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hier--soir · 5 months

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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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ddejavvu · 7 months

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Omg Mei, I absolutely loved your little Spencer blurb about the sensory baby videos. Would you do one for Hotch except he’s holding his toddler and trying to get her to nap, or at least he thinks he’s holding her but she’s escaped. Reader and Jack walk in the apartment from school pick up and there’s big bad Hotch watching Ms Rachel or something!!

slightly altered your request, i hope you don't mind! love you <3

The last thing you're expecting when you accept the face time call from your husband is a big blurry mass of forehead and peach fuzz. It's a disorienting sight at first, but once you get your bearings, you recognize it as your baby's face. She coos at you, at the picture of her mama that's popped up on the screen, and you grin as it's clear she's trying to plant a kiss on you through the screen.

"Hi, baby," You croon, relishing in her sweet gurgles as she flings her arms this way and that, still firmly planted on your husband's phone. You presume she's laying on her belly, having captured the phone in a moment of Aaron's inattention and holding it captive beneath her head.

You fear that his phone may be waterlogged with baby spit if she keeps this up, but you'd pay thousands of dollars to savor this moment forever. You hear a children's program on in the background, and you coo once more, "Where's dada?"

"Dada," She repeats, in a voice as soft as yours. Then you're sure a vision of his warm smile flashes through her little mind, because she gets excited, shrieking, "Dada!"

That's what finally clues Aaron in. His ears pick up on her loud screech, and he hums thoughtfully from somewhere in the direction of the television, "Here, short stuff. What do you think, hm? What does the cow say, baby?"

"Mama!" Your baby girl states delightedly, "Mama-ma-ma-ma-mam-ma!"

"No, not ma-ma. Moo-moo." Aaron corrects her, then there's a short bout of silence from him, until, "Where are you?"

Your baby girl giggles and squeals, kicking her feet rapidly against the couch cushion below her. You laugh right along with her as Aaron makes a mad dash for the couch that she's managed to squirm her way onto, and he takes his drooly phone back from her with an indignant grimace.

"Honey?" He greets you warily, smearing away some of your daughters messier attempts at kissing you, "Did you call me?"

"No," You grin, "She did. She got her grubby little hands all over your phone, Aaron. You're lucky she didn't call Strauss. What were you doing over there?"

"I was holding her," He recalls, "Well- I mean, I was, but then- she was just playing with the stacking rings right behind me. I thought. I had Baby Einstein on for her."

"Mm, for her," You conclude with a teasing grin on your face, conveyed even by the slightly-grainy face time footage, "Maybe next time you should hand her your phone before you sit down to find out what a cow says; she's clearly not interested, babe."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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yourockthebeatofmyheart · 2 years

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Marvel's really trying to make me vomit, huh?

#rachel watches #msmarvellb #first the obnoxious flashing lights in hawkeye #now the constantly moving camera in this show #i'm enjoying it so far but GOD-#i gotta take a break

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 5 months

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Billy and his songbird || Billy the kid x singer!reader

Summary: Billy is captivated to say the least when he watches you perform on stage.

Warnings: none that I can think of

Wc: 983

A/n: crap summary but I've always wanted to do a crossover between tbosas and btk lol. this was so fun to make, ALSO nothing you can take from me has to be one of the top three songs on the soundtrack along with pure as the driven snow and the ballad of lucy gray baird. I SAID WHAT I SAID.

Divider by @pommecita

The sun hung low on the western horizon, casting long shadows across the dusty streets of the small frontier town. The swinging doors of the saloon creaked as a lone figure stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the fading light.

The murmurs and laughter of the patrons hushed for a moment as they turned their attention to the newcomer. The dimly lit room flickered with the warm glow of oil lamps, and the air was thick with the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke.

The stranger, a tall and lean figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, scanned the room before his gaze settled on you. A slow grin crept across his face as recognition sparked in his eyes.

You were unaware of Billy’s gaze with your back turned to the crowd as you tuned your guitar ready for your performance for the night.

Billy looked around, his eyes scanning the room until they locked onto a familiar face: Jesse Evans. The two had esse crossed paths many times before, sometimes as allies and sometimes as adversaries, but tonight, it seemed like old times.

“Billy!” Jesse called out, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. Thought you were avoiding us. Billy smirked and tipped his hat as he approached Jesse and the others at a table near the corner that had a good view of the stage. “Just needed a bit of a break, Jesse. Couldn’t resist the allure of Sante Fe and the atmosphere ‘round here.”

Jesse slaps Billy’s back, “Well, you came on a good day, kid. Y/n’s singing tonight.“ He cocks his head to you on the stage as Billy’s eyes roam your figure. “Jesse leaned in toward Billy. “You know, we used to get mighty excited whenever we heard she was performing. She’s got a voice that can make even the toughest outlaw shed a tear.”

Billy raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Is that right? Well, I reckon I’ll have to hear it for myself.”

