt says, voice even. not unfriendly — just... done. “she’s been looking for you the past five minutes. you probably missed it. little distracted.”

evan blinks, then smiles — the kind of smile people wear when they don’t know if they’re being insulted or not. “yeah, guess i was.” he nods, hesitates, then turns to her. “it was really good talking to you. again.”

she smiles. “you too.”

matt listens for evan to leave. doesn’t look away until he’s fully disappeared into the crowd. the second he’s gone, the atmosphere lifts — just barely. “you okay?” she asks, studying his face.

“me?” he looks down at her, all innocence. “i’m great. i love parties.”

“you were being so weird just now.” then she’s laughing, brushing her fingers against his arm as if she can shake the mood off him.

“mm.” he leans slightly against the counter. “he was being something.” she laughs, but she doesn’t press it. doesn’t ask what he means. just reaches out and straightens the edge of his collar, like it’s second nature.

“you didn’t have to go all serious lawyer mode.”

“i didn’t,” matt responds, turning toward her, tone still level. “that was just party matt.”

she hums, narrowing her eyes. “party matt’s kind of an asshole.”

he smiles, finally, tired. “you say that like you didn’t like it.” she laughs again, light and easy, still looking at him like she doesn’t notice. doesn’t see how quiet he’s gone beneath the surface, how his hand is still resting lightly against the edge of the counter, fingers drumming against the tile like he needs something to hold onto.

she’s still looking at him like she always does, with that soft unbothered expression. maybe she’s still tipsy. maybe she really didn’t notice the way evan looked at her. the way he smiled too slow, stood too close.

maybe that should be comforting. that she’s so untouched by it, that she trusts him enough not to see anything worth worrying about. but it isn’t. not right now. because she still hasn’t moved — still leaning against the counter like she’s waiting for something else to happen. she’s glowing in that way she gets when she’s been surrounded by people who adore her. when she’s been laughing too much and talking too fast. like she’s full of warmth she doesn’t even know she’s radiating.

matt’s fingers drum against the counter again — soft, steady. a metronome for the thoughts circling too fast in his head. he doesn’t realize he’s doing it until she places her hand over his.

“seriously. you okay?”

he lifts his gaze to her slowly. offers a toothless smile and nods. “yeah. just thinking.”

“about?”

he shrugs, because what is he supposed to say? that he’s jealous in the quiet, ugly way he promised himself he wouldn’t be? that he’s still hearing evan’s voice wrapped around her name like it belonged there?

“it’s loud in here.” he says instead.

she smiles faintly, fingers still over his. “you hate parties.”

“i used to like them.”

she leans her head slightly, curious. “and now?”

“now,” he says, swiveling his head around — at the red cups, the glitter-stained floor, the echo of laughter that feels too sharp. “it’s just noise.”

she watches him for a second longer than usual, not quite reading him, but something in her softens. “we can leave,” she says, thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. “just say the word.”

he nods. doesn’t say anything right away. the truth is, he doesn’t want to leave because of evan. not really. he wants to leave because this version of her — glowing, adored, golden under someone else’s gaze — doesn’t belong to him. not in this room.

maybe he’s not jealous of evan.

maybe he’s just jealous of how effortless it is for her to shine without even trying.

“five more minutes.” he murmurs, and she squeezes his hand once before turning back toward the crowd.

and he lets her. stays behind in the kitchen light, fingers still pressed to the counter like he’s afraid it might let him go.

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.26.2025.

( masterlist. )

#𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ／ ⋆ ۪ MONIC FILEZ #daredevil x reader #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock x you #daredevil born again #daredevil ba #daredevil hc #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil imagine #charlie cox x reader #jealous!matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #matthew murdock

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demonlorddiva · 6 months ago

Text

Obey me! Brothers when your drunk!

You did really good on a test you’ve been working on and Diavolo said you could have anything you wanted! Any other human would ask for money, a vacation, or anything their hearts desired. But you? Your simple. Without the ability to buy human world alcohol in the devildom you asked diavolo to pick you up some for a night of fun! (And chaos) you decide that staying home and drinking is the best option as to not be in danger of other demons. How will the other brothers react?

*Obvi the reader is over 21 or the age of consuming alcohol in their country

Lucifer

You decided that since drinking demonus with him was one of your regular dates in his office, you could do the same thing and drink with him!

