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punkshort · 5 months ago

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Swept Away | Chapter 5: Riptide

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: On the last day aboard the yacht, you get to spend some alone time with Joel, and things heat up.

Chapter Warnings: language, slow burn, sugar daddy/baby vibes, food and alcohol consumption, implied drug use, jealousy, angst, flirting, sexual tension, thigh/bulge riding, dry humping

WC: 8.1K

A/N: happy birthday @itsafullmoon 😘

Series Masterlist

Joel's fingers shyly found your knee underneath the table and you held back a smile. Instead, you focused on your breakfast, one that pleased him to see you were actually consuming, while he sipped his coffee.

It was another warm day, the heat already climbing and it was barely nine in the morning. As you looked around the rest of the table, you noticed most of the guests looked just about as hungover as you felt, yet they still insisted on indulging in more mimosas and Bloody Marys.

You chose to stick with water and coffee.

There were some quiet conversations being held around you, but mostly you shut it all out in favor of gazing out over the crystal blue ocean. Joel's thumb brushed over your knuckles and when you breathed in deep, you could smell the salt in the air. It made you feel completely at ease, the drama and your argument from the day before the furthest thing from your mind.

Well, maybe not the furthest. You still side eyed Tammy when you both sat down to join everyone that morning, but you decided to let it go. Joel's admission that he hadn't been with her in a year gave you some peace, and you weren't going to allow her to get under your skin. Instead, you were determined to enjoy the last day out at sea because, according to Glenn, the yacht was planning to dock back on your island rather early the following morning.

"We're supposed to stop in a few hours so we can do some water sports. You ever been on a jet ski? Or they got these aqua toys that'll take you under the water so you can see the fish. You wanna do any of that?" His voice sounded slightly nervous as he rambled, something you found incredibly endearing.

"Both sound fun. Whatever you want to do," you told him with a small smile. He was trying very hard, you could tell. You weren't sure if it was guilt that was driving him, or if it was the way you woke up accidentally wrapped in each other's arms, but either way, you enjoyed this side of him.

Just the thought of that morning made your cheeks burn and you had to look back down at your plate. You had a feeling he might have been thinking about it too because he shifted his weight in his seat and released your knee, draping his arm behind your chair instead while he pretended to listen to something Zachary was saying with the tips of his ears turning red.

That morning, your face had been pressed up against his chest, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, facing one another. Before you even opened your eyes, you could smell him. That distinct scent of hair products, expensive cologne and soap, faded by that point, but still lingering on his skin. One of his legs was slotted between yours. A dangerous place, to be sure. All he really needed to do was roll you both over and his hips would have pressed enticingly against your center.

When your gaze flickered up, expecting to find him fast asleep, you were surprised when you locked eyes. It appeared that he had been awake for a while. Sleep no longer clouded his eyes. So if the way you woke up together was an accident, why didn't he pull away? Why did he continue to stare down at you without withdrawing his limbs from yours? Why did his eyes scan your face and linger on your lips?

And why didn't he kiss you?

"Say, when are you two lovebirds getting married? Set a date yet?" Glenn's voice boomed from the head of the table with a wide smile. His linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down, revealing a mass of grey curls scattered all across his chest.

Joel's grip on the back of your chair tightened and he looked at you affectionately.

"We haven't picked a date yet, but I've always loved springtime," you replied dreamily.

"Then springtime, it is," Joel murmured, then leaned forward to press a kiss against your temple.

"We had a spring wedding," Tammy piped up from across the table. She curled into Scott's side, pulling his arm around her shoulders and you spotted Zoe stifling a laugh next to her. "May 21st. I was so nervous it was going to rain, the forecast called for it all week but when we woke up that morning the sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I told Scott at the time it felt like fate. Right? Remember, honey?"

He smiled and curled his fingers around her arm, his eyes flickering back and forth as if he were scanning his memories, desperately trying to remember.

"Of course I do," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Maybe we should get married here. On the beach," you announced, narrowing your eyes in Tammy's direction. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about rain."

Joel chuckled next to you, his thumb brushing gently over your back. "Whatever you say, baby."

"Now you're gettin' it, Joel," laughed Jack, Lynne's husband.

"Oh, no. You should get married at home. Nobody likes to travel for a wedding," Tammy challenged, and you bristled.

"I don't think anyone would mind traveling to Fiji," Harry interjected, and suddenly it seemed like the entire table was involved, previously private clusters of conversation long forgotten in favor of discussing your fake wedding plans.

"Yes, well," Tammy said, fixing a few invisible flyaways, "even so. Guests prefer to stay near their home. Won't you be afraid of alienating people on your special day if you choose a destination wedding?" she asked, tilting her head to the side questioningly.

You probably shouldn't have let it bother you. After all, your entire relationship was a farce, but you couldn't help yourself.

"It doesn't matter to me," you replied airily with a shrug. "The only one I want there is Joel."

When you looked up at him, you could see the playful glint in his eye. He knew what you were doing. He knew Tammy was bothering you and knew goddamn well why.

And he fucking liked it.

His lips curled up into a smile and he inched a little closer, wrapping his arm around you a little tighter, and you felt a shiver run through your body when his lips met yours once again.

You decided to blame it on the leftover tension from that morning, but you flicked your tongue against his lips, looking to deepen the kiss. Joel only hesitated for a second before parting his lips and slowly sliding his tongue into your mouth. It took everything in you not to moan into the kiss, knowing full well how inappropriate it already was, so after allowing yourself just another moment to enjoy it, you breathlessly pulled away. He smirked at you, his eyes dark and filled with desire, a look you no doubt mirrored back.

"What do you think, Joel?" Tammy asked, clearly trying to crack the tension brewing between the two of you. "Don't you have family you'd want there?"

Family.

Why did she say it like that?

Joel's expression changed instantly. Something flickered across his face and his lips twitched nervously when he dropped his gaze to the table.

Then it clicked.

She knew something about him. Something she was taunting him with in front of the whole table.

You desperately wanted to know what she was insinuating, but your bigger issue was not knowing anything about his damn family whatsoever because as he foolishly told you on the plane, it won't come up.

So you had to think fast.

"Anyone who loves us will make the effort to be there. Right, baby?" you purred, stretching an arm to circle around the back of his neck. He dragged his eyes up to meet yours and you gave him a subtle nod.

That's right, look at me.

"Yeah," he agreed, and you could see his resolve coming back the longer you clung around him.

"Oh, you two are just so cute," Zoe gushed. Your eyes briefly shifted to hers over Joel's shoulder and she shot you a wink.

"Maybe you should get married while you're already here," Glenn suggested. "Do another ceremony when you get home. Problem solved."

Your blood ran cold and for the first time, your mind went blank. You had no idea what to say. You looked at Joel, trying to silently convey your panic without being obvious, but he seemed perfectly at ease when he tilted his head to look at Glenn with a sly smile.

"Nah, I'll wait til my new hotel is built on that nice spot of land you got 'n we'll get married there, instead."

The table doubled over at his comment, some of the men jokingly calling him ruthless and Glenn complimenting how quick Joel was with his face all pink from laughter. You noticed with a jolt of satisfaction that Tammy was the only one at the table not laughing.

When the table finally let the topic of your wedding go, everyone falling back into their own personal conversations once again, Joel leaned into you and whispered in your ear, "good job."

You grinned and tried not to preen too much at his approval. "You, too," you said back. He scanned your face, his shoulders relaxed and the tension gone from his eyes and you swallowed thickly with a flutter in your chest. You really liked this side of him. The side that wasn't glued to his phone or laptop, the side that smiled and grazed his fingers along your back or arm for no reason.

The side that held you close while he slept.

Just then, Brooks flung the door open from the cabin and stepped out onto the deck with an apologetic look to his father. Glancing around the table, you realized then he was the only person missing from breakfast.

"Sorry," he mumbled before pulling up a seat next to Mary. "Had too much fun last night."

You tried not to stare but you couldn't stop yourself from noticing his obvious disheveled state. His clothes were wrinkled as if he slept in them, hair sticking out at all angles, and his eyes looked bloodshot and glassy.

