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hier--soir · 1 year ago

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a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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diqldrunks · 7 months ago

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rafe cameron and you, wheezie’s babysitter… (part two here!)

a/n: this concept has me in a chokehold! asks are open for rafe <3

cw/tw: wheezie has been aged down to six because, well, PLOT (i don’t actually like this that much anymore but i’m posting anyway ✋).

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

imagine being wheezie’s babysitter, spending a lot of your weekends at tanneyhill. you would feel guilty about wheezie just watching tv when you were with her, so you would always try to mix it up, doing loads of different arts and craft projects with her (making sure to do anything involving paint or glue on some old canvas outside as to not make a mess in a house that wasn’t yours)

imagine being wheezie’s babysitter, and the first time you meet rafe cameron is when you are covered in hot pink paint and glitter. you had found wheezie a kids apron with the paints, but weren’t able to find anything to cover yourself, causing your top to become a mess. rafe had offered to lend you a jumper for you to put on while he put your top in the wash on a quick cycle. (yes = it smelt so good!)

imagine being wheezie’s babysitter, and deciding to make friendship bracelets with her one afternoon. you had some of the string from when you were younger at home, and thought wheezie would enjoy it — which she did. you spend ages (well, ‘ages’ in the perspective of a six year old) coming up with colour pairings and charm choices. there was one bracelet that wheezie was adamant that you made, because it needed to ‘be prefect’.

imagine being wheezie’s babysitter, and having rafe cameron get home as you were tidying up the mess that you and wheezie had caused as she’s upstairs asleep. after a slightly awkward ‘hello’, rafe was about to leave when you stopped him.

“wait, i have something for you.”

“you do?”

“well, wheezie does — we made friendship bracelets, and she was adamant we made one for you — here. you don’t have to wear it, i would totally get that—”

“that bracelet you’re wearing — that’s from wheez, right?”

“yeah, it’s one of the ones we made today…”

“i don’t see why i wouldn’t wear mine if you’re wearing yours. means we can match too. might need your help to put it on though — please.”

imagine being wheezie’s babysitter, and watching as rafe decided what wrist he wanted it on. you tied it, making sure to leave a gap of two fingers so it wouldn’t be too tight on him. you tried to ignore your fingers brushing his skin, this being the first contact you’ve had with each other — not knowing it would be far from the last.

a/n: (dolly this is where the “i want rafe cameron to make eras tour friendship bracelets with me” came from 🤭)

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

rafe taglist (lmk if you want to be added!); @izabellaemerson @spiderflunk @kitty-m30w @vincapandora @uraesthete @wickedtactics @harmoneeee24 @starkeybae @fairydvstss @alexiskirkland @devils-blackrose @makaylalovessmut @winterrrnight @clearbolts @slayystuff @neilove @littlemissborntolose @emyslittlebubble @fclklqre @ldrsource @stargrltara @isabelllauer @zizuras @sadgirlelenora @djosfuture @leaskisses444

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leviscolwill · 1 year ago

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read your mind (smau)

pairing: ollie bearman x singer!reader

in which: ollie is his gf's most supportive fan and you're the most supportive wag (face claim: sabrina carpenter)

notes: my first socmed au ever !! this was so so much fun to write hehe, i don't know if it's too long or too short for this kind of story so lmkkk. also yn.fm is yourname.fm (bc music got it ? hahahahaha.....)

now playing: read your mind by sabrina carpenter (emails i can't send)

yn.fm

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yn.fm cooking a little something 👩‍🍳🤭

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user57 ALBUM SOON

yn.fm maybe, maybe not 🤭

olliebearman who let her cook ⁉️⁉️

yn.fm UR SO MEAN

olliebearman haha i love you

olliebearman

liked by yn.fm, arthurleclerc, and 67.843 others

olliebearman aaand we're back ! very excited about my first season in f2, many good things to come 😁👍

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prema_team Let's go Ollie !

yn.fm ROTY AWARD INCOMING

yn.fm I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO WIN EVERY RACE

olliebearman who are you ?

yn.fm oliver answer the phone NOW 😁

yn.fm

liked by olliebearman, taylorswift and 861.989 others

yn.fm SURPRISE !!! my debut album 'email i can't send' is dropping on april 27th 2023 💌 i'm so so so excited to share these stories with you, tell me which track you're claiming in the commentssss 🫶

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user44 NONSENSE IS ABOUT TO BE MY TOP SPOTIFY WRAPPED SONG I CAN FEEL IT

olliebearman good choice 👍

yn.fm stop influencing my babies 😡

olliebearman just appreciating their taste love 🤷‍♂️

olliebearman they're so not ready

olliebearman not our little secret anymore :(

yn.fm i'll share other secrets with u dw 🤭

olliebearman

liked by scuderiaferrari, yn.fm, and 98.089 others

olliebearman so happy with this weekend's results! hoping for many other wins for the rest of the season :)

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yn.fm MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

yn.fm 🐻celona 🤭🫶

yn.fm so leng

olliebearman stop this madness

scuderiaferrari Complimenti Ollie 👏

olliebearman grazie mille team !

yn.fm @olliebearman stop pretending you can speak italian on main

olliebearman @yn.fm you're about to get blocked

yn.fm

liked by flolikethis, alferdoflores and 980.421 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm nonsense video out tomorrow starring my favourite boy ever !!!

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user98 the highway is looking rlly comfy rn

olliebearman i caught the l-o-v-e

yn.fm so corny

olliebearman ??? they're your lyrics

yn.fm no ❤️

olliebearman am i your favourite actor as well ?

yn.fm not you thinking you can top ryan gosling

olliebearman 😞

yn.fm

liked by renee_downer, dennis_hauger and 875.385 others

yn.fm yk i luv a london boy !! uk tour starts tonight 😎

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olliebearman actually i'm from essex

yn.fm 'actually i'm from essex' 🤓☝️

olliebearman the british slander was a bit unnecessary

user68 i'm so excited to see you tonight xx

yn.fm i can't wait to see your cute faces my loves 🥹

formula2

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formula2 Bearman to receive post-Feature Race time penalty at the #BritishGP.

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yn.fm booo you whore

user15 ariana what are you doing here ??

user66 LMAOO Y/N ON YOUR PUBLIC ACCOUNT ???

user98 @user66 her pr team must be so tired

yn.fm literally underserved

user39 so real of you

user07 so sad about ollie's penalty, on his home race as well :(

olliebearman

liked by prema_racing, nyckdevries, and 78.054 others

olliebearman i wish this weekend would've ended on a better note, but i'd like to thank everyone for the support there ❤️

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yn.fm so happy that i got to see you do what you love at your home race 🫶

yn.fm you were perfect ilysm

olliebearman love you ❤️

olliebearman

liked by clementnovalak, jakcrawford_ and 178.652 others [tagged: @yn.fm]

olliebearman happy one year to the most beautiful, hardworking and kind person on earth. here's to many many many other summers with you my love

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yn.fm I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ARGH

olliebearman i love you more 😁

paularon_ @olliebearman eww

yn.fm my swiftie bf

olliebearman you basically brainwashed me into a swiftie but okay

yn.fm

liked by oliviarodrigo, lissiemackintosh, and 1.003.581 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm happy anniversary to my lover, i'm so happy our paths crossed because i don't even know what i would do without you !! i love you more than words can say 🫶

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olliebearman my pretty girl !! i love you so much ❤️

yourbsf @olliebearman can i get her back now

olliebearman @yourbsf maybe tmrw

yourbsf @olliebearman it's been a week bearman 😐

olliebearman @yourbsf joint custody is so complicated with you

yn.fm @olliebearman @yourbsf HELLOO ??

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samkiszkasfacialhair · 4 months ago

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Move My Way

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader but every other member of GVF gets some kisses.

Summary: Take a shot… or strip.

Warnings: Alcohol, kissing, implications of sex, spicy Jake

Word Count: 3.5k

This was one of those times in movies where the main character narrates a scene and tells the audience “You may be wondering how I got here.”

You were on the floor of Josh’s apartment surrounded by three half naked Kiszka boys and Danny who was also in his boxers, reaching for a bottle of vodka on the floor.

Here’s how you got here- a thunderstorm, a citywide blackout, one of Jake’s teenage memories, and jealousy.

Speaking of teenage memories, you’d been friends with Josh since high school. You did theater with him and remained close as the years went on. Your friendship began including Jake over the years and stayed pretty strong despite the small crush on Jake you’d pushed aside year after year. Sam and Danny had always been around as well and you had a good bond with them too. Even as they became successful and began touring and eventually moving out of Michigan, you remained friends with all of them.

You planned a weekend trip to Nashville to see them and go out to some of their favorite spots now that they’d lived there and got acclimated for a few months now. However, when you originally planned your trip, you didn’t plan on a huge storm hitting while you were there, preventing you from going out bar hopping with the guys like you originally planned.

Instead, everyone was sprawled out over couches, chairs, and the floor of Josh’s living room watching movies and eating popcorn when his TV screen went black and every light in his apartment went out.

You all tried your phones, no wifi.

Any phone service you had was limited.

Jake stood up from the floor and used his phone flashlight to guide him to a window. He pulled back the living room curtains to be met with nothing but a sea of black with wind and rain whipping at the window.

“It’s a blackout!” he said excitedly, “The entire city is down, look!”

Danny and Sam eagerly got up and ran to the window to see like two little kids while Josh headed for his bedroom

You followed behind him, already knowing what he was headed for.

He dug around in the bottom drawer of his nightstand in the darkness for a second, before pulling out a bunch of candles and handing you some.

You headed back into the living room and placed the candles on his coffee table.

“Does anyone have a li-”

You didn’t even need to finish your sentence before Sam was tossing you a lighter.

“Thanks,” you said as you caught it and began lighting up the candles you had set on the table.

Josh joined you all in the living room with more candles, lighting the rest of them and giving his apartment a warm glow.

“So, now what do we do? Wait it out?” Sam asked.

“And do what, Sam? It could be like this for hours,” Jake replied.

Sam shrugged and looked at the floor.

Josh didn’t have much. He had only moved here a few months ago and with all the work they were doing, he didn’t spend a ton of time in the apartment. For entertainment, he had a TV, a few books, and a mostly empty bar cart.

“You got beer, Josh?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, I think-” Josh answered as he got up to go to the kitchen when Danny stopped him.

“Don’t open the fridge if you don't have to. Keep the cool air in or else everything in there will go bad,” Danny advised.

He was right as always.

So for the better part of 30 minutes, you all sat around, trying to come up with ideas of things to do.

Eventually the conversation went onto discussing childhood and teenage memories.

It moved from reminiscing about toys you once had, to people you once knew, to people you’ve each kissed.

Josh made the executive decision that everyone must share their first kiss stories. And since you had nothing better to do…

Danny was fifteen. It was with a girl he went to camp with who he never saw again.

Josh’s was when he was fourteen. It was for a play. Romeo and Juliet. Enough said.

Sam was seventeen and it was with the girl he had just broken things off with last month after being together two years.

You were just about to share yours when Jake interrupted.

Jake wasn’t really a participant in the whole group conversation. Instead, he laid on an area rug and played around with a bottle of vodka, spinning it around on the hardwood floor close by.

“My first kiss was because of a bottle of Tito’s,” he said with his eyes fixated on the bottle, “Sixth grade. Kaylee Kowalski’s basement. Spin the bottle.”

Jake was in a daydream of teenage memories with a small smile on his face.

You stared at him with a hint of jealousy stinging in your chest. You were at that party. You watched him kiss Kaylee Kowalski in front of everyone, wishing it was you instead of her.

Back in middle school, everyone knew Jake and Kaylee liked each other. It was like that party in Kaylee’s basement was made for them to kiss. You watched all his friends cheer him on and watched all her friends giggle. You remember thinking to yourself how lucky she was. From across the room, you watched him talk to her the rest of the night while she twirled her hair stupidly.

You remembered becoming friends with Josh and seeing Jake around, hoping somehow, one day, you could be the one he wanted the same way he wanted Kaylee Kowalski.

And now, even though you were both adults, that was way in the past, and Kaylee’s family moved away a few years later, for some reason, those teenage feelings came back full force and made you bubble with anger and jealousy.

You woke him up from his day dream real quick when you gasped as an idea for redemption hit you.

“What?” he asked hesitantly, catching a sinister look in your eye.

“Spin the bottle,” you replied, practically jumping out of your chair.

“Spin the bottle?” he repeated. He was asking a question but at the same time, he wasn’t.

“Yes, spin the bottle! Besides, what else is there to do?”

“Not kiss my brothers?”

You rolled your eyes and took the bottle from his hands.

“You don’t have to kiss your brother’s look… If the bottle lands on yourself or someone who you don’t want to kiss, you have two options. Take a shot… or...” you paused, looking around the room for another option.

“Or strip,” Jake interrupted bluntly.

Immediately, Sam, Josh, and Danny started protesting but you tuned them out as you caught Jake’s eyes staring you down from across the circle.

All of it sounded like background noise as your eyes dropped from Jake’s eyes, to his lips, and finally to his bare chest peeking through his half buttoned shirt.

“M’kay,” you said, smirking and regaining eye contact with him once more.

“That’s not fair!” Sam shouted, bringing you back to reality. You looked at him in just a pair of shorts and a short sleeve button up shirt.

“What? Both alternatives are equally as humiliating as me having to kiss each of you in front of everyone here. BUT! The game will end when I have kissed each of you. Or until someone’s naked,” you explained.

After shutting Sam down, you looked around the circle of them, all shrugging their shoulders. They knew this game was the best alternative to doing absolutely nothing. Plus it was bound to give you all some silly entertainment, get the group tipsy, and give you what you’d wanted since you were thirteen.

“Well,” Jake began, “ladies first,” he said as he placed the bottle on the rug and sat back down across from you.

“No way, I’m outnumbered! You go first!” you shot back.

Being the gentleman he was, he smiled, reached forward, and gave the bottle his best. The five of you watched it in anticipation as it slowed down.

It came to a stop facing Danny.

You all broke out into fits of laughter and Danny puckered his lips out to Jake jokingly.

Without hesitation, Jake reached for the bottle and took a swig of it effortlessly.

Lame.

That was how the first couple rounds went. No one wanted to be the first one to kiss someone, understandably, so you all opted for the alternatives.

After a bit of time, you had each had a few shots and you all were getting hit with the effects of them. At that point, everyone except Josh stopped taking shots and started stripping.

Jake and Danny kept their jeans on but so far were shirtless. You were just as they were, but in your bra. Sam was in nothing but a pair of boxers. And Josh, being stubborn, was fully clothed but a lot drunker than anyone else.

Next up to spin the bottle was Josh. You knew he was ready to take a break from drinking but he was also stubborn enough to be the last one completely clothed just so he could say he won. After all, you knew the other three guys were a bit more interested in kissing a girl than he was. He spun the bottle and it came to a stop at Jake.

You all giggled, including Jake who figured Josh would give in and take off a piece of clothing. Josh however, was never afraid to shake things up and did the exact opposite of what Jake anticipated.