He’s glad to see you don’t want to leave the house. And that you want to drink with him makes him even more at ease

Plus his pride is soaring that hes the first person to see you drunk

The night is simple, drinks, music, and a wonderful conversation

It’s not often he gets to let loose and drink to his hearts desire, and with you? What a better time

If your walking funny he immediately picks you up and takes you to his room at the end of the night

He wants to make sure your okay through the night (and he wants to cuddle) (he’s v affectionate when he’s drunk)

He knew the night was happening, so by his bedside is pain meds, water, electrolytes, the whole nine yards

Will cuddle you in the morning and tease you about the silly things you said

Mammon

PARTY TIMEEEEE

You don’t wanna leave the house

He whines

You put your foot down

INDOOR PARTY TIMEEEE

You know he has his room set up for the perfect movie night, pillows, blankets, popcorn, the whole nine yards

Has a drinking game set up so you both can play

And ofc he set up the rules so you would both be hammered even before the movie ended

But the popcorn ran out and you guys are still hungry

Y’all have to hold hands as you go downstairs to the kitchen to make some instant noodles for each other

Lucifer catches y’all being too rowdy and forces y’all to go to bed

Mammon is absolutely WRECKED when he’s hungover (the hangsiety is real) not to mention his head pounding and his stomach hurting

You both spend the next day cuddling, with you telling him how much you love him, and how you think he’s still so cool even after you saw him faceplant on the floor

Levi

A night??? With you??? And you’ll be drunk??

He assures you multiple times that your safe and he absolutely doesn’t want to take advantage of you (not that you were worried in the slightest about that) (Levi bb calm down)

Y’all decide to play devil beerio kart (it’s like beerio kart if you’ve ever played, I’ll explain the rules)

Basically NO DRUNK DRIVING

During one race, you have to finish your beer (or other drink) you can drink it all before the race, stop any time in between, or stop before you finish the race and chug your drink

After a few races y’all are LIT

You guys end up yapping for a while before you put on an anime and cuddle (Levi’s to drunk to be nervous)

When you both wake up your hurting and hungover and Levi is FREAKING

The hangsiety is real with him

Just keep cuddling with him and tell him it’s okay and to fall back asleep

Satan

He seems like the guy who doesn’t care to drink

But for you? And to see you drink? But of course

I think y’all pull out a board game or card game and take a shot every time you lose

He’s curious after every drink how your feeling even though his ability to remember things is getting fogged

He’s giggly when he’s drunk, and that’s a somewhat rare sight in your day to day life so you spend the rest of the night laughing and talking

Hates that your hurting in the morning (even though this was your idea)

Has all the medicines and drinks for you on hand to help you feel better

Demands silence in the house so your headache doesn’t get worse

Asmo

PARTY TIME

I mean.. this is a special occasion right? Just because you can’t leave the house doesn’t mean you can’t have fun!

A slumber party is in order with all the works! Face masks, popcorn and snacks, and doing your nails of course.

Y’all get silly and chat and gossip all night

But you have to tell him NO PICTURES even if he begs

I feel like y’all get super sappy drunk girl talking

“NO YOUR THE GREATEST PERSON IVE MET”

At some point, after a bit of drinking someone (both of ya) get the great idea to start prank calling people

You: “is your refrigerator running?”

Beel: “uhhh yeah”

You: “well then you better go catch it!!” *click*

The other brothers had to deal with Beel guarding the fridge in fear that it would ‘run away’

We all know you guys are BIG BABIES the next day being hungover

Be prepared to cuddle and complain together all the next day

Beel

He also doesn’t seem to be a drinking guy

But he’s down to try anything! I think he’d like cocktails with fun ingredients

DEF loves Bloody Mary’s

So I think that’s the night, y’all spend your night in the kitchen coming up with different drinks and getting drunker along the way

Y’all order WAYYY too much Chinese takeout and have a great time

Feel like beel gets sappy when he’s tipsy and tells you how much he cares about you and y’all snuggle and stuff

Makes you a DELICIOUS hangover meal for you

Like a Waffle House setup but at home

Def cuddles you and is worried if you feel bad the next day (I feel like beel doesn’t get hangovers)

Belphie

Feel like he’s not a drinker as well

But the opportunity to drink with you? And he’s the only one who can see? Oh yeah he needs to see this

Y’all decide a movie drinking game.

Example: watch pirates of the Caribbean and drink every time they say captain or ship

Y’all get lit QUICK

Decide to pull a prank on Lucifer and you guys talk FOREVER about the plan, what your gonna do and it’s happening TONIGHT

.. queue YALL falling asleep and never do anything LMAO

The next day is full of bedrotting and sleeping

He makes fun of you for anything silly you did

But you can make fun of him back, the way he was stumbling was really funny

In true drinking fashion I wrote this while I was drunk HELLO

Obviously not proofread love you!!! Been really sad about the story not continuing with obey me so I’ll be posting my drafts and more ideas a bit more often for a while

#obey me shall we date #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me headcanons #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me belphie #obeyme #obey me scenarios #obey me x mc #obey me hcs #lucifer obey me

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pucking-rowdy · 12 days ago

Text

[2.8k]

blowing smoke (2/?)