"Sheesh, guess I wasn't the only one who drank too much," you muttered to Joel. He looked over his shoulder at Brooks, their eyes momentarily locking, before turning back to you.

"Think it's more than just booze," Joel told you softly. Your eyes widened when you remembered how fidgety Brooks seemed at Glenn's cocktail party and the pieces began to fall together.

Scott clapped his hands together after he tossed back the rest of his Bloody Mary. "What's the plan today, gang?"

Glenn checked his watch while Brooks hunched over his plate, his focus solely on his food.

"We'll find a spot around lunchtime and drop anchor. Try to find somewhere quiet so we can really open up those jet skis. Then we got a beautiful dinner at sunset. Mary wrote the menu, can't wait to see what you have planned, sweetheart," he said, lovingly curling his arm around her shoulders and giving her a kiss. She flushed and grinned, the cute display of affection making you smile.

The table began to murmur, some people standing and stretching as they discussed what they wanted to do with their last few precious hours at sea.

"Sounds like we got some time to kill," Joel said as he watched people branch off towards different sections of the boat. You spotted Scott and Jack already sidling up to Glenn while Tammy linked arms with Lynne and strolled towards the open part of the deck to sunbathe.

"You should probably spend it with Glenn," you told him, jutting your chin in his direction. When you looked back at Joel, you caught something not unlike disappointment flicker across his face before he caught himself.

"Yeah, you're right," he replied, "you sure you'll be okay? Don't wanna leave you all alone."

You smiled, touched that he was showing some concern. It was a very different Joel than just a day ago, but you had to keep reminding yourself while his delivery left something to be desired, his message was correct: you were there because you had a job to do, and so was he.

"Yeah. Go get that land so we can have our dream wedding," you joked. He chuckled but when he stood, you noticed his cheeks dusting with pink.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, then reached forward and pinched your chin in exactly the same way he did when you were shopping for clothes on your first day there. "Stay outta trouble for me, will you?"

You giggled and nodded after he dropped his hand from your face. And when he tossed you a flirtatious wink over his shoulder as he was walking away, you felt your face warm and your stomach flip excitedly.

It was too late. You were already in trouble.

"Jesus, I shouldn't have drank," Zoe said nervously while you both watched the crew unload the water toys. "One lap around the yacht on a jet ski and I'll be throwing up my lunch."

"Just aim for the big, wide ocean and not Zach," you joked. Fortunately, you had stuck to your word and hadn't had a drop of alcohol all day, but you still felt your stomach drop when you watched Trevor and Brooks fly past on their jet skis, their bodies bouncing violently with each wave.

Zach called out Zoe's name, his round stomach hanging over the band of his black swim trunks, and she groaned before forcing a fake smile and flirty wave.

"Fucking kill me," she muttered before abandoning your observation post. You leaned over the railing, grinning to yourself as Zoe was getting fit for a life jacket with the fear of god in her eyes when Joel sidled up next to you.

"You wanna take a spin on one of those?" he asked, bumping gently against your shoulder with his own. His skin looked bronzed from all the sun and his eyes sparkled as he gazed down at you.

"Uh, if you want to," you replied, biting your lip nervously when you watched Zoe and Zach take off at full throttle, the look on her face telling you everything you needed to know about the experience.

Joel noticed your hesitation and looked around.

"How 'bout we check out the inflatable stuff?" he offered. You frowned and swiveled your head back and forth. "On the other side of the boat. There's a few different ones, I think. Bit more low-key," he said, giving you an adorable shrug when you looked at him with relief.

"That sounds great," you said, then he tilted his head to the side before pushing off the rail, indicating you should follow him.

Joel was right. The crew had been inflating a couple cabanas, a trampoline and a jungle gym for you to use. Glenn and Mary were already waiting for one of the cabanas, joking with you both about how they felt like chickens for not giving the other toys a try.

The cabanas were spaced apart, the trampoline and jungle gym between them and so far you were lucky; the other guests seemed far more excited about the water toys on the other side of the boat, so you were afforded some privacy together for the first time all weekend.

"'M sorry you've been on your own so much," Joel apologized once you both got comfortable on your cabana. "But I'm makin' good progress, I can feel it. Zachary ain't got a chance in hell," he chuckled.

He sat up and gripped his linen button down shirt at the hem, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side with a grunt. You couldn't look away when his lips puckered around a bottle of water, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as he drank. A small noise got stuck in the back of your throat when he finished and a few drops fell from the bottle and trailed slowly down his sun-kissed chest.

"Ain't polite to stare, sweetheart," he said lowly without even looking your way. Your cheeks flared and you fumbled with your sunglasses, but he just chuckled and laid back down.

"Oh! Speaking of Zachary, I have something to tell you," you said, suddenly realizing after your argument the day before, you never told him what you found out.

He rolled his head to the side and squinted up at you. "Oh, yeah?"

You glanced around before leaning in and whispering, "Zoe is a sugar baby."

His eyes went wide and he scrambled to sit up.

"How'd you find that out?"

"She told me yesterday," you shrugged. Joel swallowed tightly, his mind racing.

"Did you..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his question and insult you, but needing to know the answer.

"No! Of course not!" you exclaimed. "I wouldn't say a word, I promise."

He nodded, visibly relaxing before averting his gaze. "I just didn't... I know you were pissed yesterday, but you should know it'll void the contract if you say somethin'."

"I know," you said softly, "but regardless of the money, I still wouldn't do that to you, Joel."

Something flickered across his face, something quick that you couldn't read before he looked away and slid his sunglasses on, effectively building his wall back up.

"Oh, and another thing," you added, "she thinks he's in a bad place financially. Says if he doesn't get the bid, he might go bankrupt and have to sell his hotels."

His eyebrows raised above the top of his sunglasses and hummed under his breath, looking thoroughly impressed.

"Goddamn, look at you. Feels like I got my own little spy or somethin'," he said, making you giggle. "Might need to hire you to work for me full time when this is all over."

"Oh, yeah? Doing what?" It was impossible to keep the playfulness from your voice. As much as you tried to deny it, you really enjoyed being on the receiving end of his praise.

"Oh, I'll think of somethin'," he replied, winking at you over the tops of his sunglasses, then smirking when he watched you get all flustered.

You settled back in your seat with a sigh, watching as the other guests zoomed by on their jet skis or dove under the water with the sub aqua toys.

Joel had your number before the plane even landed in Fiji. Even though it was taking you a little longer, you were slowly starting to figure him out. One thing was for sure: his good moods were really good, but his bad moods were really bad. He was obviously a man who had grown accustomed to getting his way, a man who had high expectations for the people who worked for him and had zero tolerance for mistakes.

He was a confusing man, made even more confusing by his behavior towards you. One day he was flirting with you, touching you, kissing you, but the next day he was icy and cold and hyper focused on work.

You turned your head in his direction, watching quietly as he basked in the sun with his eyes closed, skin prickling with sweat. Were you reading too much into those little glances and touches? Was it all part of the act? Or did he feel something more? It was clear you were attracted to him. He called you out on it more than once.

So why wouldn't he fucking do something about it?

"Do you wanna go on the trampoline with me?" you asked. He cracked an eyelid and peered at you.

"I think that stuff's made for kids."

You shrugged and flung off your cover up. You caught the way his eyes raked down your body before pretending to look out at something behind you, and you grinned.

"They wouldn't have set it up if adults can't use them."

"I ain't sayin' adults can't use 'em, I'm sayin' it's childish."

You feigned offense before adjusting your bikini and dipping your toe in the water. It was crystal clear and far too inviting to resist sliding in for a quick dip. The warmth of the water engulfing your entire body sent a thrill right through you. When you bobbed back up to the surface, you brushed the hair away from your face with a sharp gasp. Turning around, you saw Joel had laid back down, his eyes closed once again and facing away from you.

"Are you sure?" you called out to him as you began to swim backwards towards the other inflatables.

"Yep," he replied without opening his eyes. A devious smile tugged at your lips and before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned back and kicked your feet wildly, splashing water all over him.

"Hey!" he shouted angrily, but you were already swimming away as fast as you could. Once you got to the trampoline, you pulled yourself up and swiveled around to see if Joel was truly pissed or if he had just laid back down, but unfortunately from your angle, you couldn't see the front of the cabana.