“Alright since none of you have any balls,” he said as he leaned forward on his knees, grabbed Jake’s face, and gave him a dramatic kiss on the lips, pulling back with a “MWAH” sound as Jake pushed him back off him, laughing.

Even if it was a joke, it was the first kiss of the night.

Jake wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand as all of you laughed hysterically at what had just happened. Jake was a good sport about it and it was all for fun.

After a few jokes directed to Jake, everyone's laughter faded and it was your turn again.

You spun the bottle and waited for it to finish spinning.

Josh kissing Jake as a joke pushed the game into a new direction- you knew whoever it landed on, you’d have to kiss.

And who did it land on? Josh.

The look of shock on his face sent you all into another fit of laughter.

“Come on, Josh, kissing a girl won't kill you,” you teased as you turned to him and sat up on your knees.

Josh rolled his eyes playfully and lifted his chin up just a bit, waiting for you.

But you weren’t going for just a peck or a joke. It was game time. You wanted Jake to see this. You wanted Jake to be able to see himself in Josh, kissing you.

The same nose, brushing against yours.

The same lips, wrapping around yours.

The same tongue, teasing yours.

You sat on your knees in front of him and cupped his jaw as he fought back a smile.

You inched your face closer to his and the second your mouth hit his, both of you broke into laughter that blew out of your puckered lips, practically spitting on eachother.

You couldn’t help it. Kissing Josh felt incredibly weird.

But you weren’t worried. You had all night, clothes to lose, and two more unkissed boys in the circle.

Next up to spin the bottle was Sam.

He reached for the bottle. You all knew what Sam was thinking. He was hoping for himself so he wouldn’t have to kiss anyone or for Danny so he could make a joke out of it like Josh did.

He got the exact opposite.

He got you.

There was no way he could say no to you without his brothers teasing him for the rest of his life, especially now that the game had taken on a new tone.

Even in the candlelight, you watched his face turn a shade of pink.

Sam was nineteen and still didn’t have much experience with girls- that much you all knew. He had one girlfriend his entire life so far. You knew he wasn’t a saint, but you knew he’d only ever been with one person.

To have to kiss a girl in front of his older, more experienced brothers was a living nightmare for him. Plus, out of everyone, he had the least amount of clothes on, which added to his embarrassment.

But at that moment, you figured you could help Sam out. You were about to give him the kiss of his life. This had the potential to end Jake and Josh’s teasing forever. And it could in turn help you out too.

You watched Jake clench his jaw when the bottle landed on you. You could see daggers in his eyes as he looked at Sam. He was jealous.

Good.

On your hands and knees, you crawled over to Sam slowly and met him across the circle where he sat criss-crossed and trying incredibly hard not to look at your chest.

He was breathing through parted lips and once you got close enough to him, he tilted his face up to meet yours.

“Close your eyes,” you whispered right before your mouth connected to his.

You went for it with Sam.

You kissed him hard and he kissed back. One of his hands naturally grabbed your ass and the other grabbed the back of your head and pushed you further into his mouth, deepening the kiss both figuratively and literally.

Sam had nice lips and even though he was a little inexperienced and therefore a little sharp with his movements, you had to admit, the kiss was decent.

You lapped your tongue at him just enough and Sam involuntarily hummed into your kiss, seemingly forgetting where he was. You pulled back and broke the kiss, watching a look of shock appear on Sam’s face as he opened his eyes.

He shook his head like a wet dog and swallowed hard before running his hands through his hair and looking around the circle.

“You okay, Sammy Boy?” Jake asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.

His tone was condescending. You took notice of what he called Sam.

Sammy Boy.

He did that on purpose. He wanted Sam to feel young and small, like a little kid.

“Yes,” Sam stated matter of factly, “I’ve never been better, actually!”

Danny, Josh, and you all laughed with Sam.

Sam’s sweetness overshadowed Jake’s harshness and completely backfired on him, making him look like an asshole to the rest of the people in the room.

Perfect.

You waited it out with Jake. You spun the bottle and it landed on him. But you rolled your eyes and took your pants off, leaving you in just your bra and underwear (which thankfully matched and was a cute set).

Eventually he caught on. He spun the bottle when it was his turn and of course, it landed on you. So what did he do? He took his pants off.

The air was filled with tension. Josh, Sam, and Danny stared at each other awkwardly, knowing exactly what was going on at that point.

The game continued on for a bit. Jake took shots so he wouldn’t have to kiss his brothers or Danny in his underwear. Besides, he was waiting it out for you.

You, on the other hand, kissed his brothers and Danny in your underwear just to make him madder.

The boys took shots and stripped sock by sock while you went for the kisses. You gave Danny and Sam gentle kisses but you did make sure you gave Sam just a tiny bit more feeling. You and Josh gave each other pecks that ended in laughter because you couldn’t take each other seriously.

Then, it was your turn again. However this time, all you had left on was your bra and underwear. Taking anything else off would be too much. And you couldn’t handle another shot of vodka burning it’s way down your throat and feeling it swish around in your stomach.

You leaned forward to spin the bottle and you could feel Jake’s eyes practically burning into you.

For what felt like an eternity, the bottle spun. Finally slowing itself down after passing Sam, Danny, and Josh. It came to a halt, pointed in between Jake and Sam, but was tilted just a bit more in Jake’s favor.

Finally.

You and Jake locked eyes from across the circle and it was game time.

“C’mere,” he said as jutted up his chin and sat back on his hands, opening up his lap for you.

Sure your kisses with Danny were sweet and your kisses with Sam were hot but they meant nothing. This one was about to be real and it had been building up not only for the past hour, but for the past 10 years.

You crawled around Josh and over to Jake. You could tell every single eye in the room was on the two of you and you didn’t care. In fact, you liked it.

While keeping eye contact, you straddled his lap.

The hair on his legs brushed against your skin and the only thing between the two of you were a couple thin layers of cotton. You could literally feel his dick on your thigh through his underwear.

His eyes were dark and tired as he looked up at you.

He reached one hand up, now only supporting his body weight with the hand still resting on the floor behind his back, and gently gripped it around the back of your neck, rubbing his thumb along your jawline.

“I bet Kaylee Kowalski wishes she was you right now,” he whispered.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you replied, also in a whisper, closing the gap between the two of you.

The second your lips hit his, you found yourself in heaven. This had been what you’d been wanting since you were thirteen. Only now, Jake wasn’t cute with his Beiber cut and braces. Now he was a man and he was sexy.

Jake started slow. His pillow soft lips fit perfectly on yours and made you want more with each kiss.

His mouth tasted like vodka combined with the flavor of cherry lime vape juice, and just the sweet flavor of that alone had you humming into his mouth.

You sucked his bottom lip in and pulled at it just a bit with your teeth before he broke the kiss and sat up to pull you closer to him.

As he went deeper, his tongue teased at your lip and you did the same to him, letting them slide against each other as your lips continued moving.

Jake was taking you to a completely different world. You were completely lost in him and his kisses and you had to thank God you were adults now and not teenagers in a basement party so you could really do what you wanted to do to him.

Unfortunately, the sound of Josh, Danny, and Sam letting out celebratory cheers brought you out of your Jake induced daydream and back to reality.

You broke away from Jake with a smack of your lips and looked around Josh’s apartment to see every light on.

“Alright games over, get a room!” Josh, who was still fully clothed, yelled dramatically as he picked up the bottle of vodka and headed to his bedroom for the night.

Sam and Danny laughed everything off as they threw their shirts back on and threw themselves onto Josh’s couches for the night with the TV now on as background noise for them to fall asleep to.

Now able to fully see and after a taste of each other that you’d both been wanting for 10 years, you and Jake looked at each other and laughed.

“I like this game,” he said. His voice was soft but gravely at the same time.

Even though the power was back, it was late and the night was over for the entire city; except you and Jake.

Thankful for Josh’s two bedroom apartment, you whispered, “You wanna keep playing?”

Without saying a word, he started to get up, urging you to get off him first. The two of you got off the floor and headed for Josh’s guest room, leaving your clothes behind on his living room carpet.

Upon entering, Jake closed the door, locked it, and turned off the light, leaving you two in darkness once again.

He pulled you in close to him and kissed you gently before speaking just above a whisper.

“You said the game was over when you kissed everyone right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, “that or once someone is completely naked.”

Jake smirked as he walked you backwards towards the bed. The back of your knees hit it and you fell back with Jake on top of you. You could see nothing but his teeth and the whites of his eyes in the dark room when he whispered,

“Game over.”

Author's Note: This one has been in the drafts for a while. Don't come for me about incest because this is far from it. It's all silly. They kiss each other on stage anyway.

#greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka #jake gvf #jake kiszka fan fiction #jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka smut #jake gvf fanfic #jake kiszka fan fic #jake kiszka imagine #jake kiszka x reader #greta van fleet fluff #greta van fleet spicy #jake kiskza spicy

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elinorasims · 2 months ago

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Build | Strangerville | Ziggy's Diner

Lot Info

Ziggy's is a compact restaurant and bar combo with a Strangerville twist: classic red booths and an elongated mid-century modern bar layout meets sci-fi inspired and 50's-kitsch inspired cluttered decor..

It's giving the diner from the movie 'Paul'. I hope. lol

Ziggy's has a fully customised menu featuring some Mountain States inspired comfort dishes and some American classics (full menu below the cut).

DOWNLOAD >>

Interior Tour

Bar

Staff Areas

Floor Plan

| hi my loves

hopefully you like this one- it was super fun to build and I'm finding my feet a bit more building for this save, i think!

it's been playtested (briefly lol) and should be fully functional and a smooth enough restaurant experience for your sims to enjoy.

i love Paul so much aha we watched it this past weekend and i was immediately like 'yup. gotta go do a strangerville build now.'

| dag dag fn. <3

Ziggy's Diner Menu

Drinks water ; lemonade ; milk ; orange juice ; coffee ; cream cola ; fizzy fruity drink ; pitch black ; root beer float ; soda ; tang and zing ; boiler room ; eapa ; juice on the rocks ; wrench ; galactic vita-water ; silent film ; sour punch ; sunset valley ; alien juice ; cupid juice ; space energy drink ; jet juice

Appetisers chips and salsa ; mac and cheese ; bowl of olives ; bread roll ; french fries ; whole wheat bread ; popcorn shrimp ; garden salad ; cheesy bread ; grilled plantains ; seafood chowder ; soft shell crab cake ; empanadas ; watermelon salad

Mains mac and cheese ; chicken nuggets ; popcorn shrimp ; baked potato ; hot dog ; lobster roll ; veggie burger ; chicken and waffles ; fried chicken sliders ; mushroom waffles ; sausage and peppers ; scrambled eggs with bacon ; seafood chowder ; tofu dog ; fish tacos ; hamburger ; fried fish ; pancakes ; aubergine Parmesan ; sweet corn pizza ; mushroom steak ; french toast ; vegetable chilli ; egg white omelette ; mushroom soup ; bbq ribs plate ; blackened bass ; gumbo ; steak

Dessert neapolitan ice cream ; rainbow sorbet ; vanilla ice cream ; alien fruit tart ; cream filled donut ; cream snack cake ; honey cake ; plain waffles ; rainbow brownies ; hamburger cake ; chocolate chip cookie ; apple pie ; banana cream pie ; pumpkin pie ; simcity cheesecake ; fruit cobbler

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togrowoldinv · 1 year ago

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Sleepover

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When Yelena invites you to go home with her for the weekend, you spend some time with Natasha. She finds out you haven’t been with anyone before and offers to be your first

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, innocent reader, oral (R receiving), hot older Natasha

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

When your friend Yelena asked you to go home with her for the weekend, you agreed easily. It sounded like a fun time to spend with her and meet her family and friends back home.

But something else was motivating you too. Her very attractive older sister.

You’ve met Natasha before. She helped move Yelena in along with their parents. The redhead was nice to you that say. You’ve seen her countless more times through the phone while she’s FaceTimed Yelena.

So, there’s no denying you have a crush on her. Especially not when you enter the home and she’s standing in the kitchen with very little clothes on.

“We’re here!” Yelena calls out.

“Good to see you, sestra,” Natasha says, coming to the foyer. “I was just coming in from the pool.” She hugs her sister and kisses her cheek. “And it’s y/n, right?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to see you again,” you say.

Natasha smiles in agreement. It’s nice for her to see you again too. She turns back towards the kitchen and you can’t help but watch her body as she does so. The bikini bottoms she’s wearing leaves you able to see most of her.

“Hey, eyes off,” Yelena snaps at you.

“Sorry,” you reply.

You two go up the stairs and put your bags in Yelena’s room. She gives you a quick tour of the house before you two decide to go get lunch.

“We’re going to the diner, Nat. Do you want anything?” Yelena asks.

“No thanks. But hey, Mama is cooking dinner so eat a lot now,” Natasha says.

“Is she not a good cook?” You ask. Both of the girls chuckle. You’ll take that as a yes.

“Come on.” Yelena pulls you outside to her car.

You listen to the usual music as you drive there. Inside, you find a bustling group of tables and food that smells delicious.

Yelena knows a few people and they call her over to their table. You follow quietly.

“Yelena, you’re back in town!” A boy says excitedly. He stands up to hug her.

“Yes, yes Peter. The life of the party has returned,” Yelena says.

“Welcome back,” a girl speaks up this time. You recognize her from photos. She glances at you. “I’m Wanda.”

“Y/n,” you supply. “I’m Yelena’s roommate.”

The table greets you and you two sit down with them. Yelena orders you way too much food. The conversation is easy to join in on even though the friends have known each other forever.

They tell you about a party later tonight and Yelena says you’ll be there. When you go back to her house, Natasha is dressed in a cropped tank top and blue jean shorts.

“Yelena, malyshka!” Melina greets her. She hugs her even when Yelena protests it.

“My girls back in the same home!” Alexei adds in. He hugs Yelena too.

You politely greet them and ask if they need any help with dinner. They sho you away from the kitchen.

Yelena goes up to her room to change so that leaves you in the dining room with Natasha.

“So, how’s school going?” Nat asks.

“It’s going well. Not as hard as I thought it would be,” you say.

“You must be one smart girl then,” Natasha says.

“I’d like to think so.”

“And how’s Yelena doing? She doesn’t ever have much to say about it all.”

Natasha looks genuinely concerned about her sister.

“Yeah she’s good too. I make her get up for class most days,” you say. That makes Nat chuckle.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” Natasha says. She stands from her seat and places a hand on your shoulder. Her grip is strong as she looks into your eyes. “I owe you. If you need anything, let me know, okay?”

“Oh- okay,” you say. Something about her words seem loaded with meaning.

Yelena comes back downstairs and the rest of the family comes into the dining room. Dinner goes well. You enjoy the banter of the group. Soon, you head off to the party.

It’s fun for a while. You meet some more of Yelena’s friends and have a few drinks. Nothing crazy. But when you’re ready to leave, Yelena has her eyes on taking someone home.

“Yelena, let’s go,” you say. The girl is drunk, you can tell that much.

“Kate is coming with me!” She says. You know they have a history, so you don’t even question it.

“Okay. Come on, lovebirds.”