pairing: luke hughes x childhood best friend!reader, ethan edwards x fem!reader summary: adjusting to life without luke and with ethan proves to be more difficult than you thought

warnings: underage drinking notes: ethan edwards i love u so much!! all my luke lovers, don't fret he'll get his comeback in part 3 :)

part one | part three

unedited

the rink doesn't change — the sound of pucks clattering, blades sailing across ice, and the freezing air you've grown so accustomed to throughout the years. the boys laugh and yell, chasing each other down on the ice as practice ends. you briefly catch a glimpse of some familiar faces: dylan laughing by the bench, rutger digging for his water bottle. they offer you lazy waves and bright grins as you take your usual seat.

then, you see luke.

his helmet off, curls damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. his eyebrows are drawn tight in concentration as he listens to coach. the skin peeking out from beneath his gear is shining with a gleam of sweat, and you can't help but take notice of his broad shoulders.

he'd spent the summer working hard and eating right in an attempt to beef up before hockey season started. despite your initial annoyance at losing your late-night sweet treat buddy, you had to admit his work paid off. he looked good.

he doesn't see you. or at least if he does, he doesn't let it show.

it’s been a week since the party. since you left ethan’s room wearing one of his t-shirts and a knot of guilt in your stomach. since you passed luke in the hallway the next morning and he didn’t say a word. just brushed past you, eyes straight ahead.

"hey, sunshine."

you jump, startled out of your thoughts. you turn to see ethan. his cheeks pink from his time on the ice and hair damp from his shower. he smells like spearmint gum and the citrus body wash he swears by. it's familiar. safe.

you smile softly, "hey."

"he's still not talking to you?"

you don't have to ask who he is.

you shake your head, a tight-lipped smile on your face.

ethan huffs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "he's being an asshole."

you shrug, but it's stiff. "he doesn't owe me anything."

"that's bullshit," ethan mutters, more to himself. he tugs you into his side, pressing a kiss to your temple.

you used to know every corner of this rink like your own heartbeat — the annoyingly squeaky locker room door, the smell of rubber and sweat, the exact seat in the bleachers where luke always looked for you after he scored a goal. now, you feel like a stranger. and he doesn’t bother to look at you at all.

the kitchen is half-lit, the only light coming from a string of battery-powered fairy lights the boys had purchased after you and some of the other girls complained about sterile kitchen lights.

most of the boys are asleep by now. only a few stragglers hang out, half-sprawled across the living room, nursing protein shakes, still high on the buzz of tonight's win. you’re perched on the counter, feet swinging, scrolling through your phone while waiting for your frozen pizza to finish cooking. ethan stands between your legs, his head resting on your shoulder.

your voice is quiet, careful to not disturb his peace. "you tired?"

ethan nods, his arms tightening around you. you bring your hand up to his hair, softly stroking it.

the sound of a set of keys hitting the counter makes you jump. you turn to see luke. he doesn't say a word, but for the first time in over a week, his eyes meet yours.

there's a beat before he tears his gaze away, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. his voice is stiff and quiet, "didn't mean to interrupt."

he leaves without another word. the oven beeps and ethan pulls away to grab the pizza, muttering. "asshole."

the hockey house bustles with drunk college students. shitty pop music blares through the house, reminding you that dylan was playing dj tonight. the floor is sticky, and the air smells of cheap beer and sweat as you make your way through grinding bodies.

you find mark and adam in the kitchen, both of them already plastered as they watch you grab another drink. mark slings a friendly arm around your shoulders, his other hand grasping a red solo cup full of mystery liquid.

"so, you and eddy, huh?"

adam laughs, egging it on. "yeah, he's been obsessed with you since freshman year. thank god you finally threw him a bone."

mark nods, "i was honestly getting sick of listening to him whine."

you laugh, sipping your drink. you glance up, catching emma's eye. you can feel her eyes on you, her expression unreadable.

you hadn't told her. you, truthfully, hadn't told anyone.

she lets out a bitter scoff, storming out to the back patio. you let out a deep sigh, passing mark your drink as you follow after her.

"em-"

the autumn air is cool against your skin, sharp with the familiar bite of late october. the patio is dark, lit only by the dim outdoor lights. you're the only two outside, everyone else tucked away in the warm house.

she whirls around, her blonde hair whipping behind her. her voice is stern. "don't."

you clear your throat. “i was gonna tell you.”

emma laughs, dry and disbelieving. “really? when?”

you hesitate. “i don’t know. it just… happened.”

she turns, eyebrows furrowed. “right. it just happened. and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning to your best friend?"

“i wasn’t hiding it to hurt you,” you offer, trying to sound steady. “i just didn’t want to complicate things.”

“you mean like how you’ve been dancing around luke for years but swearing nothing’s going on?”

you flinch. “that’s not fair.”