With a shrug, you stood up and took a few hesitant steps onto the trampoline. It was pretty large, in an octagon shape but no walls, so if you so chose, you could bounce right into the ocean. You took a couple small jumps, barely getting any air so you could get an idea of how strong it was before bending your knees and jumping as high as you could go. You laughed when you landed with your legs tucked under you, relaxing your muscles so you could bounce this way and that until you lost momentum and rolled onto your back.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, enjoying the sway of the ocean underneath you. In the distance, you could hear voices from the others on the water sports, mostly squeals of excitement and barking laughs, but otherwise you were completely at peace.

Before you even had a chance to process it, the trampoline dipped and you were suddenly drenched with water. You shrieked and snapped your eyes open, heart slamming in your chest from shock just to find Joel standing above you smirking with an empty plastic drink bucket in his hand.

You swung your leg out, kicking his legs out from under him. The bucket went flying when he collapsed next to you with a loud, deep laugh you weren't sure you had heard from him before. The sound brought a huge smile to your face only to gasp and yelp when he leapt onto all fours and shook his head like a dog, showering you with the water soaking his hair.

You raised your arms in defense, desperately trying to protect yourself.

"Stop!" you half yelled, half giggled from underneath your hands. Finally, the water stopped raining down on you and you slowly dropped your hands from your face.

Joel was smiling down at you victoriously, his arms bracketing you in on either side of your head. The sun shined brightly behind him, making his wet hair and tanned skin practically fucking sparkle.

"No fair," you whispered.

"Never said I play fair."

You swallowed when you saw his eyes darken, his gaze lazily sliding down your face, your neck, your chest, brazenly taking in every bit of you he could see. He swung his leg over your waist, pinning you down into the trampoline when he sat back on your thighs so he could take the weight off one of his arms. To your surprise, he cupped your jaw and dragged the pad of his thumb over your cheek, carefully and tenderly wiping away the droplets of water from your face while you struggled to remember to breathe beneath him. And just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he spoke again.

"Did I make you all wet, baby?"

Fuck. You squeezed your eyes shut, the low tone in his voice making it very clear he knew he was tormenting you, making you squirm and bite your lip while you fought to keep a clear head.

"'S'matter? Dish it out but can't take it?" he tsked, his fingers gliding down to trace your lower lip. Your eyes flashed open, your lips tingling under his touch and breath coming in shallow pants. You locked eyes with him and opened your mouth so you could wrap your lips around the tip of his thumb. It sent a surge of satisfaction through you when you saw his eyes go wide and his jaw fall slack. The corners of your mouth twisted up into a smile around his finger, your tongue flicking suggestively against the tip. All the smugness from a moment before vanished from his face, and the only thing that remained was surprise and undeniable lust.

Joel said your name warningly, his eyes glued to the way your mouth was wrapped around his thumb. He could have easily pulled his hand away, but he didn't. He let you swirl your tongue around him, gazing up at him through your wet lashes, your arms lying limp next to your head, painting the perfect picture of obedience and that was when you felt it: a small twitch against your thigh, one he tried to hide by shifting his weight but it was too late. A look of triumph flared in your eye when you released his finger with a grin.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to make it hard on you."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Funny."

You stared at one another for a heavy moment, Joel still pinning you onto the trampoline. You waited for him to do something, say something... anything to acknowledge the elephant in the room before you lost your mind. And for one brief moment, you thought he just might. His lips parted, his expression softened and you held your breath, waiting for it. Then suddenly it was like a door slammed shut. He rolled off you in an instant, leaving you feeling cold despite the tropical, humid heat.

"I'm gonna get somethin' to drink. Want anythin'?"

You shook your head in a daze, the sharp turn of events sending you reeling.

"No."

Then you heard a splash and listened while he swam back to the cabana, leaving you with a devastating ache between your legs and more confused than you thought possible.

Despite Joel leaving you wanting more, you still couldn't wipe the smile from your face the entire afternoon. And it seemed like he couldn't, either. Something felt like it changed in him that day. He appeared more relaxed and happier than you had seen him the entire week you'd been on the island.

It was the reason you were distracted on your way back to your room. You told Joel you were going to take a quick shower and change before dinner right before he got roped into a game of poker with Glenn and a few others, but not before giving you a quick peck on the lips. After he hurried to catch up with the others, you glanced around and found no one was there to witness your little kiss. It wasn't for show.

Your mind was swirling with images of Joel, replaying everything with a stupid smile on your face when you turned the corner of the quiet hallway.

"Oh!" you cried out when you collided with something, or rather someone, firm and strong walking from the opposite direction.

"Hey, there," Brooks said, grabbing onto your shoulders to keep you steady. You took a step back, removing yourself from his hold, and gave him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Wasn't watching where I was going."

You moved to step around him when he blocked you with an extended arm and you looked up at him questioningly.

"Having a good time so far?"

"Uh huh," you replied, folding your arms in front of your chest when you noticed his gaze wandering down. "This yacht is amazing, we're having a great time."

Brooks smiled and propped his hand up so he could lean against the wall, fingers tapping rapidly against the wallpaper, effectively blocking your path.

"Glad to hear it. You're welcome to come for a ride whenever you're on the island next."

You smiled back and tried to create a little more distance, but the hallway was narrow enough as it was.

"That's so nice, thank you. I'll be sure to pass that along to Joel."

"Nah, we don't have to tell the old guy, huh? I was thinking it could just be the two of us," Brooks said, "that way's more fun, don't you think?"

You felt a shiver go down your spine at the hungry way he was looking at you and suddenly you realized, aside from the crew somewhere in the depths of the boat, you were the only ones indoors.

"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea," you said, hoping to keep the tremor from your voice. "Joel would be worried."

It didn't seem to matter how many times you reminded him you were with Joel, Brooks still persisted.

"Aw, I'm sure we could work something out," he replied, brushing his knuckles slowly over your bare arm. Your eyes dropped at the contact and the panic began to set in. You knew you should push him away. Hell, you should punch him in the throat and tell him to keep his hands off you, but all you could think of was Joel and how hard he was working to get that plot of land and what a great mood he had been in all day.

So instead, you took a step backwards and pulled your arms tighter across your chest.

"Why don't we talk about it with Joel at dinner?"

You were giving him your fakest smile at that point and he could tell. Slowly, his expression dropped along with the arm that was caging you in.

"Sure," he said, then finally began to slip past you to join the rest of the guests but paused and leaned in to whisper in your ear, "but I see right through you. Everybody's got a price."

By the time you had collected yourself and turned around, Brooks was gone.

"You're missin' an earring," Joel said with a frown the moment you emerged from the cabin, freshly showered but still shaken.

"What?" You lifted your hands to your ears and groaned before removing the one you did have and dropping it in your clutch. "Shit. Sorry. Must've forgot."

His eyes drifted over your face for a moment, concern etching his features. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said immediately, ignoring the heated look Brooks was giving you behind Joel's back. "Everything's great. How was poker?"

You partially listened to him talk about his card game, joking about how he was lucky they weren't playing for any actual cash because he was fucking terrible at it, but you had a hard time moving past that interaction with Brooks just an hour prior.

He could tell your attention was elsewhere. You looked nervous and distracted but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. He replayed everything over and over since you slipped inside to freshen up. Sure, he knew he left you high and dry after that particularly intense moment on the trampoline, one he knew if he didn't stop, you would both have done something you would regret, but you seemed fine afterwards. The rest of the afternoon you were bubbly and sweet, your playfulness leaving a permanent smile across his face.

So what the hell happened between then and now?

Mary clapped her hands together, sending a wave of silence over the bustling table as everyone turned to give her their attention. Joel's hand found your leg, his instincts telling him you needed an anchor, even if he didn't know why, then twisted around to listen.

"Good evening," Mary began. "Once again, I'm so pleased you could all be here on this beautiful getaway with Glenn, myself, and our boys," she said, giving Trevor and Brooks a loving glance. "I had the pleasure of curating tonight's menu, the theme being Tropical Barbecue."