Jesse smirks at his friend as Billy catches on to his smirk with a roll of his eyes. “How’s everyone’s night goin’?” You speak in the mic as the saloon erupts in loudness, a few cheers, whistles and the sound of hands hitting tables, showcasing their feelings.

You chuckle, “Good, good, that’s what I like to hear,” a mischievous glint flashed across Billy’s eyes as he hears Jesse chuckles beside him, a playful nudge to his stomach.

“Oh! Is that bottle there for me?” Your eyes widen the slightest as you see one of the locals walk over to you with a flask in hand. “Of course, doll,” Cal grins up at you as the crowd loudens. “Oh, come on, ya’ll. You know I gave up drinking when I was 12,” You playfully wink.

The crowd erupted in laughter and amusement at your customary banter. Billy found himself captivated by your charm. “It’s to clear my piles, ya’ll. To clear my pipes” You assure them jokingly, throwing the flask back to the crowd with a grin.

You turn your head to give a sign to your band to start the song you prepared. The crowd hushed, waiting for the music to start, “You can’t take my past,” your bandmates start off, “you can’t take my history,” the crowd was silent in awe as they listen to the melodic voices that filled the space.

“You could take my pa,” “but his name’s a mystery.” You take a step forward to the mic, “Nothin’ you can take from me was ever worth keeping” your eyes flutter shut as you hear a few whoops from the crowd.

“Oh, nothing you can take,” your eyes open and Billy swore he saw them sparkle, “was ever worth keeping,” the corner of your mouth tips up to form a small smirk as the upbeat song comes to life causing an eruption of cheers from the patrons.

You wore a huge smile on your face as your fingers skilfully strum your guitar. “C’mon!” You encourage the already hyped up crowd full of cowboys and cowgirls; your boot tapping on the wooden stage as they clap along, already boosting your adrenaline.

“Can’t take my charm. Can’t take my humour. Can’t take my wealth, cause it’s just a rumour.” The way you effortlessly and gracefully twirled around the stage, your voice and stage presence mesmerising and commanding everyone’s attention—Billy was truly and utterly enchanted—you, the enchanter.

“Nothing you can take was ever worth keeping. No, nothing you can take was ever worth keeping,” Billy couldn’t help but feel his head lightly bopping to the beat, his eyes looking around to see everyone else just as captivated by your presence.

You were having the time of your life, like always whenever you sang, your heart pumping with adrenaline, “Thinkin’ your so fine. Thinkin’ you could have mine.”

Billy couldn’t help but be enchanted by your performance. He leaned against the wall, a half-smile playing on his lips as he watched you sing. Jesse and his gang, too, were caught up in the infectious energy of the moment. It seemed like everyone in the saloon, regardless of their affiliations, was having a great time.

“Thinkin’ you’re in control. Thinkin’ you’ll change me, maybe rearrange me, think again if that’s your goal.” Your eyes roam around the practically full saloon before you lock eyes with none other than Billy the Kid in the corner.

You saw him a few hours prior from a distance, but that was it. Now, his blue irises were staring straight at you, his lips lightly upturned as his finger taps along to the beat of the music, your fingers still dancing over your guitar strings, not missing a beat.

You both stared at each for what seemed liked hours but was merely a few seconds; and, for those few seconds, something unspoken passed between you.

A playful smile made it to your lips before you tore your eyes away from Billy’s. “Can’t take my sass. Can’t take my talkin’,” Billy’s watches your figure as you move across the stage, leaning forward to the crowd, “you can kiss my ass, then keep on walkin’,”

An amused expression flashed over Billy’s face, “She’s good isn’t she, Billy?” Jesse shouts over the loud music as Billy chuckles, nodding his head. “She’s somethin’ alright. A songbird.” Jesse snorts at him, “a songbird, huh?” he echoes as Billy’s eyes fall back onto the stage that you controlled.

“Nothin’ you can take from me is worth dirt.” Your eyes lock with one another, “take it ‘cause I’d give it free, it won’t hurt.” Your eyebrow lightly cocks at his direction as Billy’s lips parted. It seemed as if it was only the two of you in the saloon, everyone fading in the background.

The crowd falls into a hush, sensing the end of the song, “Nothin’ you can take was ever worth keepin’. No, nothin’ you can take was ever worth keepin’.” The upbeat tempo once again affiliated the saloon as the pleasantly surprised patrons clapped, danced, and tapped along to the catchy beat of the song.

When the song reached its crescendo, you finished with a flourish, your fingers dancing over the guitar strings. Everyone in the saloon cheered and whistled, and you couldn’t help but bow, acknowledging the appreciation.

“Ya’ll have a good night, thank you!” You exclaim into the mic before turning around and packing up your equipment. “We’re havin’ a drink, join us?” Annie, your bandmate comes up to you, placing her hand on your shoulder.

You smile up at her, “Thanks, Annie. I’ll come join you guys later.” As you stand back up, you lock eyes with Jesse Evans. You were well acquainted with the man, the two of you hanging out whenever you were free. He was sat a table with Billy, his gang the next table over.