You get back to the house okay and Yelena runs off with Kate to her bedroom. You figure that leaves you with the couch and no clothes to change into.

You’ve only been sitting on it for a few minutes when Natasha comes down the stairs. She catches sight of you.

“My sister kick you out?” She asks.

“She’s having her own sleepover,” you say with a dry chuckle.

“Brutal,” Nat teases. “Come with me.”

“What?”

She doesn’t reply, but you follow her anyways. Upstairs, she directs you into her bedroom.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, y/n,” Nat says. She opens her drawers and takes out a shirt and shorts for you. “And you’re not sleeping in those clothes.”

You don’t argue with her. You only go down the hallway and change into the clothes. Natasha likes the way you look in her clothes.

She pulls down the sheets next to her and gestures for you get in. You slip under them, enjoying the feeling of a real bed under you.

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say.

“Of course. Sorry my sister is a shitty host,” Nat says.

You lie back on the pillows. Nat turns to look at you. You hold eye contact with her.

“It’s okay. She’s all tied up in that girl.”

“I know. Surely, someone is all tied up in you too,” Natasha says.

“Nope,” you say dryly.

“No? Why not?” Nat asks.

“It’s just not really happened for me yet,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” Natasha assures you.

“What does it feel like?” You ask. It’s somewhat rhetorical but you also want to know Nat’s answer.

“To be in love? Or to have sex? It’s not the same thing,” Nat says.

“Either.”

“Hm, well what about kissing someone? Have you done that?”

You shake your head and turn away shyly. She reaches her hand out to turn your face back towards her.

“Do you want to?” She asks.

“I- um-“

“We don’t have to,” Nat says. “But I thought maybe this is how I could repay you for looking after my sister.”

“Yes,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“Please yes,” you say.

Natasha smirks and leans in. She stops a couple inches from your lips. Your heart beats so fast in your chest.

She closes the distance and kisses your lips. You barely move, not really knowing what to do or how to kiss her back. But Natasha doesn’t mind. She deepens the kiss.

And you pick up on how to do it quickly. She grins against your lips. Your hands move across her chest to grab her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” you say when she pulls away.

“No, don’t apologize. I’m willing to go as far as you want, y/n,” Natasha says.

“Then keep kissing me,” you say, already feeling addicted to her lips on yours.

Natasha obliges and kisses you again and again and again. Soon, both of your shirts are discarded. Natasha isn’t wearing a bra and the sight of her above you makes you stop in place.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say, admiring her perfect body.

“Thank you, detka,” the Russian falls off her tongue. “Let me show you how beautiful you are too.”

Nat slips your bra off and immediately takes one of your nipples in her mouth. It’s a new sensation. One that you absolutely love. She listens for every sound you make to see what she wants to do more of.

You moan out loudly when she moves her hand down your abdomen and under your shorts. Her hand brushes against your folds and your body jerks in reaction.

“Is this okay?” Natasha asks. Her voice is deep, breathy.

“Yes please, I want you,” you say.

“Okay, baby. Lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you,” Natasha says.

She kisses down your body as she moves to lay between your legs. Your shorts come off along with your panties. You’re self conscious about no one ever seeing you like this before, but you feel better when Natasha dives in.

Nat places kisses around your center and her tongue moves through your folds. She takes her time worshipping you. You try to lean up on your elbows to watch but the pleasure is so strong that you have to stay on your back.

“Fuck Nat. That feels so good,” you say when her thumb brushes over your clit.

“I know, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me more,” Natasha says. Her voice vibrates against you.

“I want to come for you to Natasha. I want you to be the first person to make me come,” you say.

“Fuck,” Nat mumbles against you. She grinds her own pussy against the bed.

It’s only a few more minutes before you’re getting a feeling like you’re about to come for Natasha.

“I think- Nat- I’m going to- fuck,” you mumble as your hips move erratically.

“Come for me, y/n. You can do it,” Natasha says.

And you do. For the first time, you understand what it feels like to be taken care of.

“So fucking good,” Natasha says as she cleans you up.

She moves up your body and kisses your lips again. Her tongue moves against yours as you continue to get the hang of it.

Natasha lays next to you to catch her breath and let you catch your own. Her hand intertwines with yours.

“That’s what it feels like,” Natasha says.

“Every time?” You ask. You can’t help the grin on your face.

“No, not every time. But when you really like someone, yes.”

“You- um- you like me?”

“Yes, y/n,” Natasha says. “I really like you.”

You whisper a small yes and Natasha chuckles. She kisses your cheek.

“Can I- um-“

“I’d love for you too, but you don’t have to, babe. I’m okay with just pleasing you,” Natasha says.

“No, no. I want you to feel good too.”

“I already do,” Nat says. “But yeah if you want to, go ahead.”

You smile and shift to lay over Natasha. She kisses you deeply before you move down her body.

Natasha helps you please her in all of the ways she likes. By the end of the night, you’re both exhausted but so happy.

You fall asleep in her arms and wake up to the beautiful sight of her sleeping. She wakes up and snuggles further into you.

After a few good morning kisses, you get dressed and go downstairs together. Yelena notices you wearing Nat’s clothes and the two of you sharing secret glances.

But she only smiles. She always knew you two would find your way together.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #natasha romanoff smut #yelena belova #wanda maximoff

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holy-puckslibrary · 5 months ago

Text

─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

pairing(s) — fwb!MATTHEW TKACHUK x reader wc — 3.2k synopsis — best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! (read the request here) note — bestie, your brain? marvelous! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope this captures your vision!!! thank you for the request <3

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — hints of a debut-inspired ensemble; complicated, grossly intimate situationship + emotional constipation; angst (not really) to fluffy fluffy; tswizzle references; suggestive section: "heavy petting" but nothing explicit / fade to black; brief alcohol mention + consumption; brief mention of food (no specifics); and ~emotions~

I. it’s getting so much clearer…

Matthew regrets making you a key.

Majorly.

If he’d known the can of worms he was opening when he unceremoniously dropped them in your lap one night, he would’ve listened to his brother; you don’t give girlfriend privileges to women who aren’t your girlfriend. It only leads to hurt feelings, broken console controllers, and unnecessary trouble.

However, it’s highly unlikely this is the “trouble” to which Brady was referring.

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage.

Beads of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit in a sea of jars. Some have spilled out under the coffee table and couch, others have made it all the way into the kitchen. Knotted balls of elastic are sprinkled throughout the chaos, as are multiple pairs of scissors, skeins of embroidery floss, and shards of construction paper. There are markers everywhere, but for some unknown reason, the crayons and sticker sheets are in nice, neat piles. A white feather boa is draped over the entertainment center and there’s a pink one curled by his feet. And, in the eye of the storm, is an anxious lump frantically stringing together DIY jewelry and muttering along to the megamix blaring through the room; he doubts you even heard him come home.

“Sweetheart, is there a reason it looks like a craft store threw up everywhere?” Matthew shouts as he gingerly braves the hurricane.

Something crunches under his shoe, and from the sound alone, he knows it would’ve been worse than stepping on a Lego if his feet were bare.

He also knows that if the music were even a decibel lower, you would be pissed beyond belief. How dare he move freely through his own home without first checking for rogue pieces of plastic? His ears are ringing, but he’s grateful for it. From many years of mistakes and misadventures, he's learned you won’t get on top if you’re mad, regardless of how much groveling he does. And he's got one foot in the doghouse after last weekend as it is.

“T-minus two days ’til Taylor, Matthew,” you grumble from the floor. “What do you think?”

You’ve been at this for weeks. It gets worse the closer the concert gets. The mess and your mood.

Matthew isn’t stupid, and he knows you better than he lets on. You panic under the weight of your own (often unrealistic) expectations. You need everything to be perfect, or the entire world crumbles. This, Night One of the Florida dates of the Eras Tour, is, understandably, no exception. If anything, the pressure’s dialed up to eleven.

In stressing over every little detail, you’ve made yourself miserable. Watching you unravel makes his chest feel strange.

You won’t ask for help. You don’t want it, either.

But, he can’t let you flounder. For his own sanity, he can’t do it. And he does care about you. Maybe not in the way everyone assumes or hopes, but he does. He’d do almost anything to lighten your load.

Yet, Matthew treads lightly. If he’s too forthcoming, you could get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want to spook you, and he can’t have any wires getting crossed. What’s so good about your situation is how markedly uncomplicated it’s been. He refuses to be the one who fucks it up for everyone.

So, he does what he can, and he does it without making a big deal about it.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he sinks down onto the floor beside you. You’re perched on one of the obnoxious throw pillows you insisted he order to “spruce up” the space and make it look less “bachelor pad-y." As if that’s not exactly what it is. He takes this as rare permission to do the same, placing one under his hips and cuddling another to his chest as he stretches out on his stomach, phone in hand.

Well, as stretched as a person can be in the middle of an obstacle course.

Between the second play of “cowboy like me” and the third of “Tim McGraw,” his various feeds dry up, and he’s spammed his contacts into oblivion. You're still chugging along, like a Sad Girl automaton locked in an endless glittery assembly line.

At one point, you murmur, “Give me your wrist."

And he does.

Matthew’s taken aback when you loop elastic around it to get a measurement.

He’s confused, but not for the reason one might assume. He’s painfully familiar with the friendship bracelet phenomenon and the giddy exchanges, having been force-fed hours' worth of tour content over the past year, but he never thought you’d rope him into it.

The buzz under his skin is oddly auspicious, watching you clip the appropriate length before reaching for the pile laid out near his head.

It’s not long before you make the same request again. However, this time, you slide on a custom creation. You fiddle with it for a moment, then turn back to your station to begin the next one on the list.

“And in which era does she cosplay as a camp counselor?” Matthew teases as he thumbs the letter beads.

They spell out a moniker he’d honestly find offensive if you hadn’t looped the song one too many times. He wonders if you’ve made yourself the matching one.

You emit a sound that haunts his nightmares and side-eye him in a way that would’ve made a lesser man disintegrate.

“If you don’t want it, give it back so I can give it to someone who will appreciate my time and effort,” you bite with your hand outstretched, palm up and open expectantly.

Matthew shoves it away, suddenly defensive. “I never said that.”

The sun slips behind the fence an hour later, and the sky bathes the house in purple-pink hues. As he gathers ingredients in the kitchen, Matthew watches the slow-moving clouds absentmindedly. He hasn't felt this content in a while.

Arms full, he wades through the arts and crafts on the way to the backyard.

You’re still in the den, still hunched over in the same place he found you in. He shakes his head when he passes you, knowing he’s got an hour (at least) moonlighting as a masseuse in his future.

You don’t startle or acknowledge him until the grill set you bought for his birthday clatters to the floor.

“Why’re there two cowboy hats getting glitter all over my patio?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. And hating it. Vehemently.

You fix him with an unamused glare. Your brow quirks, and your hands still. Then, you blink at him very slowly. Like he’s an idiot. Like he just asked a stupid question—because he did.

Matthew’s head wags so intensely that his neck cracks.

“Oh, hell no.”

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection.

“—looks so fucking stupid.”

He can’t tell if he looks worse with or without the fur-trimmed, shimmery cowboy hat. And, honestly, it's a little distressing. After temporarily ditching it, he tugs at his curls. Then, the hem of the jersey.

Resigned, he reaches across the bed for the homemade accessory. Wearing it will make you smile—and it gives his dignity something to hide behind.

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day.

Your panicked voice spills out from the hotel bathroom, “Really?”

“Of course, it fucking do—”

His tirade of vanity grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of you, backlit and wilting.

“That’s not—ah, fuck.” Matthew digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What I meant was—me, it looks stupid on me. Not you. On you, it looks… It looks…”

“It looks, what?”

It looks like he’s glad none of your friends were available because he won’t have to pretend you’re less than you are.

No lectures, no goading, no scrutiny. Just you.

“Right.” That’s the word he settles for. “It looks right.”

The emphasis chips away at what little believability the underwhelming affirmation had. That much is evident from the insecurity bleeding through your makeup.

“Right,” you parrot. Skeptically, you drag out the vowel long enough that it disappears into the bathroom with you.

Before the door clicks shut, Matthew’s already berating himself for whatever just happened. For acting like a complete doofus with a foot shoved down his throat.

His mind is as quick as his tongue is sharp. He’s got confidence for days and a cocky demeanor primed and on-call, one that most women find endearing. Yourself included. He’s never had an issue dishing out pretty words or flirting before, especially not with you.

With you, banter came easy. Sweet or salacious, it didn’t matter. The bob and weave, from platonic chatter to something charged and suggestive, is effortless. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It's innate. He should be able to uphold his reputation in his sleep.

What’s gotten into him?

(You’d say the power of Taylor Swift, or some shit. Which is why he doesn’t open the floor for discussion. Among other reasons.)

Matthew makes the executive decision to put things right. To redeem himself, to feel more like himself.

His palms are hot and tingling as he sets off to do what he does best. Something fool-proof. Something that’ll erase the past ten minutes from the collective consciousness. Something to scratch an itch...

He won't make it through three and a half hours without catching a public indecency charge.

Not with you looking like that.

“I was thinking,” Matthew trails off as he comes up behind you in the en suite bathroom. His hands land on the counter, one on either side of you. “We should fool around a little bit before we leave.”

With his chest flush to your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, he blatantly checks you out.

You, albeit begrudgingly, find it flattering. On principle, you roll your eyes.

You snort. “Funny."

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you.

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when you lean forward to put some eyeliner in your waterline, inadvertently pushing the curve of your backside right into his growing bulge.

Matthew turns you to face him without warning.

The kohl pencil goes flying, dotting the pristine space as it tumbles to the floor. Its final resting place is unknown; you’ll follow the smudge-crumbs later.

Later, when he doesn’t have you pressed tight between the harsh edge of the counter and his chest.

Later, when the dull ache in your arched back dissipates.

Later, when his attraction isn’t so painfully tangible.

Later, when he isn’t looking at you the way he is now.

You’re sinking in a shade of blue you don’t recognize. It’s stormy, vast and disquieting. Like any collision, you’re unable to tear your eyes away even though you know you should. It betrays an aura of foreboding, yet somehow, Matthew’s charged gaze carries a soothing effect. It's hypnotic in an stomach-twisting way.

“I’m not laughing, sweetheart.” He breathes the words through the slight part in your lips, his voice rich and thick like honey.

“W-We need to be quick—”

Matthew buries his face in the sweet-smelling crook of your neck. Intent on shutting you up, he succeeds with infuriating ease once he’s latched onto your throat. He nips and sucks whenever you protest, and soon, you don’t even bother trying anymore.

Why lie and deny when what you want feels this fucking good?

When your nails dig impatient little half-moons into his forearms, Matthew bares his teeth with a triumphant hiss.

He grins against your skin, humming atop your erratic pulse.

“Better hurry up and spread ‘em, then.”

Matthew’s between your dangling boots as soon as you’ve hoisted yourself onto the counter. Kneading the soft skin of your thighs, inching up and in with eager hands, he doesn’t slow or stop until the white Self-Titled sundress is bunched up in the hinge of your hips.

“That’s my girl.”