A ripple went through the table and a pleased smile pulled at Mary's lips. Your eyes flickered down to Joel's hand on your thigh and you slid your own on top, fingers curling around his. After a moment where you felt him still, his thumb came up to brush gently against your knuckles, making you smile at the comfort it brought.

Mary began to describe each course and her inspiration behind her choices, but you were finding it difficult to focus. Everybody's got a price. What did that mean? Did Brooks somehow find out you were hired by Joel to fabricate a relationship and sway his father into selling him the land?

No, that would be impossible... right?

Then Joel uttered your name softly and you snapped out of your trance.

"Huh?"

He fixed you with another concerned look.

"I asked what you wanted to drink."

"Oh," you said, shaking your head a bit, "I'll just stick with water, thanks."

He scanned your movements. Your eyes were darting around nervously, your foot was tapping incessantly on the floor and he hadn't seen you smile once since you washed up.

Joel leaned into your side, hand still firmly planted on your leg, and murmured, "You can drink, y'know. I ain't mad 'bout yesterday."

"Mhm, I know," you replied, tugging your lower lip between your teeth. Joel shifted his weight in his chair and gave a polite smile to the crew member who placed two plates in front of you. He watched you pick up a fork and pick at your first course and he swore he saw your hand tremble.

"Did I do somethin'?" he asked after leaning in again. "If it's 'bout earlier, we can talk -"

"What are you two lovebirds whispering about down there?" Brooks' booming voice called from his end of the table. You each turned to look at him, Joel with politeness, you with dread. When Brooks met your eye, you could see the veiled threat behind his otherwise friendly demeanor: don't you say a fucking word.

"Just talkin' 'bout what a great time we've had 'n how disappointed we are it's comin' to an end," Joel replied kindly. His hand left your leg to pick up his glass of scotch and you instinctively found yourself raising your arm, trying to bring him back to you, surprising yourself with your neediness.

Joel raised his glass for a toast to Glenn and Mary while you forced a shaky smile and raised your water. Zoe leaned into your other side when the volume rose around the table and whispered, "Are you pregnant?"

You sputtered around your glass and you looked at her all wild-eyed.

"No!"

She giggled and shrugged. "You've been drinking water all day and you look like you're about to hurl."

You laughed at the absurdity of it and you finally felt some of your nerves begin to ease. If only she knew how long it had been since the last time you had sex.

"No, I promise you I'm not."

"Not what?" Joel asked when he turned away from talking with Harry on his other side.

"Nothing," you replied sweetly. The tone of your voice made him smile and his hand found your leg again. Then, his brows knit together and he raised his other hand to swipe his thumb gently over the corner of your mouth. When he pulled it back to examine the spot of barbecue sauce he collected, your breath stuttered at the same time his paused. It seemed as though you both realized at the exact same time he was holding up the same thumb you had wrapped your lips around just hours before.

His eyes met yours and his lips parted. Slowly, he raised his thumb to his mouth and you watched with heavy lidded eyes as his soft looking lips spread open across his finger, taking an unnecessary moment to grunt in pleasure when the sweet and tangy sauce was lapped up by his tongue.

"Mmm, you taste good," he teased with a little smirk. His chest flooded with warmth when he saw that playful spark in your eye again. He didn't like it when you weren't yourself, he realized, but he really, really didn't like to see you cry. It only happened once, but he knew he didn't want to see it again. As much as he tried to fight it, he had grown too fond of your sweet nature already. He liked the way you stood in awe of the affluence surrounding you but also found a great deal of joy from a few pink seashells, so delicate and so beautiful.

Just like you.

He noticed the more attention he gave you, the happier you became, and he really shouldn't have liked that as much as he did. Seeing your wide smile and hearing your adorable laugh made him soften. But watching your eyes glaze over or your eyelids flutter from his touch, whether it be your arm or leg or back, did something else to him entirely. Something that made him have to remind himself more than once during dinner that this was all an act, that this wasn't real.

Once dinner finished up, you appeared back to your usual self once again. Your hand fused with his while everyone said their good nights, and they remained that way when you walked together towards your room, the air around you silent and thick.

You swallowed nervously as you picked up your pajamas from where you abandoned them earlier that morning.

Instantly, your cheeks warmed when you remembered how you both woke up, all tangled limbs and hesitant glances. You cleared your throat and kept your eyes cast down while you maneuvered around him to get to the bathroom. As you changed and washed up, you wondered what would happen that evening. Probably nothing, you decided, based on the way he abruptly stopped things that afternoon, but just in case you made sure to apply a little lip balm and spritzed a dash of perfume in your hair.

"All yours," you said shyly before sliding into bed. All yours, all yours, all yours. You listened to the water running in the bathroom while you flipped through the channels on the television before giving up and turning it off.

When he exited the bathroom, you locked eyes and gave him a small smile. He tossed his clothes into a pile next to his overnight bag before turning off the lights and slipping into bed next to you with a groan.

You both laid there for a few minutes, each of you staring up at the dark ceiling, your hearts beating too fast to really find any rest. Finally, you tilted your head to the side and peered at him through the darkness. You could just make out his side profile in the moonlight, his distinctive sharp nose and the little pout to his lips.

"I can't sleep," you whispered. He blinked and turned his face towards you.

"Why?"

Everybody's got a price.

Did I make you all wet, baby?

"I don't know," you lied.

He turned onto his side so he was facing you, then you did the same. You left your hand flat on the mattress between you, not touching, but wishing you were.

"Did you wanna talk 'bout... earlier?" he asked softly. You couldn't really make out his face but you heard it in his voice; he was uncertain.

For a moment, you almost said yes. Yes, please explain what the hell is going on between us. Until you realized you may not like the answer, then you whispered, "No."

You couldn't see it, but he was relieved.

"Okay," he replied. You inched your hand a little closer.

"Can I ask you something, Joel?"

He nodded, then remembered it was too dark to see. "Yeah."

You took a deep breath. "What did Tammy really mean this morning when she mentioned your family?"

He inhaled sharply and you immediately knew you weren't getting an answer. "Don't matter," he replied, then stretched out his arm to loop around your shoulders. "C'mere," he added, giving you a tug and pulling you into his chest.

You burrowed your face against him, arms wrapping around his middle, all thoughts of Tammy and Brooks erased from your mind. Instead, you focused on how warm he felt, how good he smelled, how strong his heart sounded against your ear, and before you knew it, you were fast asleep.

"Hey."

You heard his voice whispering in your ear, but you frowned and ignored it. It was barely light out, too early to wake up, and you were so warm and at peace curled up next to him, you didn't want it to end.

"Hey," he whispered again, this time a little louder. Still, you didn't respond. Then you heard him curse under his breath and shift his weight on the bed.

Finally, your curiosity was enough to make you open your eyes.

He rolled onto his back, his arm still trapped underneath you but the other was stretching down to grip his rock hard erection through the comforter. Your eyes widened when you saw the pained look in his face after he flexed his hand, as if he were trying to seek out some relief without actually jerking himself off. His eyes were screwed shut and his brows furrowed together while he focused on taking long, deep breaths. Then he squeezed himself again and a quiet noise slipped past his lips. The tendons in his neck strained with effort, his skin looked flushed and a little sweaty and the entire visual was enough for you to feel your pussy soften and throb.

He must have wanted you to move so he could get up and take care of himself in the bathroom, but fortunately your deep sleep paid off into what you saw as a golden opportunity.

Before you could overthink it, you slid your hand down his stomach towards his waistband, but right as your fingertips came in contact with the elastic, he stopped you.

"What're you doin'?" he asked gruffly, his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

"Giving you a hand," you replied, hoping you sounded sultry like you intended.

"'S not funny," he said, yanking your hand out from under the covers before he looked at you. His eyes were stern but his forehead dotting with sweat and his chest heaving underneath his white tshirt gave him away.

He wanted this.

"I'm not laughing," you said, trying to tug your hand from his grip, but he shook his head. You squirmed next to him under the covers, pressing your thighs together, feeling your arousal soak through your panties. "Please," you whispered, voice breaking on just the one syllable. He shook his head again but you felt his fingers begin to loosen around your wrist.