He beckoned you with a smile as you reciprocate it, signalling to him that you’d be there in a sec. “Hey, sweetheart,” Cal drawled, obviously drunk as he had a cigarette in between his lips.

“Hey there, Cal. Enjoying yourself?” You politely smile at him as her offers to hold your hand as you descend the stage stairs—although you were quite capable of walking down yourself.

“Wanna join me for a drink, eh?” “Uh-“ “-what do ya say?” Your eyes lock with Billy’s who was staring you down. “Thank you for the offer, Cal. But I’m gonna have to decline,” You quickly say as your feet quickly moved away, leaving him there.

“Popular, ain’t ya?” Jesse chuckles, moving the seat back beside him for you. “Mind sharin’ a drink with us?” He pats the seat as your eyes flicker between him and Billy. You returned the smile, taking a seat between Billy and Jesse “I’m a busy girl but I’ll make time for ya. Always a pleasure to share good company,” you playfully wink at Jesse as you hear Billy softly chuckle.

“Lovely to finally meet you, Mr. Bonney,” You extend your hand out gracefully as he looks down at it before looking back at you with a smile. “Please, the pleasure is all mine.”

The conversation flowed as freely as the whiskey, and soon, the saloon was filled with the sounds of camaraderie. You found yourself in the middle of it all, laughing at Jesse's stories, clinking glasses with the gang, and sharing glances with Billy that spoke volumes.

"It was Billy's first time here watching your perform y'know," Jesse pipes up, his glass of whisky close to his lips before he throws his head back as you look at Billy who was already looking at you. "What'd you think 'bout my performance Billy?"

Billy pretends to ponder, rubbing his jaw as you giggle. "What can I say, darlin'? You were great out there. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you," he admits as you grin at his bluntness.

As the evening drew to a close, Jesse stood and stretched. "Well, Billy, it's been a pleasure catchin' up with you. But we've got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow."

Billy nodded, his gaze lingering on you. "I reckon it's time for me to hit the trail as well. But before I go, there's somethin' I've been meanin' to ask." You looked at him, curiosity in your eyes. "Ask away."

Billy hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Would you mind if I walked you home? It's not every day a man gets to meet a singer as talented as you." You smiled, touched by the slightly expected request, you nodded with a gracious smile. "I'd be delighted, Billy."

As you and Billy stepped out into the cool night air, the distant sounds of the bustling saloon faded, leaving only the soft murmur of the wind and the occasional creak of a swinging sign. The moon cast a gentle glow on the empty streets as the two of you walked side by side.

"Quite a night, wouldn't you say?" Billy remarked, his tone a mix of charm and genuine admiration. You hummed. "Never thought I'd find myself walking home with an infamous outlaw." You smirked as Billy reciprocated it, "Life's full of surprises, darlin'," he tips his hat.

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what-the-jams · 6 months

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❝My love is mine all mine❞

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Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff! Reader

synopsis “Where Draco Malfoy has loved YN since first year and doesn’t plan on telling her until she comes back from holiday and comes back dating someone new.”

contents “Very cutesy female reader, 18 years of age for both, Angst, Mentions of cheating, smut: vaginal piv sex, mating press, vaginal fingering and eating, blowjob, lowkey dirty dirty sex, praise, hair pulling, drool, making out, reader is on birth control (but is not openly said)”

notes “Lowkey inspired by the Rachel and Ross and Julie episodes of friends. Lets all pretend that Draco was not building a special special cabinet and that he was not a death eater, and voldemort is not a thing Okay! Also...I JUST HAD TO MAKE DRACO A LIL MUSHY GUSHY ALRIGHT?”

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He was running. He never thought he would ever be running for anyone, especially a girl. Well, woman now. But he was still running, nevertheless. Running because he realized that now was the time was right. He, Draco Malfoy was running to the Hogwarts Express to finally tell Y/n L/n that he was downright in love with her, and had been since the moment he laid eyes on her.

The Hogwarts Express sat there in all its glory as students flooded out. All were happy as the snow that was falling around them caused a few to slip around as they giggled with their friends. Draco had just made it as he began to search desperately, accidentally running into Blaise as he held hands with Pansy. “Draco, Mate, what's the rush?” Blaise said as he turned around to get no answer, and instead watched the back of Draco.

He was whipping his head around, feeling his robe fluttering behind him as he walked briskly through everyone, still searching for the girl that was engraved into his head 24/7. Everyone moved out of the way, and some were pushed, but even through all that, he still couldn’t find the girl, but the moment he did.

Oh, he wished he didn’t.

“Hi, Draco! I thought you stayed at school for a holiday?” She exclaimed the minute she saw him. “I-I did.” He was stuttering, not good. A look of concern crossed her face. “Are you alright?” She said still holding the hand of the brunette next to her.

‘Fucking Harry Potter, out of anyone else, she chose the fucking guy he hated with his whole being.’