III. it’s delicate…

“All Tequila, No Crime” isn’t as diabolical of a cocktail as it sounds.

Spending $100+ to taste test it and three other signature mixed drinks is.

A robbery, if you ask him.

What's downright criminal, though, is your inability to finish a single one. A “Last Great American G&T” with a few sips missing, a half-finished “Midnight Mule,” and a watered-down “Blue Debut” sit abandoned amongst an assortment of sweet treats and small bites.

As he waits for what he ordered, Matthew picks at the vibrant fruit salad. He’s about to pluck a honeydew star from the pile stacked high in a bowl fashioned from a watermelon rind when the back of his neck prickles.

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused.

Matthew, having watched your reaction in a reflection, rolls his eyes.

Back still to you, he clarifies. “You promised you wouldn’t make this a whole thing.”

“I'm not.”

“You've never been a good liar.”

“Isn't that a good thing?” you deflect.

You turn your attention back to the lively stadium, watching as it fills with laughter and anticipation. You're hoping he'll take the hint and drop it, that he won't pull the night apart at the seams.

He abandons the sprawling buffet table in favor of the plush recliner beside yours. Once settled, Matthew slides a plate of your favorites across the small table between you.

“Don't change the subject.”

The cement under your boots makes for a captive audience as you sail into dicey weather. “I know—I know what I said, and I'm really trying my best, but can you blame me? I mean, c’mon, Matty. Look where we are.”

“A Taylor Swift concert?” Matthew does what he does best.

You know his tells and his tricks. You indulge neither.

“My first Taylor Swift concert. Ever. I came out of The Queue From Hell empty-handed and shit out of luck, yet here we are. The Eras Tour. And not way up the nosebleeds or side-stage with an obstructed view. A suite. A private, fifteen-person suite—for just us. You did that.”

Matthew shifts uncomfortably. He scratches the shadow clinging to his jaw. He looks everywhere, at everything. Everything except you.

“So?”

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive.

“So,” you heave a labored sigh of unease. “—so, how could I not? This ‘whole thing’ is the kindest, most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever done for me. It means the absolute world, and I know you know that.”

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony.

He does know that, which is what makes it so terrible. He knows, he knows, he knows. Matthew knows; he wishes he didn’t. For years, he successfully kept it at bay because… because you can’t just un-know something like that. Even entertaining the thought felt too big a risk. It jeopardizes the delicate peace only willful ignorance can safeguard.

“Alright, alright. Jesus, sweetheart. Can't have you emptying the tank before the show even starts,” Matthew teases as he thumbs the tears away. “How d’ya know I didn’t pull some strings just to put an end to your perpetual pity party?”

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Hoping to inch away from the emotionally dense zone of uncharted territory, hoping you’ll have mercy—or take pity—on him and his plight of avoidance.

And you do.

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser.

You take your foot off the gas. You retreat to the status quo. You yield, but for a good cause.

Good and right aren’t synonymous. And we can’t will them to be. So, instead, we choose our battles and bide our time.

There’s no reason to rain on tonight’s parade.

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.

Mathew smiles.

This ceasefire, this tacit truce, is as fragile as rice paper. It feels as though, if someone pushed too hard from either side, they'd go right through it unchallenged. But, for now, it's enough.

He takes your hand and squeezes. “And for the hundredth time, you’re welcome.”

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now.

Truthfully, he understood after the very first bridge of the night. There’s just something about the intimacy of the spectacle; it's… indescribable. With thousands from all walks of life gathered in a single stadium to celebrate nearly two decades of singing, crying, and growing up together, it wasn't difficult to get swept up in the magic.

For someone who’d consider themselves fan-adjacent at best, he wasn’t expecting to feel much of anything, let alone goosebumps, misty-eyed.

He can’t even imagine how extraordinarily special it must’ve been for you, a lifelong fan, to partake in the world’s most cinematic sing-along. To luck out with your opener of choice, to be surprised with your favorite song during the acoustic set—you could probably die happy. Matthew can still feel your tear-streaked cheek against his shoulder and your shakey hand clasped in his. And he’ll remember the warmth of your joy for the rest of his life.

He, however, doesn't have to imagine how much the experience took out of you.

“Hey, hey. Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You’re one minute into a five-minute Uber ride, and he’s already had to nudge you twice.

Curled against the cool window like a cat, you groggily protest, “I’m not. My mind is alive, promise.”

He snorts. “Then why’re your eyes shut?”

“They aren’t!”

They absolutely are.

Matthew tugs you across his lap with a smile pulling at his cheeks.

“Sounds like you need to get yours checked, Matthew Brendan,” you quip into his chest before drowning the backseat in delirious giggles.

In the golden glow of the streetlamps, his smirk rests against your temple.

Here is the moment. There have been hundreds like it in the years since you met. Lighthearted banter and late night laughter spill over into the early morning hours, all of it utter nonsense he wouldn’t trade for anything. It should be perfectly ordinary, but it's music to his ears.

The cowboy boots he swore he wouldn’t carry home rest against his similarly sore calves. The ziplock bag, once bursting at the seams with bracelets, is empty and folded in his back pocket, and his arm is full from elbow to wrist. The glitter he contested clings to him like a second skin, there to stay.

And he doesn’t hate it.

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 7 months ago

Text

Soft Dom Bangchan x Female Reader Sub!

Genre: DARK ROMANCE

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: This is strictly 18+ MDNI fan fiction.

Summary: A sub needs a dom, a dom wants a sub but what happens when feelings overlap with contracts and love creeps in? Will a contract remain only a contract? Or are emotions like love too hard to keep in check?

A/N: would also like to dedicate this story to @daceydeath , thank you for always putting up with my deluluness, also thank you for putting up with my drama fill life honestly. I wouldn’t be still writing if it wasn’t for you encouraging me. Also thank you so much for writing my summary xx

You walked into the living room, relieved to be out of that uncomfortable outfit. The shower helped you relax, but you were still uneasy about the situation. Chan smiled at you from the couch, gesturing for you to join him. "Come, Princess."

You snuggle into his warm embrace, nestling your head on his chest. His strong yet gentle arms wrap around you, making you feel safe and cared for. As you listen to the steady beating of his heart, he leans down and places a tender kiss on the top of your head.

"I uh want to talk to you about something," he said, adjusting his body and causing you to sit up straight.

"Sure, what about?" You say, getting comfortable on the couch, turning to face him and crossing your legs.

"Last night….I ah," he was really struggling to get the words out. You grab his hands in yours, hoping it will help him get them out, lightly stroking your thumb over his knuckles.

He takes a deep breath before saying, "I heard you crying. . . because of me." You smile lightly but think to yourself that's only half true. Chan had yelled, and that's what started the tears at first. But really, you were mostly mad at yourself.

You take a deep breath. "It wasn't your fault. I was disappointed in myself for not being honest." Your gaze falls to the ground as you speak. You never wanted Chan to feel guilty for expressing his feelings.

Chan looks at you with soft eyes. "All I want is for you to trust me. That's been my goal this whole time." He gently lifts your chin up so you're looking at him. You notice his gaze drift down to your lips briefly before returning to your eyes.

You looked at him, unsure of what to say. "I don't know why I didn't tell you earlier."

He softly caressed your lips with his thumb and whispered, "It's okay. I just want you to know I'm sorry."

Leaning in, placing his lips on yours, time seems to stand still. Chan's soft lips press against yours, consumed by the intoxicating feeling of his hands caressing your hips. His tender kiss leaves you breathless.

Your eyes remain shut as he pulls away, giggling cutely as he realises you are chasing his kiss.

……

"I have to go", you said, trying to grab your bag from Chan's hands.

In an effort to keep you there longer, he pulls it away from you playfully as you attempt to grab it. "Chan," you say, pouting as he laughs, "I really have to go. I have to pack. The movers are coming next week."

"Oh, that reminds me." He placed your bag and did a light jog to the main bedroom.

"This is not how I wanted this weekend to go….but I was supposed to give you this last night." He came down the hallway with a jewellery box, running his fingers through his hair.

"Open it", he smiled as he handed it to you. You snap open the box, and inside is a key. Your head shoots up to look at Chan as you blush. "It's the house key….I wanted to give this to you last night at dinner, but….we got rudely interrupted."

He was right. This weekend did not go according to plan at all. The fact that you may not see each other for a couple weeks while Chan goes to Japan for his dome tour, resulting in you having to pack up your apartment alone, makes you sad. You thought this weekend was going to be some sort of sex-filled dream. However, that did not end up happening for obvious reasons. "I may not see you for two weeks", you pout as you suddenly become in no rush to leave.

"Mmm," he hummed as he pulled you closer to his body. "See, you should stay," he smiled as his nose brushed your cheek, giving you goosebumps. "I have a lot of other things I was planning this weekend that we didn't get to do." He placed a light kiss just below your earlobe.

"We can't. You have a flight at 6 am tomorrow….and I have the movers coming at 9," you said, placing my hand on his chest, trying to put some space between the both of you.

"But 2 weeks without you may just kill me." There he goes again, being all sweet.

"But when you return, I'll be fully moved in." You smile, kissing his lips with a light peck.

He glides his hand down your back, realising you're not wearing a bra. He pulls you in closer, lightly brushing his thumb over your nipple, instantly making it hard.

"When I come back, I want to take you out on a real date," he said out of breath.

"I'd love that" you smiled, gripping your bag and stepping out of his reach, his hands falling to his sides. "Bye, Channie," you say sweetly.

…..

Monday

M🥰

"About to leave for the plane… I'll text you when I land."

You send him a picture of the live YouTube video you are watching of the airport.

M🥰

“Are you watching me 😳…..are you sure you are not a stalker 😉”

Y/n

"Fine, I'll turn it off."

M🥰

"No, I find it adorable."

Y/n

"Safe flight, sir."

M🥰

"I'll call you tonight."

It was only a short time before the YouTube live you had streaming on the TV went active, showing the guys rocking up to the airport.

The camera zoomed in on Chan, making a heart shape with his hands. "Dork", you laughed, shaking your head.

As they walked through the airport, you couldn't help but be nervous for them as people started swarming around them to get any sort of photos or even a quick touch from them.

Your heart beats so fast in your chest as one of the members falls; you can visibly see the frustration in Chan's face as he struggles to keep himself calm. Eventually, they push through the crowd and head to security clearance.

Y/n

"Omg….are you all okay?"

M🥰

"I'm fine"

Y/n

"Is it always that hectic?"

M🥰

"Yes"

His short answer makes you believe he is indeed angry. You decided to call him.

"Hello," he must be in professional mode.

"I know you said you're fine….but you're texting like you're angry." You just came out with it.

"Guys, I just have to take this. I'll be back…order me something," he excused himself from the group.

"Did you see the way they just swarmed us?" He snapped. "They could have hurt Ji", he growled.

"It's okay…just breathe." You could hear him take a deep breath in.

"Thank you," he said, breathing out.

"Okay, good….now have a safe flight," you said, about to hang up.

"Wait…" He said quickly. "Did you see my heart? I did it for you?" Even through the phone, you could see him blushing.

"Mmmmm….I did…. You're a dork," you laughed. "I better let you go. Text me when you land", you smile.

"What… you're not going to watch YouTube live", he chuckled.

"I ah…think I'll give it a miss….it made me nervous," you said

"Cute, you worried about me." You could tell by how he said that sentence that he was grinning.

"Bye, Channie," you said before hanging up.

But you couldn't help yourself; when the video of the boys arrived in Japan, you ran to the TV; this time, it was a much calmer arrival.

They looked so happy and excited to be there. Chan even smiled and waved at the camera, almost like he knew you were watching. Chan pulls out his phone as they walk outside and into the car.

M🥰

"I made it, princess….in the car on the way to the hotel."

Before you could reply, your doorbell went off. "Coming," you said, running to the door.

……..

You had been so busy moving that a week and a half had gone by in no time, and it was finally time to move your stuff into channies officially. Well, the things you took with you.

When you arrive at his house, Chan calls you to meet the small moving van you hired.

"Hello," you say sweetly.

"How's the moving going?" You know he is watching you on the camera. He has them everywhere.

"Are you watching me?" You laughed.

"I'm always watching you… it's my favourite pastime."

"That's creepy, Chan," you say as he laughs. "But while I have you…where would you like the couch you requested me to bring?"

"In the living room," he laughed.

"Chan, don't we should just get a new couch? Mine is so old."

"I love that couch..."

"It's ugly," you say, rolling your eyes.

"It's not ugly… it's perfect."

"Whatever?" you mumble. "I have to go….. they're here."

"Okay, I'll see you in a couple of days", he said before he hung up.

CHAN POV

Ting Ting

I open my eyes to check my phone. "Fuuuckkk", I growl as tears begin to form in my eyes from the light's rays.

"Unknown number", I whisper to myself. I don't want to wake Minho up from his sleep.

Unknown number

"Don't worry, buddy…. I've been looking after her."

My heart races as I re-read the message, desperately hoping it wasn't meant for me. As I clumsily grab my phone, almost hitting myself in the process, I frantically open the camera app with shaking hands. Scrolling through the outdoor security feeds, my blood runs cold when I don't see her bedroom light on. Dear God, where could she have gone? The house sits empty as I plead for her to be safe inside. I feel a sense of dread wash over me - where is she? Please let her be here.

I flick the camera into the master suite, and my panic subsides. "Oh, thank God," I breathe. She's curled up all cozy under my silk sheets. I watched her breathing so calmly and peacefully for a few minutes. Her chest rose and fell with such grace; she was simply stunning with her lips pressed together in the cutest sleepy pout. If I were there right now, I would not be able to control myself from planting the biggest kiss on those beautiful lips. My body gets all tingly just thinking about it, and I can't help but push those thoughts aside for now. The worst part about sharing rooms on tour is honestly not being able to care for myself whenever the urge hits. But now that I know she's safe and sound asleep, I continue to check the house for signs that she is alone. I don't care if I have to watch these cameras night and day; I will not let anyone touch her.

………

Morning finally arrives, and I open my eyes to find that Y/N has left our bed. This is the first time I've even had a thought like that about a woman… "Ours," I say softly, still staring at my phone screen. It's such a strange concept to me. The thought of sharing with a person makes me so happy. I look over at Minho, who is still asleep. Thank God…the last thing I need is for him to wake up and find me staring at my security cameras like a possessive monster.

But that's what I am, a man obsessed with her, and after last night's text message, I need to hear her voice. Seeing her on my house camera is not enough.

I step into the hallway as the phone rings. Minho is still sleeping but shouldn't hear me if I keep my voice low.

"Hey you", her sweet voice was like music to my ears.

"Hey," I say back, and my nervousness vanishes.

"What's up?….why are you calling so early?" I can hear her talking with her mouth full.

"Is now a good time to talk?" I say, and I'm hoping she agrees to continue this conversation because now that I have her, I don't want to let her go.

"Sorry…. I'm just eating breakfast….is everything okay?" I can see her now in my kitchen, eating toast and frowning.

"Yeah…..I just ah," fuck how do I say this without seeming like an utterly love-sick puppy? "I ah", I keep choking on my words. Why can't I just say it?