"Can't," was all he managed to grit out. You groaned and lunged forward, biting angrily at his jaw, then his lower lip.

"Why?" you practically begged, your mouth brushing over his beard, the sharp hairs poking your sensitive lips, leaving them feeling tingly when you pulled away and asked again, "Why, Joel?"

"Ain't part of the deal."

You scoffed and hooked both your legs around one of his, pulling it towards you, towards the heat radiating between your legs. You began to roll your hips, doing your best to torment him into breaking by rubbing yourself on his thigh.

"I don't care about the deal," you replied, narrowing your eyes as you continued to rock your hips against him. "I want you, Joel, fucking please," you whined, then gasped when he dropped your hand and in one swift movement, hauled you up so you were straddling his lap.

"You think you want me, but you don't. Not really," he told you, jaw tense and eyes so dark, you could barely see the sliver of dark chocolate brown you had grown so fond of.

"What does that mean?" you asked. His statement made your hips stall in a moment of clarity.

His eyes dropped to your chest, swallowing when he noticed your nipples poking through your loose fitting tank top.

"You don't know me, darlin'."

"Yes, I do," you cooed, bending forward seductively to play with his hair, but in reality you were just trying to give him a glimpse of your tits.

"No, you don't," he shot back, his eyes glued to your chest, his hands leaving bruises on your hips when he began to shift you back and forth, encouraging you to rub yourself over his clothed erection. "And I ain't gonna fuck you, baby, I'm sorry."

You fought back the sob that clawed its way up your throat. "You want me, too," you tried, tipping your head back and biting your lip when you felt his cock slide perfectly through your folds. He was thick, that much you could tell, and you moaned at the thought of him stretching you open. How delicious that sting would feel at first, the pain that would bleed into pleasure, your mingled breaths and the feel of your skin sticking together that first time.

"This is... fuck," he groaned, bucking his hips up to meet yours. "This is a business relationship, that's it." But his voice held no conviction whatsoever.

"Yeah?" you panted, tilting your chin down to look at him. He was fucking wrecked underneath you. His eyes were all wild, teeth clenching together so hard the muscle in his jaw twitched. You smirked and lunged forward to kiss him, your tongue sliding into his mouth with ease. He whined against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pressing against your spine as he gave in, his jaw falling open wider, giving you more room to swirl your tongues together frantically while your hips ground down onto his lap, selfishly chasing your high.

"If you do this with all your business partners, I can see how you became so successful," you breathed when you pulled away.

His eyes fluttered closed and you watched his muscles relax, as if he were giving up the fight. You leaned forward and tenderly kissed the corner of his mouth, your thighs burning from the effort as you continued to rut yourself against him. You felt the tip of his cock catch on your clit and you squeaked as a shiver ran through you and your vision began to blur.

"Joel," you whimpered, pressing your nose against his throat.

"Just... just take what you need, sweetheart," he told you, wrapping his arms around your ribs. "I'm hangin' on by a thread here, just - take what you need."

You whined and pushed your face into his neck, too close to your orgasm to fight with him any longer.

"Come with me," you whispered. You could feel his body tremble underneath you at the request, but he replied, "No."

Tears stung your eyes and you weren't sure if it was the confusion surrounding his steadfast rejection or the intensity of your orgasm, but either way you gasped and two tears slid down your cheeks when you fell apart on top of him.

With a shocking amount of speed, Joel flipped you over so you were on your back. He hovered above you, watching your release wash over you, his hips still pressing against your center, still grinding and thrusting and rubbing as he memorized the look on your face when you came. And maybe it was just all too much: too much build up, too much tension, too much begging for his cock from your perfect fucking mouth because he suddenly tensed and groaned.

Your eyes snapped open in surprise when you felt the warmth spreading through his boxers and dampness leaking through the fabric, just barely touching your skin.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned as he continued to come, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He dropped his chin to his chest, mouth forming a circle and his eyes squeezing shut while his body pulsed and shook with an incredible amount of force.

"Oh, shit," he breathed, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You stared at one another, each of you panting for air with your hearts hammering wildly in your chests and heat flushing your faces. Slowly, when you began to come down, reality seeped in. As much as he tried to fight it, and as frustrated as you were with him, there was no denying it now:

A line was crossed, and there was no going back.

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us au #swept away fic #joel miller smut

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evilgwrl · 4 months ago

Text

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Nine

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Attempted suicide, unknown watching as someone gets changed, SIMON BEING THE CUTEST MAN ALIVE, kissing and bum spanking

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS A FLASHBACK

Masterlist

The summer air was a broil of wet leaves and burnt tar, roads simmering with clouded fogs of steam that snipped at the exposed flesh of your leg. Your bike was worn, tyres nearly flat from the consistent rummaging of scarred rocks tearing the innocent rubber into a battered mess.

Your legs were inflamed from the constant use, thighs straining against bones and weathered skin. Sweat stuck to you in a damp layer, the occasional fly suckling at the salty residue. There was a gentle strum of moans, ripped jaws sloshing against rotten teeth, skin a ghastly contrast against the greenery. They didn’t care for you, walking past you like you were one of them.

It was a sick punishment.

You thought back to the first couple of days after. After Vienna. Steel supported rough fingers, muzzle pointed under your chin, the chill of cold tickling down your throat, trapping your oesophagus with an arrogant choke. Nimble fingers unclicked the safety, a line of tears streaming down your face pathetically.

You didn’t do it. You weren’t sure which was weaker, staying or leaving.

Blood ran through your chest, beating down to the tips of your wrists, eyes gauging through the flesh as if you had x-ray vision. You would no doubt be scorned with blisters later, the sun kissing you with fat welts filled with liquid medicine as you rolled in used sheets, unable to sleep.

You stared down the winding road, a companion of butchered shops lined up by the corner, untouched. It wasn’t rare for you to venture far, always taking a main road that would eventually lead you home.

You pushed through glass doors, majority of the crystal shattered across the concrete. There was a gentle ding of a bell as you entered, a lone zombie trailing towards the noise, disappointed at the sudden disappearance of its senses as you smashed a blade into the centre of its head, the stench of death filling the shop as you gagged. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the smell.

The store was disappointing at the front, but you knew the stock room held liquid gold. Your knees skidded over the counter, a till smashed across the floor as you laughed. You wriggled the STAFF ONLY door, your shoulders working to barge it open. There were unopened boxes of candy that caught your attention, sticky tape quickly stuck to the wall as you delved through, a child-like innocence adorning your face as you tore apart a chocolate wrapper.

A sick moan of satisfaction ran through you as you stuffed more bars in your bag, teeth rotting with gooey caramel. Your feet padded against the floor, achy limbs begging for a rest as you sat down on a bench, uncomfortable wood barely supporting you. You scoffed back an apple, a small container full of buttered bread soon resting in your stomach.

You groaned as you chugged the majority of your water, the liquid quenching the Sahara in your throat as it stained your chest, a light dribble working down your chin as you sighed. Eyes stared at the bike resting against a brick wall as you looked up, noticing the flock of birds make their way through the sky, gradual darkness soon blending into the baby blue.

Dirtied nails scraped against the glass of your final destination, a small boutique with a flickering sign greeting you with the smell of dust as you pushed the door open. Nimble fingers worked your sweaty top off as you tried clothes on, wiping the grotty mirror down with an ugly rag of a shirt.

Dark eyes watched you from a rooftop, covered face twisting into a scowl as he watched you prod at yourself in the mirror. Your flesh was greasy, a sweet shine covering your muscles as he fixated on the way you moved. He stared at you through the lens of a sniper before placing it next to him as you walked out, bag round with clothes and the minimal amount of food you could find.

You didn’t notice him, his body stealthy as he adjusted, eyes immersed in you as you rode off. They would head your way tomorrow, he decided.

Thick hands ploughed at the wood; an axe gripped between his fingers as you watched him intensely. Your eyes gawked at his biceps, chiselled muscles bulging under the sun, a glisten against his skin from his work.

“That enough?” His voice was thick, a mixture of molten and sweet honey lacing him. His aura was earthy and masculine, his need to prove himself to you evident as he looked to you for approval.