“Yeah, I'm okay. I was just looking for Blaise.” The Blonde said with a deep frown, completely masking his heartbreak. “I think he was back-” She got interrupted as Draco briskly walked past her. She watched him walk away as a flicker of hurt flashed in her eyes. “You okay, Sweetheart?” Harry asked as he looked at the girl, smiling quickly and she shook her head shyly.

° ⁎ ✧ ✧ ⁎ °

A week later he saw the two again in the library, Potter blabbering on with Weasley and Granger about something Snape said. Of course, he didn’t pay too much about him but rather to the girl dressed in Hufflepuff robes.

Y/n was studying next to the boy, Draco knowing the pressure of getting good grades as she too is a pure blood with pressuring parents. A look of annoyance crosses her face and Harry knocks her arm as she’s writing what he can assume is an essay for a class. “Sorry,” Harry muttered looking at her and then looking back at his friends.

A following week later, He saw them again at a party in the Ravenclaw Dorms. Harry had his arm around her as he talked Vividly with Cho Chang. The girl looked out of place at the party, even though there were other Hufflepuffs, some even eyeing him up as he stared at the other girl across the room.

Y/n did not look like she enjoyed being at this party, the girl was dressed in a pastel pink dress a pretty pink ribbon in her hair, and pretty ruby red Mary Jane heels. She bit her lip as she looked at her boyfriend again as he continued to just talk to Cho completely ignoring her as he hovered in tipsy euphoria. Then her pretty doe eyes caught his. And she smiled. And waved. And he waved back with a smile as well.

And did Harry hate that? The minute he recognized the blonde he had started to argue with the girl. Tears and yelling, a lot of yelling actually. Mostly from Harry though as he wouldn’t let the girl get a word in. And to end it, out of pure spite, he kicked Y/n away and onto the curb like a sad puppy. Draco had watched the whole thing, and although he had to hold his tongue. He opted to turn the boy a bright shade of red by punching him in the nose and running after Y/n who had run out crying moments before.

“Y/n?” Draco called out as he saw the girl in the corridors staring out the window, cold air flowing through as the snow fell outside the school. The girl looked at him as her glittery eyeshadow ran down her cheeks, looking as if she cried tears of diamonds.

“It's cold out tonight.” He remarked walking to stand next to her as she leaned into a column next to the open expanse of the building. She was sniffling lightly as she continued to let her tears flow freely in a glimmery river.

Draco sighed and took off the coat he was wearing and draped it over her shoulders. He continued to admire her, And That's when it clicked for him. “Y/n…” she looked at him with such a sad look. He took a deep breath before gently grabbing her face, and kissing her deeply.

The girl's eyes widened and she let out a gasp and pushed him away gently. “Draco, wha-why?” She stuttered out, covering her mouth as more tears started to trail down her face. “Y/n.” He breathed. “I’ve loved you since the first year. You deserve the world. I don’t know what else to say without sounding completely foolish but I am so in love with you that you should not be with someone as idiotic as fucking Potter.” She continued to cry as she continued to look at him.

“I love you so much and I would treat you the way that you deserve to be treated, like a princess. A way that Potter is not. I would kill for you, I would die for you, Move the heavens and earth for you. I love you.” He spewed out. Breathing heavily as the girl removed his coat and gently handed it to him, walking away a few paces ahead of him, before turning to face him.

“Draco. I love you too.” Y/n whispered, “But I can’t be with you. I’m with Harry. I'm so sorry.” She whispered before briskly walking away from him. And Draco felt his heart break even more, so he turned and walked towards the dungeon. He hadn’t felt heartbreak before and he didn’t know that his tears would flow with it. So he walked away, hands stuffed in his pockets as he muttered to himself.

Y/n regretted walking away the minute she turned away from the blonde. She had loved him for the longest time but just never wanted to tell him for fear of rejection and losing the soft spot he had for her while he continued to keep his mean demeanor for everyone else. She loved him so much. She fantasized about being his, and no one else's. She fantasized about the relationship that would've bloomed for the two. She fantasized about him meeting her family, formally as hers. She fantasized about being used by him in the midnight hours when her roommates were out, folding her in half and into his mattress, cock slotted perfectly between them, connecting them intimately. Moans and groans and handsy touching, and him whispering about how good he felt.

She made it back to the party to try to talk to Harry, to apologize. The crowded room was full of drunk students, suffocating in the room as she continued to search only to run into Hermione and Ron, looks of hurt and shock as they saw the girl. “Y/n, what's the matter?” The brunette asked her as Ron also looked at her in concern as he took a tissue out of his pocket to hand to Hermione, to wipe her glittery river of tears. “Just a fight with a friend and Harry is all. Where is he?” sniffling as she held Hermione's hand gently. “I don’t exactly know,” Hermione answered looking towards Ron who just shrugged. “We could help you look.” Ron finished.