"I miss you too, Channie." I can hear her giggling on the other end, and it makes me smile to know she misses me just as much.

"That obvious, huh?" I look at the floor as I kick my foot out.

"That, and I figured you'd call me after I heard you snoring through the camera system this morning" My eyes widened…..could she really hear me snoring FUCK.

"I ah….I can explain," I panic, fuck, who am I going to explain this without her thinking I'm an absolute creep.

"I'm just joking, sir….When I woke up this morning, I saw the red light and figured you were just checking in." The strain in my chest subsides as I relax my muscles.

"I hope it's okay that I slept in your bed last night." I want to correct her and say our bed inside. I chuckle.

"Of course….keep it warm for me." I smile and hear what sounds like Minho walking towards the door.

"I have to go, but I'll call you later, okay?" I hang up the phone before she can answer me, and just in time as well….because as I place my hand on the door handle and open it, Minho practically falls out.

"Spying on me…are we?" I laugh as Minho groans on the floor.

"Who are you even talking to this early?" He squints his eyes as he looks up from the ground.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I say, stepping over him and back into the room.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." Minho gets up off the floor as I charge my phone.

"I'm going to take a shower", I say, grabbing my towel and heading into the bathroom.

"Oh, and Minho," I say, peeking my head out and catching him red-handed, looking at my phone.

"No peeking, yeah", I laugh as I turn back into the bathroom; he could try to get into my phone; however, I changed the code as soon as Y/N and I got together.

……..

For the first time, I think I actually miss someone. All the boys have gone out to eat and walk around Tokyo sitting, and I can't help but lay here in my shared hotel room and watch CCTV footage of y/n in my house.

I wish I was there to help her; it's not like I can go home early, either. We have our show tonight. However, after our last show in Tokyo, the boys decided to stay for a couple of days. Still, I was reluctant to because everything I needed was at home.

I've been sitting on the Korean Air website, deciding if a 6am flight back home is going to piss the boys off or not. They would be supportive if they knew why, but it's too early to let them know I'm seeing y/n. Especially when they only know her as a JYPE staff member.

"What are you doing?" Minho said, coming out of the bathroom.

"Do you think the guys would be offended if I left tomorrow?" A question I only trust Minho to answer.

"Want to get home that fast?"

"I just have so much I need to do….I just really don't have time for a holiday right now." A few days off with the boys would be fun; a few days off with y/n is my priority. After we had that huge fight before I left, I felt I needed to make it up to her.

"I think they won't mind", he said, drying his hair with the towel.

"Okay, I'll book this ticket then," I said, moving my hand to click the checkout button.

Minho smiles. I know he's onto me, but he will never immediately ask me. That's not what Minho does.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a girl, would it?" He grins.

"No, Minho", I say, pretending to be annoyed and rolling my eyes.

"Because we will support you 100% if it is?"

"I know…but it's not." I smile, knowing it has everything to do with a girl.

Master list: @bellamuerte1987 @nightrayseishina @9900z @armystay89 @dreamstarsandskz @fosfopirite @neyangi @princesspanda16 @krishastumblernow @agnes-king @bangtanmix73 @khemrose @fawnpeaks @missrobyn81 @dreambelieveinme @umbreonwolfy @jisungiexx @scarletrosesposts @choisoorin @izzathequeen @binnies-minsung-fanclub @jetblackbelle @bunnyxoxodarling @berryberrytan @sky-outta @zerefdragn33l @shiningnono @tinys0ftie @zinnichong @tuggybug @nokacchan @amaranth-writing @seungbinis @jisunglover3409 @kimseungminsprincess @goblin-waifu @skzswife @uwuitsjungwoo @marrivmel

#skz x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #stray kids x reader #straykids #straykids imagines #bangchan #skz fic #bangchansmut #bangchan x you #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #skz bangchan #bang chan #bangchan master #bang chan smut #stray kids

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reysdriver · 1 year ago

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Hey, I was thinking about something with best friend!Eddie and fem!best friend!reader, but they secretly like each other.

Gareth invites the Hellfire club to spend a weekend at his beach house but Eddie and Reader decide to share the same room/bed.

(I would like things like them going to the beach or helping each other put on sunscreen... 🫣🫣)

Sorry if it's a very large or very specific request, you don't have to fulfill the request in parentheses if you don't want to

thank you!❤️

you and eddie share a bed on the first night of your beach house stay — bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader fluff

warnings: language, that's it i think

words: 1.6k

a/n: I might make this a 2-parter (or more low-key) cause I want to space it out and have the absolute max amount of pining and friends-to-lovers tension hehe

Gareth stared down at you, disapproving of you calling him ‘rich boy’, while unloading your bags from the back of Eddie’s van.

“I’m not rich, my parents just own a beach house.” He defended.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know that’s the richest fucking thing you’ve ever said, right?”

“They bought it back in the day when shit was just cheaper. You can go if you don’t want to be here, by the way.” Gareth said it with the sass of a true non-rich boy, and you decided to lay off the teasing.

You put your hands in the air in mock surrender. It’s been a long drive from Hawkins close to Cleveland, you weren’t turning back now. “Alright, fine, I’m done.”

You and the guys returned to grabbing your duffel bags and backpacks, then you closed the van’s back doors and went towards the front door of the brightly-painted building. Gareth put the lock into the key but faced you all before turning it.

“So, here it is, my family’s beach house. Ready for the tour and the house rules?” Gareth asked the three of you.

Everyone was ready for the tour, but you all seemed disappointed that there were rules you had to follow on your mini-vacation. Nevertheless, you all nodded—not necessarily agreeing to anything, just wanting to get inside and put your stuff down.

Gareth opened the door to reveal the inside of his modest beach house. Okay, maybe he wasn’t rich rich but you still thought about teasing him a few more times throughout your stay. The inside walls of the building were mostly made from light wood, with painted accents peeling in certain places. There were seashells and sand-filled bottles as decorations in the main hall—same as most beach houses, even though the whole point of them was that they were close to the beach all the time.

“First stop is the kitchen.” Gareth said, leading you all and stopping in front of the table. “If you want to use it, you have to promise not to burn the house down.”

Eddie shook his head. “Now, Garebear, you know I can’t make any promises like that.”

You and Jeff laughed at Eddie’s joke, but Gareth didn’t seem amused.

“I’m watching you, Ed. I’m serious, my parents will be pissed if anything happens to this place.” He looked back to you and Jeff as he continued. “Next, we have the living room. The tv works, plus we have some movies on those shelves, so we could maybe have a movie night or something tonight.”

Jeff went to look at the shelves that his friend just pointed at. “Yo, these movies are trash!” He laughed. “I’m not watching any of these.”

“Thank you so much for that valuable addition to the tour, Jeff. And they’re for my parents, obviously.”

“What about where we’re sleeping?” Eddie asked.

Gareth had told you all that the sleeping situation might be a bit problematic, and that he’d try to think of a best solution, but he hadn’t even told any of you what the issue was.

“So, we have the couch, it actually even pulls out…” Gareth paused, then started walking down a bright hallway to a pair of doors next to each other. He opened one of them. “Here’s my room; I’m sleeping here, of course.” Before you could even take a good look inside, he shut that door and opened the other. “And here’s the main bedroom. Two of you will have to share the big bed.”

All three of you looked at him with wide eyes at the idea. At the exact same time, you and Jeff tried calling dibs on the couch, then cringed at the fact that you both wanted it.

“Eddie, you don’t want the couch?” Gareth asked, noticing he seemed pretty calm about it all.

He shrugged. “Have you seen my room? I couldn’t give a shit about where I sleep.”

Even though you’ve seen his room and understood where he was coming from, Eddie seemed like he wasn’t being completely truthful. Unfortunately, you were too focused on having your own sleeping place to ask him what was wrong.

“Since you said it together, I may have to flip a coin.” Gareth said, already digging in his pockets to find one.

“No way, I don’t want to sleep next to Eddie.” Jeff protested. “No offence.”

“Offence taken, actually. I’ll have you know I am a lovely spooner, both big and little.”

Gareth laughed. “Yeah, like you’ve ever gotten to spoon with someone.” Before Eddie could even respond, he held out a quarter and stood between you and Jeff. “Alright, tails means Jeff gets the couch, heads means he gets to be Eddie’s first spooning partner.”

You nodded, watching the coin intensely as Gareth tossed it in the air. It was spinning too quickly for you to really see the sides, so you just crossed your fingers and looked at his face as he read it.

“Tails.” He looked at you. “Looks like you and Eddie can find a way to share the big room.”

You tried keeping your sigh quiet and hiding your upset, but you had to admit you were a bit disappointed about not having your own bed. You thought about it all throughout dinner and your movie night, and it stared you in the face when it was time to go to sleep.

Eddie dug through his duffel bag to find a pair of pyjama pants and a band t-shirt—of course. “If you want me to leave the room while you change, I can. I feel like that’s what girls want, right?”

You shook your head, fiddling with the fabric from your own set. “No, no, don’t worry about that. Just turn around for a second, maybe?”

He did just as you asked, turning around to face the corner of the room and getting changed himself while he waited for you to do the same. You quickly stripped yourself of the clothes you had spent all day in, and changed into the short black set you had packed with you.

“Okay, you can turn around now.” You told him after you were done.

He turned as you had said, but you both hesitated to get in bed, even though there was nothing left to do.

“You know, I can sleep on the floor or something if you don’t want to share the bed.” He offered unnecessarily.

“No way, I know you said you don’t care where you sleep, but that’s ridiculous, Eddie. I would never ask you to do that.” You slid underneath the bed sheets on your side. They were actually nice sheets; you would be sad to see Eddie sleep on the floor and miss that sweet thread count. “We’re basically grown-ups; we can share a bed without it being a big deal.”

He seemed less reluctant than before as he laid down next to you. “Well, I just wanted to err on the side of caution.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “You never want to be cautious, Eddie. That’s like, your whole thing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s different with you.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that, but you chose to ignore it in case it was something negative. There was no way you’d want to share a bed with a friend after finding out he secretly hates you or something like that.

The two of you were lying down on opposite sides of the bed on your backs, but you leaned over to whisper to Eddie. “Goodnight, Eds.”

He wished you a good night in return, but it didn’t do much in the way of easing your nerves. For that, you just shut your eyes, clutched the blanket, and tried your hardest to fall asleep.

You weren’t sure about how long it took, but you did eventually sleep; and you woke up practically cuddling with your best friend. You were hugging him, your head was on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around your torso in return. You also weren’t sure how you got into that position, but you knew you had to get out of it. In an attempt to be soft and silent, you unwrapped your arms from Eddie and snuck out of his grasp.

You stood up and walked over to the nice kitchen to make yourself some morning tea—and get away from the friend you were just accidentally snuggling.

You didn’t even let the water in the pot fully boil since you didn’t want to wake anyone up, but it seemed your attempts to be quiet were unsuccessful, since you heard footsteps coming down the hall from the bedrooms.

Of course it was Eddie and this was the one time he woke up before the clock hit a double-digit hour. “Morning.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Good morning.” You held out a mug for him. “Do you want some tea?”

“Absolutely not. But I’ll make myself a coffee if there’s any here.”

Eddie started rooting through the lightwood cupboards to find what he wanted, but you knew where it was, so you just handed it to him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You told him. “So, um, how’d you sleep last night?”

“Really well, sweetheart. What about you?”

You nodded and held back a smile. “Same. I slept great.”x

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff #stranger things fanfiction #friends to lovers #one bed trope #xena's requests

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evermoredeluxe · 16 days ago

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vancityreynolds: When I'm 95 yrs old and my wife and kids wheel me outside and into the sun so I can drink a sandwich, I'll still be talking about seeing this show in New Orleans. Not just because it's one of the best things l've seen/heard/felt. And not only because you see the staggering and positive economic impact this tour has on small businesses all over NOLA — a town that's been thru so much for so long. The main reason I'll never forget this show is because it brings people together in so many ways. And in 2024, (where that feeling is scarce as hell) it's a special and incredibly rare thing.

I've shot movies in New Orleans most of my career. It's a special place on a normal day - but this weekend, felt like Super Bowl or Mardi Gras had a baby with music.

I don't understand the unimaginable work, care, talent and discipline @taylorswift generates to create an experience like this because l'm not a scientist. It's an athletic event and a collective cultural phenomenon. It's gigantic but intimate. The only bummer is she can't be in the audience to experience what everyone else sees and feels. To watch herself up there is something I wish she could know. But that isn't physically possible and even if it were, you can't just get tickets last minute.

#ryan reynolds #blake lively #eras tour nola 3 #eras tour #taylor swift

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justagalwhowrites · 5 months ago

Text

Halcyon - Ch. 12: It Doesn’t Need to Mean Anything

You and Joel take Sarah to the concert. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 11, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Joel and Goldie are still morons. Also... mild smut 🫠 Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 10.7K (no one look at me)

A/N: So much thanks to my beautiful bestie @dundienominee, official Swiftie Consultant for this chapter. She was integral to song selection and Eras Tour outfit choices because I am too casual of a fan to have the knowledge to do that well. Thank you thank you thank you for this and for always letting me bounce the angstiest shit off you, Bestie! Love you!!

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You stopped sleeping over at Joel’s.

The distance took more adjustment than you’d expected and it wasn’t something either of you had explicitly stated, it just felt… necessary. You were getting too close to Joel - not something you would have even considered possible, once upon a time - and you needed to pull back before you ended up wounded and alone like you’d been more than a decade earlier.

He began separating from you that night, when his hand was still holding your face and your body was still tight against his. You kissed him until he pulled away - not wanting it to end - and when he finally broke the kiss, your faces stayed close together for a moment, close enough that your noses touched and you could see the reflection from the sparks of the fireworks in his eyes. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his palm at the small of your back, the roughness of the callus under his fingers at the nape of your neck. If someone had asked you, in that moment, where you were, you couldn’t have told them.

And then a gunshot cracked through the air, making the both of you jump and shock away from each other.

“Fuckin’ assholes,” Joel snapped, looking around as though there was anyone else around you at the water’s edge to blame. “Shit’s dangerous and there are still idiots who decide to shoot guns in the air just because the goddamn calendar changed, fuckin’ morons…”

There were a few feet between you now and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were in pajama pants and a long sleeved t-shirt and your nipples were pricked from the cold and the kiss and probably visible through the thin cotton. You crossed your arms over your chest, hoping Joel hadn’t noticed.

“At least we’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said. “Less chance of the bullet falling on a person…”

“Still,” he muttered, crossing his arms too. “Makes me nervous. Dumbasses like that should have their guns taken away, don’t act right…”

You tightened your jaw but nodded, still watching him.

“Sorry,” he said. You weren’t sure why. “We should probably get back inside, though. Gotta get the kid to bed, she’s cranky if she don’t get enough sleep….”

“Can’t have a cranky Sarah,” you smiled a little.

Joel looked at you for a moment and, for a delusional second, you half expected him to kiss you again. Then, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his flannel pants and rocked back on his heels once before starting up the hill toward the house. For the first few steps, he walked to the side almost as much as he did forward, until there was a good five feet between the two of you. You ignored the pang of hurt inside your chest and gave him a tight smile as he held the back door open for you, finding Tommy and Sarah on their feet and yelling at the TV as they raced in Mario Kart.