“no, what’s not fair is finding out from adam and mark that my best friend slept with ethan. and then realizing maybe she was lying to me the whole time.”

you shake your head. “i didn’t lie.”

“you didn’t tell the truth either,” she snaps. “and you know what that makes me feel like? like I’m the last to know in a life i’m supposed to be part of.”

that hits harder than you expected.

she exhales, eyes glossy now, and you can tell she’s fighting tears. “i'm not mad about ethan. I like him for you. but this? you making me feel like I’m on the outside now? that’s what hurts.”

“don’t worry,” she says over her shoulder. “you’ve got ethan now. and maybe luke, too. you don’t need me.”

your heart stutters. “this isn’t about luke.”

her face twists, like she’s trying not to cry or scream. “isn’t it?”

you blink, stunned. you open your mouth — to defend yourself, to explain — but she’s already turning. you watch her walk away, a pit in your stomach.

you'd met emma during your freshman year.

the dorm hallway smelled like industrial-grade lemon cleaner and nervous sweat. students and parents clogged the corridor with boxes, carts, and mattress toppers spilling out of plastic wrap. you were already sweating, trying to maneuver your suitcase through the narrow door of room 133 when you hear it:

a loud thud, followed by a muffled “shit. sorry! that was a lamp, i think.”

you peered inside the room, half expecting chaos, and find it.

a girl crouched by one of the beds, a tangled mess of blonde hair falling out of her clip as she frantically checked over a box labeled “FRAGILE (pls be nice)” in big pink letters. she glanced up at you, eyes wide, slightly panicked.

you smiled, stepping fully into the room and dragging your suitcase behind you. “you must be emma?”

she stood, brushing dust off her jeans. “in the flesh.”

she looked around the room, then pointed at the left bed. “i kind of claimed that side? but if you’re a left-side sleeper or you feng shui better that way, i’m totally flexible. i’m not a monster.”

you laughed, already liking her. “right side’s fine. less sun in the morning.”

“look at us, already compatible.”

the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, unpacking, unboxing, and decorating. emma pulled out a string of fairy lights and insisted on hanging them up immediately.

at one point, as you hung up your clothes and emma unpacked her endless supply of hair ties and dry shampoo, she glanced over at you and said, “i was really hoping my roommate wouldn’t suck.”

you grinned, grabbing a sweatshirt to fold. “same.”

“i think we’re gonna be okay.”

you didn't say it then, but you agreed. something about this, about her, felt solid. like the beginning of something good.

the dim fairy lights seemed to mock you now. you'd left the party, only muttering a quick goodbye to seamus casey, who was keeping out by the front door. your dorm room is quiet except for the occasional buzzes of messages you’re not ready to read just yet. emma’s side of the room is empty, and you don't expect her back tonight. the thought of her curled in luke's warm, navy blue sheets made your throat tighten.

your chest feels heavy. it wasn't about ethan, not really. you know that.

there's a knock at the door. you almost ignore it before a familiar voice calls out.

"it's eddy."

you sigh, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over your hands. "come in."

he opens the door, stepping inside. his face is different, more careful, unsure. unlike your usual ethan who cracks jokes first and thinks later.

he takes a cautious seat at the edge of your bed, like he's not sure where he belongs in your space. he glances at emma's side of the room. "mark said you two fought."

you nod, eyes rimmed red with tears.

"she thinks i've been lying to her. that's i've always wanted luke, and i've been keeping her out on purpose."

ethan's quiet. "have you always wanted luke?"

you close your eyes. the silence stretches too long.

"do i really have a chance here? with you, i mean."

your throat tightens.

"ethan..."

"i'm not mad," he quickly clarifies, "i'm just...confused, i guess. one minute, you're curled up in my bed, wearing my clothes, and everything feels good. the next, you're somewhere else."

"i care about you," your voice shakes, "but luke's been part of my life forever, and lately everything just feels...different. i hate different."

ethan nods slowly, as if he's trying to understand. it's quiet again.

"i think i always knew," he keeps his gaze on the linoleum tile of your floor, "that...maybe i was just here because he wasn't. i told myself it didn't matter, that at least i was here."

he lets out a shaky breath and you bite your lip to hold back tears.

"it's hard. when i'm sitting here, giving you everything that i've got, and i still feel like the second choice."

you vehemently shake your head. "you're not a second choice, eddy."

"but i'm not first, either," he looks at you, so soft and understanding that you can feel tears welling, "and i think i wanted to be."

it's quiet again.

"do you want me to go?"