“Oh, that's quite alright. I think I can manage-” The girl was cut off as a storage closet opened to reveal Cho Chang with none other than her Boyfriend, Harry. People were either gasping or cheering for the golden boy as he stumbled out with a goofy grin as Cho hung off of him. Clothing touseled, and makeup and hair smeared as they giggled to themselves.

“Oh, Y/n.” Hermione gasped as she hugged the girl who just stood in shock while staring at the two. Filled with boiling anger as she recounted the numerous hidden arguments between the two talking about his relationship with the said ravenclaw. She didn’t even move as frustrated tears flooded her cheeks for the third time that night. Before even moving towards the two or removing the brunette that was comforting her from the side, Ron was the first of the three to move. “Fucking hell Harry.”

“What? We were just having some fun.” Cho replied drunkenly. “With a man in a relationship no less.” Ron’s voice grew in decibels, causing others to look towards the commotion.”Then we can keep it a secret.” Harry replied with an eye roll as he stumbled forward, hand groping the breast of the raven-haired girl next to him. “Well, the secrets’ out.” Y/n scowled out. Both Harry and Cho’s faces paled at seeing the girl. Who as the author must say, is the prettiest girl in all of Hogwarts.

Sharply wiping her eyes, she walked up to Harry and slapped the boy back to Hogsmeade. “You bitch.” Cho slurred as she went to grab Harry. “Says the one that goes after people's relationships,” Y/n growled. “Harry when you are fully sober, find me tomorrow so I can properly break up with you.” And she strutted off. Straight to the Slytherin quarters.

Draco had just got to the hallway of the Slytherin dorms when he heard his name being called, inhaling sharply as he heard her sweet tone call for him. He rubbed his hands on his face before turning towards the voice. There she was still in the pretty baby pink slip dress and red heels as before. “Y/n…” He said waiting for her to answer, pretty pissed from their earlier talk. “I-” she stuttered as she grew shy under his scrutinizing gaze. “Well, get on with it. I don’t have all night.” Draco snapped, crossing his arms over his strong chest.

She walked up to him until they were inches from each other. “I love you, Draco Malfoy. So fucking much.” she threw her arms around his neck as she pulled him down towards her awaiting lips. His eyes widened as he gripped her hips tight enough to bruise. She opened her mouth to allow his waiting tongue in. Sucking, moaning, and dirty mess as they separate breathing heavily. “What happened to earlier?” He asked heavily. “I realized that you were completely right,” she answered shakily as she tried to catch her breath. “I deserve better, and I love you, and you love me.”

She took a deep breath as she looked up at his grey eyes as he kept his grip on her hips. “You said you would kill for me, and die for me, move the heavens and earth. Draco Lucius Malfoy, I love you,” She finished as he looked down at her hungrily. “And I want you to treat me the way that I know I deserve, and like a princess.” He learned to push her up against the wall as he began to nibble and kiss at her neck, causing her to let out sweet moans as she gripped his broad shoulders. They continued to kiss heavily as they swallowed the arousing noises any of them would make.

“Draco,” She whimpered as he stopped to look down at her through his lashes. “Please.” She begged quietly as she gripped his black button-up and began to get on her knees to please him. “Anything you want, Princess.” He groaned as she made haste for his buckle not even caring that anyone could walk down the hallway and catch them. She had finally freed him from his trousers, feeling the heavy weight of his pretty cock in her smaller hands.

“Whatever you want,” Draco said as he looked down at her, moving the hair to go behind her ears, careful of her pretty pink bow that rested in the pretty little updo she wore. He gasped quietly when she took the first lick towards the leaky head. “Just like that Darling. So good.” He groaned as she swallowed around his thick girth. A slobbery mess of spit and precum turned into a pretty clear gloss on the girl's lips as she deepthroated him, careful of any gagging.

Soon the blonde let out a deep groan as his milky white filed into her mouth, down her throat. He let out a deep chuckle as he pulled the girl up by her chin and kissed her again, tasting his own self on her tongue. They disconnected as Draco fixed his pants and flipped the girl so that she was the one with her back leaning against the wall. He gets on the ground and lifts the skirt of her dress to pull her pretty pink panties down her legs, to see that they too had a bow in the middle. “Such a pretty girl with pretty panties.” He says against her thighs as he pulls the skirt to go over and cover his blonde locks.

She had felt his hot breath on her puffy pussy as it swelled up from having no friction. He gave a quick kitten lick before completely burying his tongue in between her. Sucking hard on her clit and fucking her deep with his tongue with her leg hoisted above his shoulder and hands covering her mouth as she shyly let out sounds of pleasure.

“Draco,” Y/n whined as she let her senses heighten as she began to reach her peak. “Yes, Princess.” He smiled up at her as the dress fell off his head, showing his messy hair and glossy lips with her own sweetness. “I need it.” She said as she stuttered and tears pricked her eyes once again. “Need what, hmm?” Draco said as he bunched the dress up her waist and held it there.