He sat as far from you as he could at breakfast the next morning, taking the spot beside Sarah and across from Tommy at the kitchen table and pressing himself against the wall in the hallway when you ran into him there and needed past, making sure your body didn’t so much as brush against his the rest of the holiday weekend.

When you went back to normal life, it reminded you of the few days after Joel had accidentally seen your shirtless selfie: radio silence.

This time, you refused to crack first. If he regretting kissing you, that was on him. It wasn’t like you’d begged him to. Hell, you hadn’t even asked him to. He’d offered - after kissing you out of the blue just the day before no less - and now he couldn’t even look at you. Or text you, apparently.

But you were starting to get a few steps beyond anxious when you still hadn’t heard from him by Friday afternoon. You hadn’t spent a weekend without Joel since you’d found each other again. You weren’t really sure what to do with yourself if you weren’t with Joel. Even though there was definitely a book you should be writing, doing that when you weren’t sure where you stood with your best friend seemed impossible.

Still determined to not be the first one to reach out but not willing to face the prospect of being alone in your house with your cat - and with the temptation to call your almost ex-husband who actually had texted you since you’d last seen him - you got on Tinder.

You swiped during a break between classes after triple checking that your age parameters wouldn’t catch any students, largely striking out until you found Stephen’s profile. He was a professor, too, but at Austin Community College. There was a picture of him in Napa Valley in his profile and one of him with a little girl (one he said was his niece) sitting on his shoulders. You smiled at that. You didn’t think you’d ever have children - though, really, you wanted some - but there was something about knowing a man was good with kids…

You swiped right and got the alert that it was a match. He’d already swiped on you. Your heart sped up a little. Maybe you weren’t completely undatable, after all.

Stephen messaged you just a few minutes later.

Hi! How’s your Friday?

You were working on typing a reply when another message popped up.

Not to be a creep but… are you really who you say you are?

You frowned at your phone for a moment.

Hi back! It’s alright for the first Friday of a new semester. How about you? And yes, the last time I checked. Why?

It took him a little longer to respond that time.

Let me know if I’m failing on the creep front but I may be what you call a fan.

You laughed once.

A fan?

A fan. Your writing is brilliant, I can’t help it.

Well, I have good editors.

I’m sure you do but editors only get you so far. Trust me, I teach the intro English classes, I know.

You laughed again and the two of you messaged back and forth until you had to go teach your last class of the day. When you finished, you checked your phone before leaving the lecture hall and there was a message waiting for you.

I hope this isn’t too fast but can I take you out tomorrow? I’m sure you already have plans but on the off chance you don’t…

You smiled.

No plans that don’t involve my cat. What did you have in mind?

Stephen, as it happened, had plenty in mind.

After getting a drink and chatting for a bit, he took you to salsa dancing night, something you’d never had thought to do yourself in a million years. The music was loud, the room was crowded and the energy of it all made your skin pebble as you smiled.

“C’mon,” he held his hand out to you. “Let’s dance.”

“Oh, no,” you waved him off. “I can’t.”

“I’ll show you,” he smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

He led you to a quiet corner of the dance floor and showed you the most basic steps and you let him guide you through it as you watched your feet and tried not to step on his toes. By the end, you were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe and he was laughing, too, putting an arm around your shoulders and guiding you to a booth in the corner.

Stephen got you a cocktail and settled in across from you, the two of you talking about the semester so far and books and your favorite places to travel.

You were surprised to find that you were having… well, fun. You hadn’t really had fun out with someone who wasn’t Joel in so long the concept seemed almost foreign to you. And Stephen was smart, you had shared interests, he was sweet and funny and insightful. You liked him.

But… he wasn’t Joel.

That was the thought you were trying to shake when he left you alone at the table, excusing himself to the bathroom and to grab another round of drinks and you decided to check your phone.

Gale had texted you, seeing if you wanted to get coffee. Like the last few texts he’d sent, you didn’t respond. You knew, if you did, you’d end up back in his bed and you’d never be able to move on from him, not really. Hell, you’d let yourself become the other woman while he carried on with your younger, prettier, thinner replacement, keeping her on his arm at every faculty event and book release he used to bring you to while fucking you on the side. A mistress to your own husband. Pathetic.

But the temptation to respond was still there. If there was one man besides Joel who’d been able to hold your attention, it was Gale. When you’d met him, you hadn’t been sure you’d ever recover from loving Joel. It seemed like he would be there, as some part of you, forever. And that was true, he never really left. It was more that you seemed to find room inside yourself to love someone who wasn’t Joel. You realized now that it hadn’t been able to love him as much as you did Joel - or even, really, in the same way - but you did love him. That, now that you were faced with the intensity of how Joel seemed to take hold of you, seemed miraculous. You didn’t expect to find that feeling again so easily.

You looked toward the bathrooms, where you knew Stephen had disappeared to. Stephen, the man who you had every reason to have feelings for, who had taken you out for a great date, who could be someone that could pull you out of this hideous pattern with Joel and Gale if you just gave him the chance.

You sighed and closed your texts just as a new one came through, this one from Joel.

Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t heard from him in so long that just seeing his name hit you hard. You glanced up. Stephen was just coming out of the men’s room and heading for the bar.

You opened the text.

This radio silence shit sucks.

You scoffed a little.

You started it.

He responded immediately.

You at home? Come over. Sarah’s about to go to bed, we can watch the next Curtis and Viper commentary in the marathon.

Sorry, I can’t tonight.

You looked up to the bar again, Stephen still waiting to talk to the bartender. By the time you looked back down at your phone, Joel had texted back.

Why not? Puck will behave for a few hours, promise.

You frowned.

Believe it or not, I’m not home with my cat on a Saturday night.

Bullshit.

Is not. I’m on a date, actually. I do have a life outside of you, you know.

Stephen was just getting to the bar to order when your phone screen lit up, Joel sticking his tongue out at you taking over the whole of it as he called you.

You sighed and answered it.

“Hi.”

“Who the fuck are you on a date with?” Joel demanded. “It had better not be fucking Brad…”

“So good to hear from you,” you said. “How have you been for the past, I don’t know, WEEK.”

“Five days. Answer the question, Goldie,” he said. “Are you out with your goddamn husband?”

“No,” you rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m out with a guy named Stephen, he’s very nice actually…”

“Who the fuck is Stephen?”

“I met him on Tinder, thank you very much,” you said.

“What?” Joel said and you could picture him leaning forward on his couch, his elbow on his knee. “Wait, when? I didn’t vet some fucker named Stephen…”

“You don’t get to vet people when you don’t talk to me for a week,” you hissed into the phone, glancing at the bar to see Stephen paying for the drinks. “Besides, I don’t need you to review my damn dates like some kind of baby sitter…”

“Five days. And you have shit taste in men,” he cut you off. “So yeah, you do.”

“Yeah, well, when you ghost me…”

“I didn’t fuckin’ ghost you!”

“When you GHOST me for a week…”

“Five days!”

“…you don’t get to judge me for my life choices!”

“I didn’t ghost you,” he snapped. “I thought we could both use a little space…”

“Uh huh.”

“And I didn’t think you’d do something stupid when I left you unsupervised for 30 goddamn seconds!”

“OK this isn’t stupid,” you said. “He’s a nice guy, he’s an English professor who likes wine and has actually asked me questions about myself…”

“Look at you go.”

“Fuck off,” you said, watching as Stephen headed back to the table with drinks. “He’s coming back, I have to go.”

“No, hold on…”

“Bye!”

You hung up and slapped the phone face down on the table with a little too much force as Stephen smiled, setting your cocktail in front of you.

“If that’s a friend calling to get you out of this, I promise I won’t give you a hard time,” he said, a slightly teasing edge to his voice.

“No,” you laughed. “Well, I mean, it is a friend but no, not calling to get me out of it. Just a friend with a history of just the worst timing and a total inability to read the room.”

“She sounds great,” he laughed back.

You didn’t correct him on the gender, instead just laughing with him and taking a sip of your drink.

The two of you closed the bar down and went to Waffle House after, sitting on opposite sides of the booth so you could stretch out and put your feet up as you pushed your syrup soaked chocolate chip waffle around on your plate.

“So,” you said as you watched Stephen from across the table. “Not to put a damper on things but… I feel like you should know that I’m not looking for anything too serious right now…”

“Oh,” Stephen frowned a little. “Can… Can I ask why?”

“My life is kind of complicated at the moment?” You said it more like a question, as though the difficulties were somehow negotiable. “My divorce isn’t finalized yet, my sister is pregnant and I’m her only support system, I have a book deadline later this year…” I can’t stop thinking about kissing my best friend. You didn’t say that. “I don’t feel like I can really be a great partner to anyone right now. But I would like someone I can have fun with when I can? If you’re OK with that?”

He nodded slowly, looking at his mug of coffee for a moment.

“Do you know how long it’s going to be complicated?” He asked. “Just… Cards on the table, I already really like you. I don’t want to get in over my head here.”

“Another few months at least,” you said. “But not forever. At least, I hope not forever.”

He nodded again, turning his mug slowly on the table and you watched as the handle went back and forth.

“I can handle a few months,” he said eventually, looking over at you.

You smiled a little, wishing that him saying that made your heart pick up the way it did when Joel touched you.

“Good,” you said. “Me too.”

When the two of you left the restaurant, he went to kiss you goodbye but you dodged it, kissing him on the cheek instead. By the time you were home, you had a flurry of texts from Joel, the last one demanding to know when you made it home safely.

I’m home, you control freak.

It was so late you didn’t expect a response but one came through anyway as you stood at your bathroom sink taking off your makeup.

Glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.

Why are you still up? Go to BED!

I can’t sleep if I know you’re out there with some random!

You rolled your eyes.

Well now that you know no one has stuffed me in the trunk of their car…

I’ll try to care less in the future.

“Jesus,” you muttered to yourself as Joel texted again.

Lunch tomorrow?

Tomorrow Sunday or tomorrow Monday? You wrote. It’s after midnight.

Lunch Sunday, he said stop being a dick.

You laughed a little at that. At least things weren’t that different, even if you wished they were.

Lunch the next day felt normal, even as Joel demanded to see Stephen’s Tinder profile and look at some of his messages. Most things went back to normal after that, too. Everything except for the sleepovers.

But now that you were getting ready to leave for Dallas for the concert, you were nervous. You had one hotel room, a small suite the two of you had picked out together, one with two beds in the bedroom and a pull out sofa in the living room. When you were booking the trip, it made sense. Sarah could sleep in a bed with either of you or in the living room on her own and either way, you and Joel wouldn’t be beholden to the bedtime of an 11-year-old. It’s not like you needed space from each other then.

Now, things felt different. It had been three months since you’d last shared a room with Joel. The casual intimacy that had existed between you had evaporated like mist and you wondered if it had always been a causal, ephemeral thing even when it had felt so grounding.

At least, you thought, you’d have the separate beds. You’d booked the room before sharing a bed was quite so commonplace in your friendship. At least you wouldn’t need to be quite that close to him knowing how he felt about it. That was a comfort.

And you were looking forward to some distance from your sister. Now that she was getting closer to her due date, you were together all the time. From lamaze classes to parenting seminars to going with her to AA and NA meetings as moral support, you were with Anna more now than you had been since the two of you were girls and it was summer vacation and you had nothing else to do.

“I swear to God that one old mom thinks we’re a couple,” she snickered as the two of you got pancakes after a lamaze class one day.

“What?” You gaped at her. “Ew!”

“Oh, for sure,” she said, reaching over and stealing a piece of bacon off your plate. You glared at her and she shrugged. “What? I’m eating for two.”

“Uh huh.”

“But she definitely thinks we’re lesbians,” she continued. “She was giving me the stink eye before you came in today. I think she thinks you’re the scary one, by the way, because she definitely stopped when you got there.”

“Jesus,” you shuddered. “Wrong on so many levels. One, you’re my baby sister and that’s just gross. Two, you are definitely the scary one.”

“Oh, for sure,” Anna nodded seriously and then laughed. “Besides, if you were my girlfriend I definitely wouldn’t be letting you run off with some old flame for the weekend…”

“Joel is not an old flame,” you rolled your eyes.

“Sure,” she said in a teasing tone. “And Stephen is fine with this?”

“Stephen doesn’t get a say in what I do,” you replied. “We’re just seeing each other now and then, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, giving you a look that you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with.

You hadn’t told her about the kiss with Joel. You hadn’t told her about losing your virginity to Joel before you left for college, either. But somehow, she seemed to know. Your sister, for all the distance you’d forced and all the troubles she’d had, just knew.

And that made you more nervous than you should have been for spending the weekend away.

But you packed a bag - featuring a costume for the concert picked from your closet by Sarah - and headed for Joel’s, Puck in his little cat carrier on your passenger seat.

“Aunt Goldie!” Sarah rocketed out of the house, her curls flying as she ran for your car. “It’s here! We’re really going!”

“We are!” You said with a laugh, catching her as she threw herself at you. Joel followed behind her, getting your duffle from the back seat.

“Did you remember your outfit?” She asked, pulling back and looking up at you with wide eyes.

“I absolutely did,” you smiled at her before looking at her dad. “Hey Joel.”

“Goldie,” he gave you a nod. “You ready for this?”

“For a road trip with my favorite kid?” You asked. “Absolutely.”

You got Puck settled at Joel’s - his neighbors, the Adlers, promising to look in on both cats while you were away - and got loaded into Joel’s truck, a bag of snacks and cooler of drinks sitting next to Sarah in the back seat.

“We’re listening from the start of the discography,” she said, leaning forward and grabbing the input for her phone. “We need to make sure we know all the eras before we get there.”

Joel looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Whatever you say, baby girl.”

It was easy to fall into life with Sarah and Joel, even just for the few hours in the truck. Sarah dramatically performing into an imaginary microphone in the back seat, Joel reminding her to buckle back in every time she undid her seatbelt for a particularly big dance move. You stopped in West for pastries and chocolate milk and, by the time you pulled into the hotel on Friday evening, the three of you were a little hopped up on sugar and in desperate need of real food.

“Oh this place is fancy,” Sarah said, a mocking and overwrought English accent on the last word as you looked around the lobby.

“Well, needed a room with space for the three of us…” Joel said, voice trailing off as he looked for the check in counter before spotting it. “Don’t go wanderin’ off, alright? I’ll get us checked in, we can drop the bags and figure out something besides junk for dinner…”

“But I like junk” Sarah said.

“Yeah, I know you do,” he said before looking to you. “Keep her out of trouble, will you?”

“Bold of you to assume she’d be the problem.”

“Knew you’d be trouble,” he smirked a little before going to get in the check in line.

You stuck close to Sarah, who was using the short wall of the lobby garden as a balance beam as she worked out the pent up energy from the hours spent in the car.

“How many songs do you think she’ll sing?” Sarah asked after the spun on the end of the wall, her sneakers squeaking on the polished stone.