"no," you whisper, "i don't ever want you to go."

ethan nods slowly, taking in the meaning behind your words. he slowly moves over, lying next to you. he tugs you into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"you deserve to be loved," his voice is soft, "even if you don't know what to do with it yet."

the semester was quickly coming to an end and christmas break was right around the corner. in the chaos of everything, you'd forgotten that you were due to spend christmas with the hughes family.

your parents were going out of town, and ellen hughes had graciously offered you a place with her family at christmas. at the time, you'd eagerly accepted, always excited to spend more time with luke and his family.

now, however, christmas break instilled a feeling of impending doom within you.

you let out a deep groan, laid back against ethan's pillows. he laughs.

"come on, it's not gonna be that bad."

you sit up on your elbows, giving ethan a deadpan look. he winces, "yeah, okay, it's not gonna be fun, but at least you get to see jack and quinn."

"it's gonna be so awkward," you flop back down, head hitting the soft sheets. ethan laugh again, hovering over you.

"baby, it's gonna be fine. they love you."

you let out a sigh, "gonna miss you."

ethan grins, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. his lips are soft and he tastes like the strawberry chapstick he'd stolen from you. you grin against his lips, a wave of content washing over you.

his lips trail to your neck, pressing softly against your pulse point. "it's only two weeks. everything's gonna be okay."

the cold, michigan air nips against your skin, snow crunching under your boots as you make your way up the driveway. your duffel bag is slung over your shoulder, just as heavy as the feeling in your chest.

the house hasn't changed. a warm light emits from the windows, a homemade wreath is hung on the door, and you can see the faint flicker of a hockey game playing inside. it almost feels like peace again.

the door swings open before you can knock. luke stands there, his curls cut a bit shorter than the last time you'd laid eyes on him. he's wearing his favorite hoodie, one that you're surprised to see still in one piece with how much it's been worn.

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

"hey," he finally speaks, taking your duffel and letting you inside.

"hey," you reply, stepping into the warmth of the home.

ellen appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “there’s my girl!” she beams, crossing the room to wrap you in a hug that smells like peppermint. for a moment, all the tension leaves your body.

you catch quinn's voice floating from the living room, “tell her she’s on hot chocolate duty again. she makes it better than luke.”

luke snorts softly behind you. “still not true.”

you glance at him over your shoulder, the two of you wearing matching grins. for a moment, everything feels normal again.

the house was quiet. jack's loud laughter had faded hours ago, quinn's holiday playlist had stopped looping, and ellen and jim had retreated to bed with cups of tea.

you sat at the kitchen counter, the dim lights casting the room in a cozy glow. a cold cup of cocoa sits in front of you. soft footsteps approach and luke's voice fills the silence.

"you made the good kind."

"didn't feel like punishing everyone with your recipe," you shoot him an easy grin because that's how things were meant to be. easy.

that earns a soft grin. he opens the cabinet, grabbing his favorite mug. "funny."

it's quiet for a minute.

then, finally, he breaks it. "so, you and ethan?"

your chest tightens. "what about it?"

"i didn't realize it was serious."

you shrug, stiff, "you stopped asking about anything."

he flinches like you slapped him, and he thinks you might as well have.

luke pours the water, fixes his cocoa the way he always does. three marshmallows, not two. he leans against the counter across from you, mug warming his hands.

“you think I stopped caring?” he asks quietly.

“no,” you whisper. “i think we're not good with change.”

he swallows hard, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “you think I liked watching you with him?”

"i just know you stopped being my person.”

his breath catches, but he doesn’t look away. he crosses the kitchen slowly, sets his mug down beside yours. “you’re still mine,” he says, barely audible.

"i miss you," you whisper back. you heart aches as you watch the way his face twists, as if he's trying not to get too emotional.

"i'm right here."

"are you?"

luke doesn't answer, not because he doesn't want to, but because he doesn't know what the answer is.

instead, he shifts a little closer, and lets his head rest gently against your shoulder.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just lets out a quiet breath and leans his cheek against you.

you lean your head atop his.

you stay like that for a while, basking in the normality of having your best friend back.

as you both sit in silence, the soft hum of the fridge the only sound between you, your phone buzzes on the counter. you glance down. a message from ethan: "did you make it there okay? miss you!"

you don't answer right away. you just stare at the screen, thumb hovering, while luke breathes quietly beside you.

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daryltwdixon · 3 months ago

Text

"Ever After" is a continuation of our story exploring moments beyond the ending of All That Remains. These chapters are non-chronological, but each will include a clear timeline (e.g. 4 years, 2 years, etc.) after the events of Part 1.

Summary: Four years after everything, you and Joel find a fleeting moment of peace on the dance floor—until cruel words shatter it. The next night, as forgiveness begins to take shape, Joel finally breaks, and you hold him through it. warnings: (canon) slur word. This does contain spoilers for part 2 so if you don’t want those don’t read! notes: I just love them so god damn much

The warmth of the Tipsy Bison is infectious that night, lightness and laughter seeping into your bones, wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. Music and chatter echoes off wooden beams, glasses clink in toasts, the excitable clamber of a three-piece band filling the air with something rare—something that feels a little like peace. Even Joel, ever guarded, carries a flicker of something lighter in his expression. Not quite joy, but something close. A twinkle in his eye that softens the lines of his face, makes him look a little less haunted.