“Good enough for me,” you replied, attempting to grab a log of wood before he barked that he would do it, snatching it from your grip.

Your eyebrows twisted up in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not useless, I was the one doing this before you all came along.”

“Didn’t mean to offend you, sweet’art, just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

It was impressive watching him work; his forearms stuffed full of wood as he placed it in the small collector next to the fireplace. This was your first time being alone with him, his large frame was intimidating at first, but his shitty dad jokes couldn’t help but pull a smile from you.

You pulled him into the barn, introducing him to your cows, Daisy and Ted. He wasn’t fond of the names, but he felt himself nodding, watching the way you greeted them like they could speak, eyes full of admiration at the way you handled yourself.

“I’m hoping she gets pregnant, she’s my lifesaver,” you cooed, swatting the cow gently against her rump as she huffed out a breath. Simon raised a brow at you, a cocky smirk against his face.

“Don’t think about it,” you scowled as he turned around. Quick hands swatted at his ass as he grunted. Ghost was trained for anything, his hands at your waist as you squealed, quickly thrown over his shoulder with a huff before you were dropped in a bale of hay, endless giggles wracking through your chest as he peered down at you with a grumpy look.

You noticed his eyes crinkle as your laughter slowly subsided, both of you staring at each other with an amused look. His hands stilled at your waist, gripping them slightly with a warming touch.

“What’s your real name?”

He paused for a moment, thumb rubbing at your rising tummy, a pool of butterflies sinking into every crevice of the muscle. “Simon.”

You repeated it several times back to him, enjoying the way it fell from your lips as battered eyes focused on them, watching the way your tongue wriggled in the heat of your mouth as you spoke.

“You like it?” He asked, voice lower with nerves. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. But he was.

You nodded at him, glancing from his eyes down to his mouth. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, bringing his hand to your cheek as your mouth opened slightly, eyes never leaving his. He paused, ready to turn away from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, pushing the mask down his chin in a rough manner before he kissed you, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip before easing it into your throat. He was strangely gentle, almost like he was scared to hurt you. The Lieutenant’s hands gripped your face as you pulled him in by the scruff of his neck, deepening the motion.

His eyes were voids of burnt sugar, a hinge of toffee speckling through as they merged into his iris. He was warm and inviting, the slight tang of his saliva running through your taste buds as he welcomed the sensation of you, a hand dropping to your throat with a delicate squeeze.

Simon pulled away with a slight gasp, catching the breath he wasn’t sure he was holding.

“I don’t want to rush you.”

You only smiled and brought him back in.

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rafesangelita · 11 months ago

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First off I wanna say I absolutely love your Rafe mini series, always looking forward to new parts 🤭.

Okay so could you do Rafe x reader smut where they are having sex or he’s eating her out and as it gets intense she naturally wants to close her legs but Rafe doesn’t let her and holds them open ? Sorry I’m so bad at requesting stuff 😭😭

warnings: unprotected sex, slight degradation, slapping, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation

“what did i tell you about acting like a fucking brat in front of my friends?” rafe delivered a harsh slap to the back of your thigh, a gasp leaving your lips at the painful sensation. you and rafe had been at a party thrown by none other than topper thornton when your boyfriend finally snapped. “wanna grind against me and whisper shit in my ear to make me hard, all for you to leave and not answer your phone when i’m calling you.” he pulled off your denim skirt, leaving you in your heels. “i just wanted your attention.” you winced as rafe pushed your head into the pillows of your bed, his cock lining up with your entrance.

“well you have it now.” he pushed himself inside of you, your hands flying out to grip the sheets. rafe grunted as he started thrusting, his pace unforgiving. “this is what you wanted all night? ‘wanted me to fuck you stupid?” he balled up your hair, yanking hard as you moaned. “yes, this is what i w-wanted,” you stuttered, squeezing around his cock. ��ah, fuck,” he cursed, one hand digging into your hip, and the other holding you down by your neck. rafe felt like he was on cloud nine, forgetting that he was supposed to be punishing you.

he pulled out, making you whine at the sudden empty feeling between your legs. “i’m not supposed to be giving you what you want.” he turned you over, your pretty face making his cock twitch as he pulled you to the edge of the bed. your eyebrows knitted in confusion before you felt his tongue attack your clit, your back arching as a coil started forming in your tummy. your fingers ran through his hair, tugging at the ends when a particular stroke of his tongue made your toes curl. you mewled, your hips chasing his lips as you felt your orgasm nearing.

rafe knew your body through and through, pulling away from your soaked cunt when your chest started rising and falling with each breath. you whimpered, about to interject before rafe slammed into you again, dragging your legs on top of his shoulders. “i can’t,” you reached for him, tears welling in your eyes as he pinned your arms down. “you’re gonna fucking take it.” rafe groaned, his free hand covering your mouth as you moaned against his palm.

rafe moved his hand, satisfied to see your lipgloss smudged against your skin, looking like a fucked out mess underneath him. rafe felt himself teetering on the edge himself, his thumb rubbing hard circles on your clit. “please let me cum!” you nearly screamed at the added penetration, rafe leaning down to kiss you. “let me feel you around my cock, baby. give it to me.” with his permission, the coil in your tummy snapped, your breath getting stolen out of your lungs as you shook in his arms.

rafe’s pace didn’t slow, and neither did his thumb on your clit as you whimpered at the overstimulation. “you’re gonna give me one more.” rafe got on his knees, his mouth latching onto your clit for the last time. “oh, god,” your back arched off of the sheets, the feeling of his fingers curling inside of you and hitting that sweet spot making you see stars. “i can’t, rafe!” you sobbed, your legs closing around his head. he looked up at you, his eyes dark as he separated your thighs, pinning them down so you couldn’t move.

you gasped, cried, and thrashed until he brought you to a second climax, this one stronger than the first. you stopped breathing, your eyes rolling back as rafe entered you to spill his load. “holy shit, y/n,” he cupped your face, his fingers tapping on your throat to urge you to take a breath. “r-rafe,” your voice sounded weak as you came down from your high, your boyfriend leaving sloppy kisses along your jaw. it was’t until after rafe pulled out of you that he finally let go of your thighs, your legs falling limp. rafe looked down, taking your heels off before pulling the covers over both of you.

your eyelids fell heavy with sleep, the man next to you tracing shapes into your skin as he pressed a kiss in the curve of your neck, whispering against your skin. “did you learn something today?” you couldn’t help the small smile that formed on your lips. “nope.” both of you laughed, his fingers stroking your hair.

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hoshifighting · 6 months ago

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OMG, I LOVED THE ISSUE CLUB SERIES 😍 IT WAS AMAZING!!! I just wanted to ask if you could do a you giving seventeen head

you giving seventeen head (blowjob)

WARNINGS: oral, 69, blowjob, handjob, moaning, waking up with oral, fingering?, semi-public sex, risky sex.

seungcheol doesn’t usually ask for it; his pleasure comes from your pleasure. “you don’t have to,” he says softly, but you see the flicker of excitement in his eyes. he’s already half-hard by the time you nestle between his legs. you spit on his head, feeling the slickness coat your lips as you take him in. his hands glide over your hair, encouraging but never pushing. “touch yourself,” he murmurs, and you do, because seeing you pleasure yourself boosts his own arousal.

jeonghan, on the other hand, is unabashedly vocal about his desires. “want a quickie?” he whispers in your ear while you’re out. even if it means a detour to the nearest public bathroom, he doesn’t mind. back home, it’s all about the mess—the drool pooling at your chin, his hips thrusting lightly. in public, his eyes fixed on you as you suck cautiously, trying not to smudge your makeup. “don’t mess up your makeup,” he teases, but you know he loves it even more when you do. you can’t help but laugh, the sound muffled as you take him in. he’s shameless, always wanting more, and you love it.

joshua wasn’t a fan of receiving oral until you. now, it’s a ritual. you love seeing him lose himself, his head thrown back, his voice a constant stream of praise. you’ve learned exactly how to drive him wild, taking him deep, your head turning just right, your hands squeezing his balls. he’s on cloud nine, and his appreciation for your effort is evident in every moan and gasp. “just like that,”

junhui has a different approach. he likes to start soft, his cock slowly growing hard inside your mouth. “s-so sensitve” he moans, his sensitivity making him tremble as you take your time, feeling him pulse against your tongue. he’s more sensitive that way, and you can see it in his eyes, the way they darken with lust. “i love this,” he admits.