“Need you to make me cum, please.”

“So dirty,” He said leaning to let her watch him lick her clit, “But so polite, I might consider it.” He said looking up at her and letting one of his hands flow down her navel to wear his mouth is, collecting the slick. Then letting two fingers enter her and fuck her gently. The loud squelching of her wetness and his own slurps as he continued to eat her. The pressure built up quicker than she thought, and she came in a silent scream as her cum began to dribble down her thighs and down Draco’s mouth. He let go of her pussy as he continued to thrust threw her orgasm, staring up at the girl with hazy grey eyes and mouth open in a wide grin as he watched his lover who held a scrunched-up face and tears flowing and drool dribbling down from her mouth.

Feeling the overstimulation, Y/n cried out as she gripped Draco’s wrist as he continued to thrust his fingers into her, smiling coyly up at her as he slick continued to drip onto the ground. “D-Draco,” She gasped out as she continued to grab at his hand, “Please, j-just fuck m-me already.” He finally stopped, getting up as he pulled her dress down, looking down at her pretty ruby red Mary Jane that was wet with droplets that dripped from her. He pulled her towards her roughly to messily kiss her again as he felt the intense heat that radiated from her. Gripping her and scratching at her back as they moaned into each other's mouths.

“Come one, let's give my princess all the pleasure that she can take.” He rasped between their lips quickly grabbing her by the hips and leading her into the next hallway where the Slytherin dorms were. “Pure-Blood.” He replied gruffly when they approached the stone wall to the Slytherin common room.

The common room was empty as most of the occupants were still at the Ravenclaw party, the only people in the common room were just Pansy and Blaise. “Y/n what sight to see.” Pansy chuckled in her position on Blaise's lap as they never expected to see the shy Hufflepuff in their common room, with Draco nonetheless. “Hi,” Y/n said quietly as Draco led her straight to the stairs going toward the Male Dormitories. “Bye,” The couple said as they watched Draco push the girl out of the Common Room. “Well, they look like they are having fun,” Blaise remarked. “What if we go have fun while your people are still out,” Pansy smirked as she got off his lap and waited for him to follow her.

Draco pushed Y/n into his single dorm prefect room, panting heavily as he began unbuttoning his shirt. Lifting the dress above her hips, Y/n paused as Draco stopped her. “A princess shouldn’t need to undress herself. Let me.” he pulled the silky pink above her head as she stared at his bare chest. Muscles bulging as he maneuvered himself to push her onto the edge of the bed as he stared at her bare chest. “So pretty.” He watched as she covered herself with her arms, watching as he kneeled on the ground to remove her heels, now only in her white calf-high socks.

He grabbed her hands as she went to take out her bow. “Keep it on.” He said before kissing her chest, sucking on her pretty nipples. Y/n could only sit there, arching her back as he sucked bruises into her skin. He unbuckled himself and began undressing so that he was bare with her as he began to fondle her breasts as well. She arched herself into Draco as he gripped her bare back.

“Draco, darling please just fuck me already.” She moaned out after pushing him away, gently giving sweet kisses against his lips. “Alright, Alright, just be patient yeah?” He chuckles as he pushes her back, crawling onto the bed. Slotting himself between her legs, folding her legs so that her thighs meet her own shoulders, just like in her fantasies. He sits back on his haunches as he holds her knees together with one big hand, taking his cock in the other and trailing it back and forth against her slick pussy, watching as more slick gushes out of her as she moaned quietly to himself.

Then he slid himself in, groaning at the tightness and how warm it was inside her squishy walls. “My princess feels so good, squeezing around me. I’m gonna fill you up so good.” He groaned out throwing his head back. Sliding back out to just fuck the tip in and out of her. She felt her walls stretching to their limit by just his tip, feeling the fullness already even if it was not his full length. “D-Draco, so big.” She moaned out feeling the stretch as he dragged his cock into her again. “I know sweetheart, be patient.” He cooed as he stared at the girl's face before fully pushing in.

The mating press he had her in making the both feel how full and deep he was in her. Her cunt hugging his cock as he hammered into her, surprised by how pliable the girl was. The stretch felt as amazing as ever and the tightness having them both rolling their eyes.

“cumming.” the girl whimpered. “what was that?” he answered smirking as he pushed in balls deep and began rubbing her clit in tight , fast circles. The girl began crying again and stuttered out “cumming.” once again as her slick began to rush out like a fountain.

Draco didn’t stop thrusting as the girl still remained crying out , clawing at his biceps from the overstimulation. “Can you keep going, pretty?” he tilted his head at her, awaiting her answer. And she just nodded with a look of awe at the mess he made of her.

This time he folded her up in his lap in a full nelson. Full pussy and loving how she was manhandled. and it wasn’t even 5 minutes of thrusting before she was squirting again, making more of a mess as it dribbled down his own cock and down his legs. “Darling, you really need to stop making such a big mess.” He grabbed her chin to kiss her again.