“I dunno,” you said. “Probably a lot since the concert is a few hours long.”

“I don’t want to see spoilers but my friends keep sending videos,” she said. “I haven’t watched any of them, I want to see it all in person.”

She did a jump like she was imitating a gymnast, making you instinctively reach for her, trying to hide your hiss of fear as she landed smoothly on the narrow wall. She looked at your worried expression and laughed.

“Please be careful,” you said as she started walking the wall again. “If you get yourself killed I’ll have to go through the hassle of selling these tickets online…”

Sarah snorted.

“You’d miss me,” she said, teasing.

“That too,” you smiled a little before looking toward the check in counter. Joel was at the front now but he looked to be in deep conversation with the man behind the desk. You frowned. “Stay put, kiddo.”

“Keep jumping on the wall, got it.”

You shot Sarah a glare before heading for the desk.

“No, that’s not going to work,” Joel was saying. “I booked the room I booked for a reason, I need two beds…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller,” the man said. “I’m afraid we’re completely full this weekend and this is the only room I can put you in…”

“What’s happening?” You asked, eyebrows knitting together and looking between them.

“They don’t have the room we picked,” Joel said, eyes darting quickly to you, almost like he was afraid to look at you. “They only have rooms with one bed…”

“Wait, what?” You looked at the man behind the counter. “Seriously? We have a confirmation number, we…”

“I know, and I apologize,” he said. “With the concerts, we’re booked solid this weekend and there must have been a mixup with an earlier check in. I can’t move someone who’s already checked in. I already looked at our sister property across town but they’re completely full, too…”

Joel looked at you, his eyes a little wider than you were used to seeing them. Almost like he was going to panic at just the thought of sharing a bed with you.

“We can make it work, right?” You said, watching him. “I mean… it’s not that bad, is it?”

“Right,” Joel said. “Yeah, you’re right…”

He turned back to the man.

“I guess we’ll take it,” he said. “Three keys, please.”

Your stomach knotted a little. You knew the situation was less than ideal, that the two of you had been actively avoiding that level of contact in the months since the new year, but it’s not as though you’d never shared a bed. Was kissing you really so bad that Joel was on the verge of a panic at the thought of sleeping next to you for two nights?

Maybe it was. Maybe you hadn’t fully understood his level of disgust at it.

You weren’t stupid, after all. You knew what he thought about kissing you. And if you hadn’t already known, you knew for sure when you overheard him talking to Tommy about it.

“It was a mistake,” he’d said when he thought you couldn’t hear. “It won’t happen again, I’m done doing stupid shit with her and then regretting it…”

Being close to you - touching you - was stupid shit. Even under the guise of friendship it was stupid shit. That had stung.

It shouldn’t have.

You’d known he felt that way, you had for years. It shouldn’t have made your chest tighten and your stomach turn the way it did. He’d made it clear - since the first time the two of you had ever done anything physical - that it was a mistake. You weren’t about to risk losing him by pressing it, no matter how much you wanted to scream that he was the one who kissed you, not the other way around.

But, you supposed, it didn’t really matter. If he didn’t want you that close to him, you weren’t about to force it on him. He was still happy enough to be your friend, even if he didn’t want to sleep next to you anymore. That was fine. You could live with that. And you could share a bed with him for a weekend without blurring that line again.

Joel got the keys and you got Sarah from her makeshift balance beam before heading up to the room. He shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot on the elevator ride up and you tried to keep from grinding your teeth as Sarah bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet, shooting off like a rocket the second the doors opened.

“Room 1521!” Joel called after her as she took off down the hall. “Jesus, I swear that kid has the energy to power a small city…”

She beat you there and Joel handed her a key and Sarah did the honors of letting you into the room.

“Oh cool!” She squealed, running in. “I get the couch bed right?”

“Uh…” Joel’s eyes darted to you.

“There’s a TV by it!” She ran to it. “Oh and the fridge is in this room! This one’s mine!”

You just shrugged at him and he sighed.

“Sure is, baby girl,” he said. “You wanna get changed before we go get something to eat?”

“Nope!” She said, kicking off her shoes and jumping from couch cushion to couch cushion. “But if we get back early enough, can we go swimming?”

“Sure,” Joel said. “Give me n’Goldie a minute and we’ll head out…”

You gave Joel a tight smile and led the way to the bedroom.

The bed, at least, was a king sized one, bigger than yours or Joel’s at home. You could keep to your separate sides of it well enough.

“I’ll take the side by the door,” he said. You were about to protest - that was the right side of the bed and he always slept on the left - but kept your mouth shut. You didn’t have a side of the bed with Joel. Or, you shouldn’t, anyway. “Did you need to change?”

“Just out of these leggings,” you said. “I only need a minute.”

“Right,” he said. “I gotta use the bathroom anyway, so…”

He stood there, awkward, for a moment before heading to the attached bathroom. You set your bag on the long, low dresser and unzipped it, rifling around for a moment until you found your jeans. You peeled off your leggings and folded them up, setting them beside your bag when your phone started vibrating in your jacket pocket.

You frowned. You almost never got phone calls. You pulled your phone out and saw Anna’s ID picture and you answered quickly.

“Anna?” You said, heart racing. “Is everything OK? Are you OK? Is the baby OK?”

“What?” She asked. “Yeah, everything’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?”

You relaxed a little.

��You just don’t usually call,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Oh,” she laughed. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean freak you out. I just got an email from the OBGYN, they need to move my scan next week, can you do Wednesday afternoon?”

“Is Thursday an option?” You asked. “I have more afternoon classes on Wednesdays…”

“You decent?” Joel called from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Looks like they have Thursday,” Anna said.

“Hang on!” You called to Joel, still standing there in your pale pink satin panties, before turning your attention back to Anna. “Thursday is better, just let me know a time and I can adjust some office hours.”

“Great!” She said. “I’ll text you the details. Have fun at the concert!”

You were about to say your goodbyes when the bathroom door opened and, suddenly, you were standing there in your underwear in front of your best friend.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, Joel’s eyes wide and ranging over you as you stood, frozen with your phone clutched to the side of your head.

“Sorry!” Joel said quickly, turning around as you scrambled to hang up the phone and cover yourself.

“I said hang on!” You said, grabbing your jeans. Joel glanced back over his shoulder before whipping his head back around.

“I thought you said come on!” He said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” you said, jumping into the pants as quickly as you could, trying to wrestle the denim quickly over the swell of your ass before buttoning them. “There, you’re safe.”

“Sorry,” he said again, turning around cautiously. As though you were a grenade that might explode if he caught a glimpse of your bared skin. “I wasn’t trying… I’m sorry.”

“I said it’s fine,” you grabbed your purse. “Let’s get something besides junk food in Sarah otherwise I’m sure we’re going to pay for it later.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Let’s go.”

Joel was still tense next to you at dinner and you damn near chugged a glass of wine in the hopes it would help untie the knot in your stomach.

Thankfully, you’d brought beer in the cooler from Austin and you grabbed two of them - putting the cans in koozies to cover the labels - when taking Sarah to the pool after dinner. The two of you sat and watched her play with other girls who, you assumed, were also in town for the concert.

Joel relaxed a little then, just the two of you tucked into a corner of the hot tub with a beer in his hand.

“Who knew I’d feel so old at 33,” he groaned a little, leaning his head back so it rested on the edge of the hot tub. “Just drove a few hours and I’m already wonderin’ how I’m gonna keep up with her tomorrow.”

“We do have to keep her busy most of the day,” you smiled a little, watching as she lined up at the edge of the deep end of the pool next to three other girls. They jumped in one by one, each girl doing some kind of dramatic twist or funny hand gesture as they fell toward the water, shrieking and laughing as they came up for air. “It’s going to be a challenge.”

“Thanks for doin’ this,” he said, tone more serious as he looked at you. “It really does mean a lot. We don’t have a lot of people, always felt like I’ve let her down by not having more. I’m glad she’s got someone else who cares about her, you know?”

You smiled a little.

“Of course I care about her,” you said. “She means the world to me. You both do.”

His eyes traced your face and your heart beat a little faster in spite of yourself.

“Hey Dad!” Sarah called, pulling you away from each other. “Aunt Goldie! Watch this!”

“We’re watchin’!” Joel called back.

Sarah looked to her new friend - a girl who looked to be about her age with red hair in a braid down her back - and they gave each other a nod before running for the edge of the pool and jumping for the water, the girls twisting in the air to slap each other’s hands before they splashed down. You laughed and clapped as they surfaced, Sarah beaming.

“Looks great, baby girl,” Joel said. “But no runnin’ by the pool, just like at home. It’s not safe.”

Sarah rolled her eyes as she swam to the side of the pool and going back to her new found friends.

Things felt almost normal as the three of you headed back to the room, towels over your shoulders and a trail of water behind you in the elevators. Sarah settled quickly once you were back in the hotel room, Joel telling her she couldn’t have any more soda or juice after she brushed her teeth but he did let her pick a movie to put on the TV as she settled into the pull out couch, looking like she was getting away with something as she watched Legally Blonde from her bed.

Joel stayed in the bathroom far longer than you thought he’d need to as you both got changed into pajamas. You’d seen him go through his nighttime routine enough times, you knew he was trying to make sure he didn’t accidentally see you in your panties again.

You had, at least, planned ahead for sharing a room with Joel, packing a fairly conservative set of sleep shorts with a matching shirt and changing quickly so you could spare him the sight. You climbed in bed when you were done, staying as far on your side as you could reach, a book propped open on your knees.

Joel knocked before opening the door, anyway, and you winced as you replied.

“You’re safe,” you said. He still opened the door cautiously, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw you tucked below the covers. You smiled tightly at him as he climbed in bed beside you, his curls still damp from the pool. You tried not to just look at him - you shouldn’t want to just look at him, he was your friend - as he got settled and scrolled his phone for a moment before he looked toward you.

“Want to watch a shitty movie?”

“God, yes,” you said, putting your bookmark in.

Joel laughed a little and turned the TV on, finding the Hallmark channel with some particularly insipid movie you didn’t need to know the plot of to keep up with, even coming in half way through.

By the time it was over, the two of you had drifted closer on the bed, both of you a little breathless from laughter. You turned out the lights and lay down, more beside each other than against each other, and you stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying not to think about the fact that the warmth soaking into you came from Joel.

“M’sorry about the room mix up,” he said quietly into the dark. “I hope it’s not… I don’t want you to feel weird.”

“I don’t,” you said quickly. “It’s fine.”

“Good,” he said. “Because the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable…”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, either,” your voice dropped low enough that it was almost a whisper.

“You don’t,” he said, almost as fast as you’d responded to him.

“Good,” you said after a moment. “Goodnight, Joel.”

“Night, Goldie.”

***

Joel had a hard-on when he woke up.

A goddamn boner pressed against his best friend’s ass, an ass he’d seen barely concealed by the softest looking fucking satin or silk or whatever the fuck women’s panties were made of, a sight he couldn’t seem to shake. Not that it was that different from seeing you in a swim suit but there was something about the intimacy of seeing you in a state of undress when he knew - or was pretty damn sure, anyway - that he was the only man who’d seen you that way in months. He liked that sight being reserved just for him.

He needed to get the fuck over that.

He was trying to. Really, truly, sincerely he was trying. He’d managed to get some distance from you - though that had helped less than he really expected. But he couldn’t bring himself to just cut you off.

Even though that would probably be the smart thing to do.

Clearly you didn’t feel for him the way he felt for you. He’d kissed you - twice - and you acted like it was nothing. Hell, you’d jumped on Tinder as soon as you got home from the cabin and found fucking Stephen. His stomach had twisted in on itself when he saw that text. Consciously, he knew you didn’t feel the same way he did but fuck, he’d hoped it would take you longer than a few days to do something like resort to Tinder after he kissed you.

And now here he was, his dick against your ass as you slept tucked against him. He wondered what had done it. Had he dreamed about you and those pink little panties only to forget it when he woke? Had he just felt your body against him as you slept, all curved back into him and making your home against his torso with your legs all tucked up toward your stomach so the lush of your ass was nestled right against his cock? Had he just smelled your hair from where you’d moved in the night, the scent of you all close and beautiful driving him to a step beyond wanting?

It didn’t really matter, he supposed. All that mattered now was making sure you didn’t know it happened.

He adjusted himself delicately, his cock aching and leaky in the cotton of his pajama pants, rolling slowly onto his back and leaving the arm you were currently using as a pillow below your head. Joel tried to gently extract his arm, hoping he could make it to the bathroom and - after locking the doors - jerking off fast and hard to the memory of you in those little panties

No such luck. You stirred then, uncoiling yourself and stretching out with a satisfied little moan that seemed to have a direct line to his hard cock, making it twitch in the confines of his pants.

“Morning,” you said, voice groggy as you adjusted, lifting off his arm and arching your back before relaxing down into the mattress. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cramp your space…”

“S’fine,” Joel said quickly. The two of you lay in awkward quiet for a moment. “Should probably get movin’…”

“Yup,” you said, getting up quickly. “Big day ahead of us.”

The three of you got ready to go - Sarah already eager to get into her concert outfit and you had to talk her down - before heading to breakfast. Joel just watched you and Sarah talk about her favorite song lyrics over bacon and eggs and wondered how the hell he was supposed to move on from you when you were like this with his daughter.

You went to the aquarium that day, you and Joel just hanging back as Sarah pressed her face against the glass at every exhibit, finding the fish she liked best and trying to learn everything she could about them.

Joel found himself watching you almost as much as he watched his daughter, the streaks of refracted light from the water catching on your eyes and skin and hair.

“What?” You asked when you caught him, a puzzled smile on your face.

“Nothin’,” he shrugged, looking toward the tank.

“OK,” you laughed a little. “Weirdo.”

“That’s me,” he smiled, shaking his head a bit.

“Well, as long as you’re aware.”

The three of you went back to the room with plenty of time to get ready and Sarah practically shoved Joel into the living room the second they were there.

“You’re a boy,” she said before she closed the door. “We have a lot more to do than you.”

There were a few seconds of quiet before the Taylor Swift started playing and Joel laughed a little, distracting himself with a phone game while you and his daughter gave each other makeovers in the bedroom.

“Dad!” Sarah poked her head out a while later.

He set the phone down.

“Yes baby girl?”

“Are you ready?” She said. “Because we have to do a fashion show.”

“Fashion show it up, kiddo,” he said. “M’ready.”

“OK, put New Romantics on,” she said. Joel frowned and she rolled her eyes. “We need a soundtrack, Dad, just do it!”

“Alright, alright,” he said, going into Spotify and finding the song. “Ready when you are.”

“Presenting the eras of Sarah and Goldie,” she said with dramatic flair before throwing the bedroom door open and jumping into the living room in a pink shirt covered in sequins and her white skort. Her hair was in two what she liked to call “space buns” on the top of her head, pink plastic hair ties holding them in place. Her springy curls were covered in glitter and she had on bright pink, sparkling eyeshadow and gem stones on her cheeks as she beamed, her arms over her head as she showed off her outfit. “I’m in my Lover era because it’s the best one, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Joel tried to keep himself from laughing. “That’s a lot of glitter, kiddo.”