hoshi loves a good 69, the way you moan around his cock when he’s eating you out. and the way he moans around your clit makes you squirm. “i can’t—” momentarily pausing from eating you out because of the way you suck him, is too much. “you’re too good at this.”, you smirk around him, loving how you can make him come undone.

wonwoo’s like a bear, cute and cuddly, but with a dangerous side. he loves deepthroating, loves the feel of your throat tightening around him. “breathe through your nose, baby,” “deeper,” he loves the sensation of you gagging around him, your tears mixing with the saliva pooling at the base of his cock. wonwoo is your gentle giant, but he loves it rough when it comes to oral. tears stream down your face, but the way he looks at you—like you’re the most beautiful sight in the world—makes it all worth it.

woozi’s hands are always on you, guiding you. he loves the sight of you bobbing up and down, loves the sounds you make. “keep going,” he moans, his voice breaking with pleasure. he’s so expressive, his body reacting to every movement, every touch, you can see the strain in his body, the way he arches slightly, lost in the sensation. moans because, in response, you furrow your eyebrows when he does, and he knows you're clenching around nothing.

minghao prefers a handjob, but when you give him head, you make sure to incorporate that preference. spitting on your hand, you stroke him while focusing on his cockhead, earning a groan of defeat every time. stroking him as you suck on his cockhead. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” the combination is too much for him, and he’s at your mercy, loving every second. “you always win.”

mingyu loves eye contact, even though it makes him blush. you lock eyes with him, watching his shy smile turn into a look of pure ecstasy. he likes it when you scrape your teeth lightly against his cock, his eyes roll back, as he bites his lip. loves the way your doe eyes make him feel both powerful and vulnerable. “s-stop looking at me like this, i-i'll cum.”

seokmin is easy to please. “oh god, yes,” the moment your mouth is on him and your hand is massaging his balls, he’s done for. “oh, god, i’m gonna—” he moans, it doesn’t take long, and he’s a panting, moaning mess in seconds. coming quicker than he expected, but you don’t mind. seeing him lose control is its own reward. his gratitude evident in every gasp and moan.

seungkwan loves it when you wake him up with head. seungkwan loves the surprises. you’ve talked about it before, and every time you do, he’s in heaven. “good morning,” he mumbles, still half-asleep, but his hips are already moving, seeking more of your touch. he loves the mess, the feeling of your saliva and his precum mixing.

vernon likes it lazy. he’ll slide his hand into your hair, guiding you down to his cock. he loves it when you lick the seam of his balls, then move to the head. “take your time,” he says, enjoying the languid pace. likes when you let his cock lay on your face as you caress him with your cheek, before sucking him, or after sucking him. it’s a slow burn, a lazy, intimate moment that he treasures.

chan’s into risky head. “we shouldn’t,” he always whispers, but his actions say otherwise. he loves the danger, the idea of getting caught. your mouth on him just before he goes on stage, or in the car, makes it all the more exciting. “careful,” he warns with a grin as you go down on him while he’s driving. the way you treat his cockhead like a lollipop, then suddenly deepthroat him, the cold base contrasting with your warm mouth, drives him crazy. and you love the way he gasps and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. or when he’s minutes away from going on stage. “are you sure?” you ask, but he’s already nodding, already unzipping his pants.

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venusbyline · 13 days ago

Text

Jacaerys Velaryon — Nine Moons.

chapter three (previous chapter)

— summary: After Lucerys' death and the arrival of the dragonseeds, Jacaerys no longer wants to be betrothed with Baela. He wants to marry his twin sister, even if it means going against Rhaenyra's decisions and sealing suffering in your life and his.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin sister!reader

— type: dark, smut, sequel to Sleep (but can also be read as a standalone series)

— word count: 2.4k

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), forced pregnancy, dubcon, pregnancy sex, underage sex, breastfeeding kink, lactation kink, breast worship, nipple licking, nipple play, vaginal fingering, fingerfucking, pregnancy kink, dry humping, hair-pulling, abusive and toxic relationship, manipulation, possessive behaviour, obsessive behaviour, gaslighting, past rape/non-con, dubcon somnophilia mentioned, drugged sex mentioned, non-consensual drug use (herbal tea) mentioned, sexism, childbirth mentioned, argument, verbal abuse, curse words, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, implied Jacaerys Velaryon/Baela Targaryen, forced marriage mentioned, implied toxic!Rhaenyra Targaryen, dark content, sub!reader, dom!Jacaerys, soft!Jacaerys BUT NOT REALLY, Pre-Battle of the Gullet, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Nine Moons is a shortfic, sequel to the one shot Sleep, written for Kinktober. Both Nine Moons and Sleep can be read as standalone.

— author's notes²: Each chapter will have its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes³: Guys I'm SO EXCITED to write the next chapters and this specific part of the divergence canon <3 <3 Please tell me your opinions and theories. Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

— high valyrian words used: Rytsas (good morning), Hāedar (younger sister), Ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved), Idaña (twin), Kostilus (please)

— crossposting: AO3

❥ Nine Moons masterlist • Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

The morning started off lazy at Dragonstone and the sky was gray due to the clouds around. The weather felt colder than normal, even though it was not actually a raining or very windy day. Also, you had not woken up well, no night's sleep that week seemed enough to get better the uncomfortable feelings meaning the approach of the beginning of your pregnancy's last trimester.

Your body moved restlessly on the bed, turning to the opposite side when someone opened the doors of your chambers and closed it afterwards.

A cheerful mood was not being your greatest quality during that week, but you forced yourself to face the person who entered there, sighing with some frustration when you saw Jacaerys coming towards you with a cup that you knew so well what it was for.

"Rytsas, hāedar." Jacaerys scoffed in High Valyrian, making you snort and try to turn your face away again, hearing him give you a chuckle. Almost too soft for his typical behavior "Do not look at me like that, ñuha jorrāeliarzy. I am trying to be a good brother and a good lover, bringing you some tea with the herbs that the Maester prepared for you this morning."

That only made you sigh loudly, one arm under your head as you looked at the opposite side where Jacaerys was standing next to. "I know. But this tea is disgusting and tastes like some kind of unclean water, like the ones on Street of Silk must have too."

The random parallel made Jacaerys crack an amused smile, but he bit his lip to hide it, forcing himself to maintain a straight and imposing facade. "Perhaps yes." He admitted and it was your turn to frown, turning yourself to stare at him. "I am joking. I have never drank any water at any establishment on Street of Silk. Actually, I have never visited those places."

You were still suspicious and looking at him, not knowing whether or not you should believe what your twin was saying. Almost all Targaryen men visited a brothel a least once, especially those on that stupid street. However, you ignored the doubt and sat down carefully on your bed, the hand on your own belly, which was already so big that it always made you whining in pain always when you were walking around the castle or even when you just moved on the mattresses.

As you swallowed a sip of tea, you grimaced, brow furrowed, nose wrinkled and lips down. "At least it will help with the pain in your pelvis." Jacaerys murmured comfortingly, remembering the Maester's words about the drink tasting really bad. "It is what is been helping you since last week."

You hummed, focusing on drinking the liquid and finally handing the cup back to Jace, who stared at the bottom of the object before placing it on top of the dresser closer to your bed. He watched you for a few seconds, eyes attentive to how your belly seemed more swollen than it had been the last week. Even though both of you had closely followed the pregnancies of your other siblings, especially of the little Visenya who was stillborn, something about your pregnancy seemed... Different.

He could not say exactly what it was, since most of the times the Maester came to visit you to check on your and the baby's health, Rhaenyra kept him busy with something nonsense so he never had much time to pay attention to what the older man had to tell his mother. And Jace also doubted that Rhaenyra would tell you about everything.

"What did the Maester tell you on his last checking?" Jacaerys asked with a more serious expression compared to the one he had on his face when he entered the chambers.