When he pulls you onto the dance floor, his touch is warm, steady. One hand resting on your waist, the other clasping yours, his grip is sweet and tender as he guides you easily, his steps sure even if yours falter. It brings you back—these kinds of nights, this kind of music. The echo of a life you knew a long, long time ago.

Frank had tried to teach you to dance once, back when your dad would play piano after dinner. You stepped on his toes so many times he finally threw his hands up with a dramatic groan before scooping you up and spinning you through the living room instead, laughter bouncing off the walls until you were breathless. Those were safe, golden moments. Ones you don’t let yourself think about too often.

Joel twirls you, pulling you in close again as the song winds down. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in his expression, something hesitant, like he’s allowing himself this just for tonight. You let yourself lean into it.

“Did you see who’s here?” you ask, a little breathless as you drift toward the wooden bar when the song ends. You both reach for your drinks, the sweat from the glasses cooling your fingers.

Joel follows your gaze across the room. She stands a little apart from the others, tall and lanky in a dark blue plaid over a gray tee, hair tied back messily, a few strands slipping free. Ellie. Her gaze is distant, locked on a pair of dancers throwing themselves into the next song with wild, careless abandon. Then, as if sensing it, she glances up. Her green eyes meet yours, unreadable.

You smile.

She doesn’t return it. Instead, she shifts, turning her attention to Jesse as he steps beside her.

Joel’s expression changes. The twinkle is gone. The warmth that thawed him, even just for a moment, snuffed out. He stands still, his beer glass lingering at his lips, forgotten. His gaze drops, something heavy settling in its place.

Your chest aches at the sight of it. You reach out, brushing your fingers against the back of his hand. A quiet tether.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice soft. He sets his beer down with a dull thud, turning his back to Ellie and Jesse as if he can’t bear to look anymore.

A ripple of movement catches your eye. Across the dance floor, a girl approaches them. Dark hair pulled up in a loose bun, her confidence easy and natural. She tugs Ellie’s hand, pulling her into the center of the floor.

The next song is a slow one, the kind that sways in your bones. You reach for Joel, offering a small, hopeful smile. “I like this one. C’mon.”

He lets you pull him back in, his hands settling on your lower back. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers playing absently at the nape where his hair has grown longer, streaked through with more gray than before.

You lift onto your toes and press a small kiss to his chin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes only on you. “S’alright.”

But you know how much he’s been hurting. Since the day Ellie left him that note, telling him to find her in Salt Lake, things have shifted. She learned the truth—years of her quiet suspicion festering as your lives went on. She found out that the truth about the Fireflies, that Joel had taken her away, stealing that supposed chance of saving the world. That you had lied to her too, standing by Joel through and through.

He came back with her that day, safe but somber, something hollowed out in his chest. He tried to hide it, but you saw it in the quiet moments. In the way he carried himself. He told you right away what happened, and all you could do was go forward now knowing she might never forgive you.

Ellie and the girl are closer now, smiling at once another and then suddenly, the girl is kissing her.

You gasp, eyes widening as Joel’s head lifts, following your gaze.

“Stop starin’,” he mutters into your ear, though you can hear the small smile on his lips.

“They’re so cute,” you whisper back, grinning up at him.

For a moment, Joel just watches. And then, something in his face shifts. That twinkle, that happiness sparks in his big brown eyes again. Eventually he looks at you again, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, warm and easy. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him—

A voice cuts through the warmth, sharp and sour.

“Hey!”

You break apart, glancing toward the sound. Seth, the bartender, stands in front of the girls, his expression twisted in disgust.

“This is a family event,” he snaps.

Ellie and the girl pull apart, both looking a little sheepish, maybe caught off guard. You see the girl say something, an apology maybe, but Seth doesn’t move. He lingers, waiting. Pushing.

The girl’s expression hardens. She takes Ellie’s hand and turns away.

“Remember next time there’s kids around,” Seth sneers after them. You hear the girl apologize again, though this time it’s got more grit to it as they walk away.

And then, loud enough for the entire room to hear, Seth scoffs, “Just what this town needs—a couple loud-mouth d*kes.”

You barely have time to react before Ellie spins back around, fury burning in her expression as she pushes forward, pointing an angry finger. “The fuck did you just say?”

You’re already moving through the crowd, but Joel is faster. He shoves Seth, hard, sending him stumbling back.

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel growls.

Seth’s face twists. “Get your hands off me.”