“I’m almost finished with you, are you able to keep going?” Draco said after putting her legs down so that she was sitting there on his dick. “mhm.” she said as she just looked at him, before kissing his neck. “where do you want it?” he said as he slowly thrusted in her as she was in his lap.

“inside please.” she said as he laid back, keeping her on his dick and putting her in a cowgirl. “So polite.” he muttered as he put his hand around her neck, choking her softly. Propping his knees up so that she was chest to chest with him, he used his free hand to hold her hips down to meet his harsh thrusts.

“Draco, please cum in me .” she mewled as he was grunting underneath her. “Don’t worry, I plan too.” and she soon felt herself tighten around him again, this time he was nearing his own peak as he bit into her neck. “Please!” she screamed out as she came on him, this time she felt herself being filled up by his own cum as he groaned against her neck.

slouching on top of him, the actions of them finally set in, where she covered her face and cowered away in embarrassment. Trying to ease herself off from the impalement , the blonde pulled her close to him , groaning softly at the way the girl lightly clenched on him.

“Draco..” the girl whispered, looking him in the eyes. “We can’t stay like this.” She said referring to the indecency they were in. Although the boy had a private dorm, she did feel a bit awkward with the way that she was still naked. Then of course there are certain things that did need to be discussed.

The two had finally unsheathed and began to dress again. “Draco..” the girl said as she sat there in her dress watching as he buttoned up his shirt halfway, letting the rest stay unbuttoned.

“What does all of this mean?” She said watching as he lifted his head, smiling slightly. “The sex, the ‘I love you’s’?”

“It means I love you… Y/n.” He said approaching her. “It means I want to be with you, share experiences with you. Give you every ounce of my love.” He said as he lifted her head, kissing her gently again.

“But what about Har-“ “He can’t appreciate you like I do darling. He showed that at the party with that filthy Ravenclaw.” He said holding her in his arms. “I love you Y/n and I plan to show you as well as the rest of the world.” he chuckled “It’s a plus that I can show that Potter that too.”

° ⁎ ✧ ✧ ⁎ °

That next day he did in fact show Harry, by placing a big kiss , slightly embarrassing the girl as others watched in enjoyment.

“You cheated on me!” Harry blubbered on, Cho standing behind him, looking as if she got slapped. Standing next to other Ravenclaws as everyone watched as Hermione and Ron held the brunettes from pulling out his wand in his fury.

“Potter, don't flatter yourself. Yesterday night I, as well as everyone in this courtyard saw you kissing that girl behind you. And right in front of Y/n I might add.” Draco said, pushing Y/n behind him as he pointed at Cho.

“Merlin, you’re crazier than I thought.” Y/n whispered behind him smiling. He looked behind himself to smile at her. “You have no one to blame but yourself.” He said taking one last look at Harry before bringing Y/n to the dining hall, Showing their love more and more.

#draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy #harry potter #harry potter smut #harry potter series #female #female reader #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction

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theblue6ook · 1 month

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A Mundane Day

Summary: Is it ever really mundane office life as Bruce Wayne’s assistant? Bruce saves Y/N’s brothers from suspension.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Hello, hello. I hope everyone enjoys this fic. If I forgot to add you to the tag list please let me know! Enjoy :) [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname]

It was 3 pm. Bruce stretched, rising from his desk chair, with a groan. If he was lucky, he could take a nap before his night shift. Glancing at his desk, he sighed at the files there. A mix of his cases with Bane and Wayne Enterprise documents. He felt like groaning as he sorted them out and threw his case files into his briefcase. Pulling the Wayne Enterprise documents into a stack, he slipped a paperclip at the top to secure it.

It had been a relatively boring day. There weren't many meetings or executives to debate with, just lots of paperwork. Everyone was getting ready for the next quarter, and the files were coming in hot. Not to mention, he and Y/N hadn’t been the most comfortable around each other. After her broken engagement and falling asleep in each other's arms, it was like walking on eggshells. No one knew where the other stood, and Y/N had just become single. Bruce didn’t want to be that guy. So, they were lightly stepping around each other, waiting for the other to crack.

It sounds so immature or superficial to think about with everything else going on in his life. Paperwork, cases, and patrol, and here he is worrying about how to interact with a girl. How old is he, fifteen? But still, he couldn't help himself but think back to her body. How it molded against his, pressed chest to chest, with knees knocking. The sweats she wore still smell like her. It made him want to dunk himself in cold water. Tell himself to forget it. After what happened to Rachel, he knew he shouldn't. She barely made it away from him with her life, and she was lucky all she got was feargassed. Y/N deserved better than that.

Stepping out of his office and into Y/N's. She sat quietly at her desk with her blue light glasses tucked into her hair, knawing on a red pen. She was in intense focus. He silently handed her his stack of files, and she quietly mumbled a thank you, still focused on the work in front of her. Bruce moved to the coat rack to slip on his jacket with mild difficulty. Last night, he tried following one of Bane's freighter trucks. It had not gone well for him.