“It’s a concert, Dad,” she rolled her eyes as you poked your head around the door to look into the living room and he caught a glimpse of your much darker makeup.

“It’s just a spray,” you said. “It’s supposed to wash out pretty easy.”

“No, don’t show yourself yet!” Sarah shoved you lightly back behind the door. “You have to do it all at once to get the full effect!”

“Sorry!” You called and Joel heard the hint of a laugh on the edges of your voice. “You tell me when it’s OK to come out.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, turning back to Joel and striking a pose. “Lover is the best because it has the most pink AND it has Cruel Summer on it.”

“Sure,” Joel nodded seriously even though he had no idea what she was talking about. “You look great, baby girl. Very pink.”

She beamed.

“And now, Aunt Goldie -” she stepped to the side of the doorway and threw her arms out with a flourish - “who is in her Reputation era!”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck that meant, either. All he knew was that he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut as you stepped around the door, a sheepish look on your face as you turned in a slow circle to show off your entire outfit. You were in black jeans that hugged every curve of your legs, heeled black boots, a satiny shirt that was low cut enough that he could see a hint of the black lace bra below and a black leather jacket. Your eyes were dark and your lashes were long, your lips blazing red and all he could think about was how much he wanted to ruin that fucking lipstick. He was so busy staring at you like an idiot, he missed what Sarah was saying.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, what was that?” He asked, not looking at Sarah. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you.

“She’s in her reputation era because it’s the most badass - sorry Dad - one,” she said. “And she’s definitely badass. Sorry.”

“I tried to tell her that no, I’m definitely not,” you said. “But she wouldn’t listen.”

“Nah, she’s right,” Joel said, hoping he didn’t look like too much of a fucking idiot as he stared at you. “You…” he tried to find some way to describe you that didn’t make him sound like a dumbass. “You look great.”

You smiled a little.

“Thanks,” you said. “And what are you wearing?”

“Oh, right,” he said, getting up from the couch. “Sarah picked somethin’ for me too…”

He ducked around you into the bedroom and resisted the urge to run his hand over your stomach to the curve of your waist and pull you against him. He changed his shoes into his cowboy boots and got his cowboy hat out from its place in his bag before emerging.

“What era is this, baby girl?” He asked, his hands awkwardly shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“That’s the evermore era,” Sarah said knowingly. Joel frowned and she rolled her eyes. “Cowboy Like Me. Duh.”

Joel saw you press your lips together as you tried not to laugh.

“Duh, yes,” Joel said.

“Oh! And…” She scampered to her bag and opened the side pocket of her duffle, pulling out fistfuls of plastic beads. “Friendship bracelets!”

She put a few on herself before holding clusters of them out to each of you.

“You’re supposed to trade them with other people at the show! I made a bunch!”

“Thank you!” You said sliding the cluster of them up your arm and turning them in the light. “I didn’t know concerts required so much prep work…”

“We ready to go?” Joel asked. “I know parking’s gonna be a nightmare…”

“Yeah!” Sarah damn near bounded toward the door. “Let’s go!”

The concert was packed, awash with bright colors and excited squeals as the three of you settled in, Sarah immediately striking up a conversation with a girl about her age in a purple dress, trading bracelets with her.

“Oh, right,” you said, leaning around Joel to see what Sarah was doing. You started looking over the mass of beads on your wrist and selecting one, passing it over to him. “This one seems good.”

Joel took it, most of the beads letters that said Call It What You Want. He made a mental note to listen to the song at some point. He smiled a little, putting it on the wrist that didn’t have any bracelets yet so he wouldn’t accidentally give it away.

“Thanks,” he said, looking at his own wrist until he found the one that made the most sense to him and handed it over before he could think better of it. “Here, in trade.”

You smiled and took it before laughing a little.

“You Belong With Me, huh?” You asked. He shrugged and you traced your thumb over the letters before sliding it on your wrist. “Thank you.”

“Dad!” Sarah grabbed his arm and held up hers. “Look! She gave me her Lover one!”

“That’s great, baby girl,” he smiled at the glittery pastel beads, Sarah’s eyes wide and bright.

It was impossible to not love how happy Sarah was here. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her smile quite so huge or seen her eyes quite so bright. It was like she was getting everything she had ever dreamed as she chattered away to every girl around them as they waited for the show to start. He drank it in, trying to make sure he remembered clearly, sharply how it felt to see her so happy. After a while, he looked to you to find you watching Sarah, too, a look on your face that was almost as happy as hers and you looked so beautiful he almost wasn’t tempted to look at the plush swell of your lace clad cleavage below your satin shirt.

Almost.

“What?” You laughed a little, gaze meeting his just as the lights dimmed.

“Thank you,” he said. “For wanting to make her happy.”

You just smiled gently before taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, Joel’s heart skipping a beat as everyone’s attention turned to the stage and cheered, the music starting.

He didn’t pay much attention to the music during the concert, more interested in watching Sarah have fun and you indulging her, happily dancing along with her and clapping excitedly when she did.

But there was one song in a slower section that he couldn’t help but notice. You’d been swaying along to the music and Joel had been appreciating the guitar when your head drifted over and rested on his shoulder. He froze for a moment, looking at you with the small smile on your red lips and your eyes all soft as you watched the stage and fuck he wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you and he wanted it to be unlike every other time he kissed you, each of them full of driving want or couched in some pretense. Instead, he wanted to kiss you all soft and slow, gentle and earnest. He wanted to take his time and memorize the taste of you and the way your body felt when cradled against him just so.

But he couldn’t do that so he tried to focus on the song but the lyrics cut him to the quick.

One night he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says

You're my best friend

And you knew what it was

He is in love

The words were striking in their familiarity, like they’d been written just for him. It was a moment he’d had a long time ago, almost 20 years back now, a lightning bolt that made him stare straight up at his ceiling in the middle of the night, right at the spot over his bed that had some Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition model poster tacked into the popcorn plaster. The model didn’t hold a candle to you and your slow building smiles and the way you grabbed his bicep for support when you laughed.

Because he loved you.

He’d never loved anything outside of his family before but he loved you. The realization swallowed him up, swift and devastating, because he knew - even at 16 he knew - that it would never work. You were too smart, you burned too bright, you wouldn’t have your feet glued to this place the way his were. You’d move on after high school and go change the world and he’d be able to read your name in the paper and say that he knew you once.

Except he’d always assumed that, eventually, he’d move on. That he’d love something else, find some slice of that all encompassing feeling in another woman. He was just 16 then, after all. Who the fuck married someone they met in high school these days? He’d move on.

But he didn’t. He’d just poured all the love he had into his daughter until he was struck by you again and realized that no, it hadn’t faded. He still loved you in a way he’d never loved anything else and in a way he didn’t think he’d ever love anything else again and he still knew - even at 33 he knew - that it wasn’t going to work. And he couldn’t risk pressing it, not when life was this much better just because you were close.

But what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to spend the rest of his life trying to pretend that he’d find someone else to feel this way about? Was he supposed to steep himself in this torturous proximity until he lost himself to it? Was he supposed to try to bear finding distance from you - when he couldn’t even last a few days not speaking to you - so he could manage it?

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he would ever really know.

“Joel?” You stepped back from him, your eyebrows knitted together. “You OK?”

You lifted a hand and pressed the back of it to his cheek.

“M’fine,” he frowned. “Why?”

“You look pale,” you said, moving your hand to the other side of his face. “But you don’t feel warm…”

“Just gettin’ too old for the concert life,” he smiled a little. “Don’t worry about it.”

You took your hand back. He wasn’t sure if it was a kindness or a cruelty.

“Better get used to it if you’re going to start playing again,” you said, facing back toward the stage.

“Yeah,” he said, heart clenching a little. “I’d better.”

You and Sarah got him to dance and he memorized the look on Sarah’s face as the show wound down, all happiness and joy at getting exactly what she wanted.

After a seemingly endless wait for an Eras Tour t-shirt and the traffic jam to leave the parking lot, the three of you made it back to the hotel, Sarah asleep in the back seat. You went to wake her but Joel stopped you.

“I’ve got ‘er,” he said quietly, lifting her delicately from the back seat. She groggily put her arms around his neck and nuzzled into his shoulder and he smiled a little. She might be getting big but at least he could still carry his baby girl to bed.

The two of you tucked her in together before tiptoeing to the bedroom.

“Thank God I talked Sarah out of glitter for me,” you said quietly as you took your makeup off, already in your pajamas in front of the bathroom mirror. Joel tried to resist the urge to trace the curve of your legs and ass with his eyes. “I’ve barely got the energy to take this off…”

“Her hair’s gonna be a nightmare tomorrow,” he said, smiling in spite of himself.

“Yeah, but she loved it,” you looked at him in the mirror. “Worth it.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Worth it.”

When you got in bed, the two of you ditched the pretense of distance that you’d started with the night before. You lay close but not touching, close enough that he could feel the warmth of you under the blankets.

“So,” you said, yawning. “How was your first concert with Sarah?”

“Anything that makes that kid that happy is great in my book,” he smiled a little, his eyes tracing the dark outline of you silhouetted in the dim city light that filtered around the curtains. “Seriously… thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Thanks for letting me be a part of it,” Joel could hear your groggy smile on your voice. “And I had a few Christmases to make up for missing.”

He laughed lightly.

“I missed you, Joel,” you said, sounding so tired he wasn’t sure that you knew you said it.

He was quiet for a moment.

“Missed you too, Goldie. So much.”

You hummed in response before your breaths shifted to the quiet, easy cadence of sleep and Joel drifted off, letting himself savor the closeness of you.

That indulgence, he thought at first, was what sparked the dream.

You were in a hotel room with him in his head, too, but it was different. It was just the two of you and it wasn’t because you had to be. No, you were there for each other.

Joel took his time with you then. He undressed you slowly, his lips trailing over your neck and shoulder as he slid the straps of your bra down your arms. He kissed you the way he wanted to at the concert, holding you to him as his tongue dipped into your mouth and he could smell your shampoo and feel the silk of your skin below his fingers and his cock was painfully swollen. His kiss grew more desperate, desire shifting to necessity. He was drawn hot and tight inside his skin and wanting you was a distant memory now because he was far beyond that. He needed you.

He rutted against the soft warmth beside him, seeking some kind of relief, your body relaxed and pliant against him, your breath hot on his skin and it was the little whimper you made that woke him up.

It was still early, the light coming in from around the edges of the curtains not bright enough for it to be the light of day yet but that didn’t seem to matter, he could see things just fine. You were close and tight against him, his aching cock pressed to your stomach, the root of him against your clit, your pussy so hot he could feel it through your pajamas and his own. Your leg was hitched over his hip and you rocked your hips against his length and your head was tucked below his. He could smell your shampoo and feel the heat of your breath on his neck. He froze against you and you gave a soft, strangled moan.

“Goldie,” he whispered, only then realizing that he was panting for breath. “Think… I think you’re dreamin’, should wake up…”

You didn’t respond. You just moaned, high pitched and needy, and worked your core against his length and Joel worried that he was going to come then and there.

“Goldie,” he said again. HIs voice sounded strangled, like he was choking on the words. “Gotta wake up baby, can’t…”

Your leg tightened on him and your hand found its way to the back of his neck, playing in his curls as you ground yourself against his cock and he thought he might burst if he didn’t find some kind of relief soon and… was it really wrong if you started it? If you were practically fucking him in your sleep, was it so bad to give in to what you wanted?

His resolve weakened, falling into nothing in a matter of seconds. His hands spread over you, one between your shoulder blades, the other cupping the lush globe of your ass and he pressed closer to you, grinding against your hot slit that you kept pressing against him like you wanted him the way he wanted you.

Joel’s hand traveled down your ass and over your thigh, the feeling of your skin below his fingers almost too much when taken with everything else you were offering and fuck he wanted to feel you come. He wanted to bury himself deep inside of you and feel you get lost in your pleasure while wrapped around him. He resisted the urge to at least slip a finger into those wet panties - he knew they’d be wet, knew you’d be fucking dripping - because that, for some reason, was a bridge too far. You hadn’t started that. You had started this.

“Goldie,” he managed again, forgetting all pretense and just fucking his cock against you now. “Need you to wake up…”

You buried your face in his neck and moaned, the motion of your hips picking up for a moment before you pulled your face back from him, eyes open wide and glassy with want and shock. He froze, his hands still on you and his cock still pressed against your core.

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes searching his. “What are we…”

“Want me to stop touchin’ you?” He asked, praying you wouldn’t say yes.

“No,” you whispered. “I… I want…I need… but we… we can’t…”

His heart cracked open at that but he shoved it aside. He could deal with the pain of that later.

“Don’t gotta be anymore than this,” he said quietly. “It’s OK baby, promise. It doesn’t need to mean anything, it’s OK…”

You just nodded quickly and buried your face in his neck again, clutching him close so every line of you was tight to his body, your hips working in earnest against his cock. He moaned at the feel of it, needing to press his mouth into the crown of your head to muffle the sound. He rutted himself against you, his leaking cock making such a mess of his goddamn underwear that it almost felt like he was inside you, the slick of his precome and the heat of your pussy intoxicating.

The two of you rocked against each other like teenagers in heat, terrified of what that next step would mean but too desperate to stop yourselves now. Joel was getting dangerously close to spilling into his pants and was trying to stave off his orgasm, needing to come with you, when you spoke - voice small and hot and needy - from your place tucked against his skin.

“I’m gonna come, Joel,” you panted so quietly, like your pleasure was a secret. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come, I…”

“It’s OK,” he said, holding you a little closer, a little tighter, working his cock against you a little harder. “Just come, it’s OK, I’ve got you, it’s OK, just come for me baby, just come.”

You rutted yourself against him once, twice more before your body seized up and he could feel the throbbing of your pussy against his cock even through the layers of clothing. He closed his eyes and thrust up, letting himself imagine that he was deep inside you and coming there, his orgasm hitting him so hard it made his head spin.

Your body went limp in his hold after as the two of you panted for breath, limbs tangled around each other. He just held you, tight enough to feel close but loose enough that you could pull away when you needed, until you leaned back from him. Your eyes were still wide but more in shock, now, than want.

“Joel,” you whispered. “What did we do?”

He could hear the panic edging into your voice.

“What did we just do?” Your breaths were coming in fearful little pants now and he ignored the pain in his chest as he brushed your hair back soothingly.

“S’OK,” he said softly. “It… it doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s OK. Just… shit happened, it wasn’t anything crazy, it’s OK. It don’t have to be anything it’s not, it’s OK.”

There was a look in your eyes he couldn’t quite place but then you nodded.

“You OK?” Joel asked after a moment.

You held his gaze for a second before you nodded once.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s OK.”

His alarm went off and he scrambled to turn it off, praying that, this time, it really would be OK.

Next Chapter

A/N: I'm going to keep building that tension because I love to torture them apparently.

Don't ask me what my problem is. If I knew, I'd tell you.

Thank you so much for reading about these two idiots! I love them so much. Even if they're idiots.

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #halcyon

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