"Not much, because he always kept the most important informations to tell just to Mother. But he said the child is developing very well, and that my belly is the right size and—"

Jacaerys snorted, running a hand over his own face. "No, it is not."

His abrupt interruption widened your eyes, both because of hie slightly worried tone and also because of his words. How the hells could anything be wrong?

"Your belly is very big for someone who is only six moons pregnant." He sat on the free part of your bed, interrupting you for the second time when you opened the lips to defend yourself, thinking he was insulting your body. "Stop this shit. You know that is not what I meant. I fucking love your body, I love your pregnant belly. If it were not for this damn war, I would fuck you for hours. Everyday. I would always caress your belly while I had my cock inside your cunt..." A sigh escaped your lips at his words, your cheeks flushing at the idea. "Anyway, what I meant is that your belly is too big for a six month pregnancy. Unless you are not just carrying one baby inside your womb."

Your brother's hypothesis echoed through the walls and you almost choked. Both of you stood there, staring at the ceiling while your brains raced to better understand the possibility of something like that happening. There were many cases of twin children in your family, such as you and Jace, the twins Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, children of your aunt Helaena and your uncle Aegon, and also Baela and Rhaena, daughters of Laena and Daemon.

However, the thought about raising twins in the middle of a war terrified you even more than before. Being forcefully pregnant by your own brother who was already betrothed with another woman was terrible, but now the possibility of being carrying more than one baby at the same time...

All of that increased the torment in your mind, and you let out a gasp of pain when you felt the baby — or one of the babies — kicking you inside. It was a sensation that happened more often than you would like.

"Our Mother is not telling you everything, is she?"

When you shook your head, Jacaerys ran both hands over his face again, muttering some curse in High Valyrian that you could not identify the meaning of. Lucerys had always been the sibling most easily able to speak the ancient language, but Jacaerys was putting even more effort into learning it since his younger brother's death. How could he be the King one day without even knowing the language of his ancestors? It would be a humiliation, a dishonor. It would prove to Westeros' people that he was nothing more than a legitimized bastard.

"I will talk to her." Jacaerys muttered, getting up from the bed. You grabbed his wrist and he frowned in a mix of confusion and irritation.

“I do not want them…” You swallowed hard, eyes filling with tears, not knowing how to continue saying the cruel things you were saying. "I do not want these children. I do not want twins, Jace. Please, this is too much. Probably I will not be able to go through their childbed or—"

The boy scoffed, pulling his arm away from your hands. There was a flicker of concern in Jacaerys' irises that he was determined to hide at any cost. "Not be able to go through their childbed?" He repeated your words indignantly. "Seven Hells, sister. You will not be the first woman nor the last one in Westeros to have twins. Laena did it. Your aunt Helaena did it too, and she was younger than you when Aegon fucked her cunt only out of duty."

It was your turn to widen your eyes in anger, your body shaking and your pelvis hurting one more time as you screamed. "BUT I DID NOT EVEN WANT TO BE PREGNANT! YOU WERE THE ONE WHO FORCED ME! YOU FUCKED ME WHEN I WAS SLEEPY AND VULNERABLE!"

Jacaerys' jaw clenched, your bitter but true sentences burning him inside. "Stop yelling." He growled slowly.

"Why? Is not it true, brother? You took advantage of me, got me pregnant against my will. You put those herbs in my dinner drink so you could try to carry out your plan by breeding me. But your plan failed and now you will need to marry Baela anyway."

"Do not be so dramatic."

"Dramatic? Jacaerys, cannot you understand? I could still be a maiden, I could… I could marry a good lord when our mother wins the war.”

"And do you really think I would let some other man marry my dear sister? Do you really think I would let some other man fuck you and breed you?" Your twin got a little closer and pointed his finger in front of your face, so close that you flinched, swearing for a few seconds that his large hand would hit your cheek. "You were always mine. You are my twin sister. We share the same blood. We shared our mother's womb at the same time. We came into the world together and we will die together. I would rather both of us die in the most painful way during this war than see you living a happy life without me."

After finishing his speech, Jacaerys caressed your cheeks, the touch so possessive and tender, many emotions passing between you. You wanted to cry out, tell him he was crazy, that Lucerys' death had turned him into an emotionally sick man. You wanted to push his hands away from your skin.

However, you also wanted Jacaerys to continue caressing your face. You wanted him to reassure you that you would not die in the childbirth. You wanted him to reassure you that everything would be fine even if you were actually pregnant with twins.

"Idaña..." You whimpered when Jacaerys lowered his fingers to your neck, applying a light pressure there, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make your crave air. He took the opportunity to bend down himself, close to you, desperate lips meeting each other while his other hand went straight to one of your breasts covered by the silk nightgown, squeezing it.

Breathing heavily, Jacaerys distanced himself from your lips and admired how the fabric of your nightwear became damp with the breast milk that flowed due to his aggressive caresses. "Fuck..." He groaned at the sight, pushing you to lay down on the bed, hovering over your body, carefully so as not to hurt your stomach. With both hands, Jacaerys tore your clothes, letting the two pieces scattered across the bed

As soon as Jacaerys took off your underwear too, he sat on the mattress and switched positions, leaning against the headboard and keeping you on top of him, your heavy and milk-filled breasts now almost in his face. "You get hotter every day, little sister." He purred, licking your collarbone and then finally sucking on your nipple, closing his eyes so he could capture as much breast milk as he wanted.

"Oh, Jace..." You looked down to see how your brother breastfeeding from you like a hungry baby. Despite the shame pounding inside your mind, your skin crawled with the overwhelming feeling of your breast being sucked and lightly nibbled. "Kostilus, idaña..." You begged with loud moans, not knowing what you were actually begging for.

For he just keeping sucking on you? For he to let you go forever and allow you to be free? For he to fuck your cunt with his fingers and with his cock afterwards?

"Kostilus?" Jace teased, repeating your plea with a mockery tone, his full lips wet with your milk, lifting his head so he could look directly at you, his fingers now playing with both of your nipples. "Do you want more, sister? But I thought you were angry that I took advantage of you, that I forced myself into you and forced you to carry my babies..."

The plural word made you wince on your twin's lap, your cunt dripping and wetting the fabric of his pants. "I... I know what I said. And it is true."

Jacaerys scoffed at your stubbornness, rolling his pretty eyes and holding your waist with his hands, causing you to whimper when he rubbed you back and forth, so slowly that you had to grab his hair and pull it back, getting a needy whining from the boy, his eyes closed with the pleasure.

You had never been a religious person, but in that moment you wished the Gods would forgive you for the way your core was so wet due the whole situation, even though the rational part of your brain knew you should be disgusted by it all. Actually, a part of you was always repudiating Jacaerys and all his acts, repudiating yourself for enjoying it too.

Perhaps you were just as disgusting and sick as Jacaerys. Perhaps deep down he was a good person who became after Lucerys' death. Perhaps trying to like it was the only way you could deal with everything. Or perhaps both of you were dirty souls, always destined for such perversities since you shared your mother's womb.

"You will not die during the childbirth. I promise you, my love." Jacaerys murmured, moving to caress your belly and enjoying the sight of the stretched skin, reddish marks appearing as the pregnancy progressed. "If you are carrying my two babies inside you indeed, then I will make sure the three of you stay alive and healthy. I will not live even a minute of my existence without my twin sister."

You swallowed hard, about to look for arguments to refute the intense assurance Jacaerys was giving you. Trying to rely on promises that demanded the graces of the Gods was a crushing feeling in your heart, an uncertainty that was filling your eyes with tears, mentally begging the universe to allow Jacaerys to be right in the end. You needed Jacaerys' promises to come true, you needed to stay alive.

When Jacaerys fingered your warm cunt and rubbed his palm over your bud, the chamber's doors swung open with a thud, your face turned pale while your naked body turned around, noticing a random guard who was not caring about the heir fingerfucking his own pregnant twin.

"Your Graces, Queen Rhaenyra orders the presence of both of you at the Small Council immediately. The Pentoshi cog carrying your younger brothers Aegon III and Viserys II was captured. Prince Aegon has just landed here In Dragonstone with his young dragon, but the Prince Viserys was left behind."

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hier--soir · 1 year ago

Text

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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