You push into Joel’s chest, palm flat, grounding. “Hey,” you say, voice softer, urgent. “That’s enough.”

Maria and Tommy are already storming over, grabbing Seth before the situation can get worse. The room is still buzzing with tension as they haul him outside.

Behind you, Joel turns to Ellie. His voice is gentle. “You alright, kiddo?”

Ellie’s eyes are sharp. Her chest rises and falls with short, angry breaths. She looks between the two of you, and the defiance hardens into something colder.

“What is wrong with you?” she snaps at Joel.

Joel flinches, just barely.

“He had no right—” he begins.

“And you do?” she cuts him off. “I don’t need your fucking help, Joel.”

Silence falls like a blade. Joel looks around as people stare, and then his eyes fall to the ground, his fingers twitching uncomfortably at his sides.

“Ellie, that’s not—” you begin, putting up a hand to try to soothe.

“Don’t you start with me,” she snaps, turning to you. “You’re no better.”

Joel tenses beside you, his fingers curling at his sides. “Ellie,” he says, softer but still with that paternal firmness, “don't talk to her like--"

"It's okay," you exhale softly and touch his arm. “let's just go home.”

He hesitates. Then, sighing, lets you guide him toward the door, stepping out into the frigid night air. The cold hits instantly, sharp against your skin, your breath misting in the dim glow of the streetlights. You cling a little tighter to his arm, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him, the quiet weight of his presence. Joel exhales, watching the vapor curl and disappear, his jaw tight, shoulders squared like he’s bracing against something much colder than the wind.

The warmth of the dance hall is gone entirely.

The following night settles over Jackson, the air warmer but still biting as you keep your coat hanging over your shoulders, the kind of evening that makes it a little easier to linger outside. The town has quieted, save for the occasional murmur of voices drifting from neighboring houses, the low hum of cicadas threading through it all. The porch light casts a soft glow, flickering slightly, catching on the edges of Joel’s face as he sit on the end of the porch swing, guitar in his lap.

His fingers pluck absently at the strings, slow and thoughtful, a melody without words. Your feet rest in his lap, and his hand comes down once in a while, absently tracing small circles against your ankle in the quiet, warm and grounding. The touch is natural, unconscious. He isn’t one for casual affection, not really, but these quiet moments have chipped away at that over time.

You hold a book open in your lap, but you haven’t turned the page in a while. Not when Joel keeps glancing at you between chords, eyes flicking from his fingers to your face like he’s committing something to memory. Not when he hums low under his breath, so quiet it barely reaches you. It’s easy to sink into the feeling of it—of him, here, with you, like this.

Then, his fingers stop. The abrupt stillness pulls your attention up just in time to follow his gaze to the steps.

“Ellie,” you say, surprised but offering a small smile. She stands at the bottom of the porch steps, her green eyes wide as they look between the two of you with hesitation. Quietly, she steps onto the porch, boots scuffing against the wood. Joel’s hand slips from your ankle as he leans forward, his whole body stiffening.

You can feel the conversation coming before it even begins.

“I’ll… I’ll just be inside,” you say gently, easing your legs from his lap. “Gotta clean up dinner.”

Joel looks at you then, something brief but grateful in his expression, something heavy and sad. He stands, coffee mug in hand, guitar by the door. He gives you a small nod, and you return it before slipping through the door, leaving them to whatever needs to be said.

The house is quiet as you pad into the kitchen, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet. You set your book aside on the table, rolling up your sleeves as you move toward the sink.

Both of their voices carry through the open window, their words slipping as much as you try not to listen in. You can still see them, though their backs are turned to you, just a sliver of Joel’s face is visible and you cast your eyes down to not pry.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” Ellie’s voice, careful, almost hesitant.

“Coffee,” Joel answers. His voice is low, even.

“Where’d you get that?” she asks, surprised.

“Uh, those people that came through last week. A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it but… not bad.”

You smile to yourself, recalling the way Joel’s eyes had lit up at the mention of coffee beans. He’s smelled like it every morning since, cradling his mug like it’s something sacred.

There’s a long pause before Ellie speaks again.

“I had Seth under control.”

You still, hands gripping the plate in hand a little tigher. Joel’s response is too quiet to catch, but Ellie presses on anyway.

“And you need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.”

Joel says something too quietly for you to hear, and you look up to see him nod before he asks, a little louder, “Dina… is she your girlfriend?”

The question hangs in the air, weighty. That was the girl’s name. You can only imagine the look on Ellie’s face—a teenager being asked about her love life.

“No.” She exhales sharply. “That was just one kiss, it doesn’t mean anything—”

“But you do like her?”

Silence. And then, something too soft to make out. You force yourself to move, to grab the rest of the plates from dinner and focus on something, anything else.

Joel’s voice is steady when he finally speaks again. “Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are but… I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

There’s a beat of silence before Ellie scoffs. “You’re such an asshole.”

You bristle slightly at the sharpness in her voice, glancing toward the window. Joel must have said something in response, but his voice is too low to catch. Ellie, however, isn’t finished.

“I was supposed to die in that hospital.” Her voice wavers, filled with something raw and painful. “My life would’ve fucking mattered. But you took that from me.”

A lump forms in your throat. You need to move. You aren’t meant to hear this.

You turn on the faucet to full strength, the rush of water drowning out the words that follow. You scrub at the dishes harder than necessary, trying not to watch them through the window. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see them—Joel standing rigid, staring out into the road, something carved deep into his face. Ellie, staring away, a storm in her rigid shoulders.

You drop your gaze back to the sink, focusing on the task at hand, pretending you haven’t heard a thing.

Eventually, you watch as Ellie eventually walks off into the night, her silhouette shrinking against the dim glow of the street lamps, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Your gaze moves to Joel as he stands frozen on the porch, watching her go, his jaw tight and eyes full of something distant. He doesn’t call after her. Doesn’t move until she disappears from view entirely.

Then, slowly, like the weight of it is just catching up to him, he steps inside.

The front door clicks shut behind him, quiet but final. He sets his guitar down by the wall, his movements stiff, deliberate, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. His shoulders are drawn up tight, his breath measured and slow, but his chin tremble slightly as he exhales, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do with themselves.

“Joel?” you say softly as he closes the door behind him. Your hands wipe the sudsy water against a spare kitchen rag, your eyes never leaving him, watching every small shift, every tight line of his face. His brows are pinched, his mouth set in a deep frown, eyes downcast like the weight of the world is dragging them toward the floor.

“How did it go?” Your voice is gentle, cautious. “Hey—” you whisper as you step closer. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even glance up.

So you reach for him.

Your fingers skim his jaw, tentative but firm, tilting his face toward yours. You dip your head, searching, desperate to find his eyes. “Hey,” you repeat, softer now, aching.

He just shakes his head, refusing to meet you there.

Instead, his hands find your sides, gripping the fabric of your shirt so tightly his knuckles go white. It’s like he’s holding himself together through you, like if he lets go, he might fall apart completely. You can still hear the muffled echoes of their conversation in your mind, fragments of words lost beneath the rushing of the sink, drowned out by your attempts to give them space. Now, you wish you hadn’t. Now, you wish you’d listened.

Then, his head drops to your shoulder, and his entire body folds in.

It happens so quickly you almost don’t believe it. The Joel you know—steady, unshakable—coming undone in your arms. The grip he has on you tightens, pulling you against him like he needs to feel something solid, something real. And then you feel his shoulders trembling, his breaths shuddering against your neck, sharp and uneven.

Your chest tightens, a sharp, aching squeeze that makes your throat burn.

Your hand moves instinctively to his hair, fingers slipping into the graying strands, petting gently at the long locks. Your other arm wraps around him, anchoring him as best you can. He’s always been the one catching you, the one holding you together when you’d break—when you’d throw yourself into him after a long day, after another nightmare. But this? This is different.

This is him letting go.

And you realize, with a sudden and heartbreaking clarity, that he’s probably never let another person see him like this. Not in all the years he’s been alive, not in all the pain he’s carried.

The thought shatters something inside you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper into his shoulder, voice barely above a breath. “It’s okay.”

You don’t know if it is. You don’t know if it ever will be.

But you hold him anyway.

For a long time, neither of you speak. The only sounds are his unsteady breaths, the deep heaving, steadying sighs he takes. He adjusts, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he pulls himself back. His eyes still won’t meet yours, but you see the shiny glistening of tears wetting his brown eyes as he says, “She…she said…” he wipes his nose on his shoulder as he takes a deep breath, “She’s tryna forgive me. Forgive us.”

Something in your throat tightens. You nod, bringing your hand up to brush your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “That’s good, that’s a good thing.”

His eyes flick away for a moment, like he’s searching for something, like he’s trying to make sense of what it means. His grip pulls you in closer, just slightly, hands still gripping your waist like he’s afraid if he lets go completely, he’ll come apart again.

He exhales, slow and uneven, rubbing a hand down his face before resting his forehead against yours. His breath is warm, still a little shaky. "I don’t know. I don’t know if she ever will." The words are barely above a whisper, like saying them out loud makes them more real.

You pull him into another hug, pressing your lips against his temple, against the deep crease of his brow. “She’s trying,” you murmur. “That’s something. Just needs time is all.”

He closes his eyes, his fingers twitching where they rest against you, like he’s holding on to that thought, letting it settle.

For tonight, you just hold him.

#all that remains #all that remains: after #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #tlou joel #ellie williams

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