Finally, he shrugged the coat on in one motion, trying to minimize the pain as much as he could, while hoping to appear as normal as possible. Y/N glanced up at him as he prepared to leave, but once he shrugged his coat on, his button-down shirt slipped forward, and a bruise appeared bright and uncovered.

The bruise was a bright, ugly purple that took up a large chunk of his collarbone and peck. Her eyes widened, "Oh my god, Bruce."

Bruce smiled lightly, playfully rolling his eyes. She used his first name. It never happened much unless she was either outstandingly pleased or uncomfortably serious. Bruce loved it and would take it either way, especially since it broke the silence.

Y/N rounded the desk in a flash and took him by the collar. She pulled his face down to her level, trying to get a good view of the bruise. Bruce again rolled his eyes, trying to act like it was no big deal. Slowly, he worked to pull away, but she manhandled him, pulling him back down harder, popping the top button on his shirt. He tried to act oblivious, "Y/N, what are you doing? You know, if anyone else did this, it would be harassment."

Y/N watched the bruise silently, with her brows furrowed. She looked over the top of his shoulder down to his peck. Without thinking ahead, she stuck out her hand and placed her cold palm on his warm chest. He tensed. At the temperature or her touch, she wasn't sure, but she smoothed her hand over the bruise. It was like ink had stained his skin. She looked up at him, frowning. He was closer than she thought, her nose almost hitting his chin. "What is this?"

“A bruise,” he stated plainly. Her eyebrow rose, and Bruce sighed, “I’ve been spelunking.”

“Spelunking?” she said quickly, “What is spelunking?”

“A rich man's sport.”

“Mr.Wayne-”

“It’s cave exploration,” he admitted, smirking down at her.

“If people belonged in caves, they would be there,” she was interrupted by a harsh ring. Pausing, she looked up at him once more, “This conversation is not over. You stay there.”

He thought about making his exit, but she would no doubt follow him whether she was on the phone, or not.

She cleared her throat, “Bruce Wayne’s office this is Y/N… Yes, this is she… What? You’re kidding… Yes, yes I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can… Okay, thank you.”

Covering her face with her hands, she groaned. She moved on quickly, though, shoving files in her bag. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Bruce raised his eyebrow at her, and she looked over her shoulder at him, “My brothers are in the principal's office. I have to go pick them up and talk to the office about it. If I leave now, I can catch the bus-”

"I can drive you-"

"That's really not necessary-"

"Y/N, don't be ridiculous. Come on." He walked out of their office with a swagger, as if she didn't just catch the bruise on his collarbone and she really had no choice but to follow him.

"Didn't Alfred drop you off?" she called after him, "I don't want to bother him."

"No," he laughed, "I can drive myself, you know."

They took the elevator down to the garage, and in his own personal spot was a four-seat, scissor-door Gordan Murray. Y/N had only heard about this car. It was over two million dollars, in a sparkling black that reflected blue in the sun. Oh, she wanted to drive that car.

He looked behind him and flipped her door open, "You getting in?"

She didn't know what to do but laugh. Come on he mumbled grabbing her bag and slipping it in the back before she got in the car. He closed it behind her like a gentleman. The interior was a mix of black and white leather. The seats were peak comfort and she wondered if this was what heaven was like.

The car rode like a beauty and they sat in blissful silence for some time. She saw Bruce glancing at her every now and then, curiously. She finally said, “What’s up?”

Truth be told, he was observing her. He needed to see if he had crossed a line when he pulled her into his arms. All he wanted to do was blurt out did I make you uncomfortable? Would you do it again? But everything in his head told him it would only lead to disaster, so he opted to ask a different question. “Two brothers then?”

“Two brothers in trouble,” she replied.

“Parents couldn’t help out?”

Y/N laughed dryly, “I’m their guardian and emergency contact when it comes to school. We keep Frank out of it.”

“Frank?”

She sighed and spoke cooly, “My dad.”

Her cool tone seemed annoyed by the topic, but Bruce could tell her body language was anxious. Nodding silently, he decided not to pry. Bruce wasn’t even sure where he stood with Y/N, he’d rather not test his luck asking questions about her family, so they rode once again in blissful silence.

Pulling into the school parking lot, Bruce pulled Y/N’s hand away from the door handle and moved out of the car to open the door for her. He had another pleasant memory of his mother, be a gentleman, Brucie, pop into his head. It had become second nature to him now. As Y/N stepped out of the car, she noticed Bruce stepped with her toward the school. Turning to him, she said, “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I drove you here,” he said. She narrowed her eyes at him and he shrugged. “Honestly, I’m kind of in it now.”

Y/N huffed, turning to reluctantly walk inside, and Bruce followed after her. Y/N knew if she really pushed, he would have stayed by the car, but she didn’t even feel like arguing. She had enough on her mind. Fighting, she thought, I’m gonna kill them. Buzzing into the office, she turned quickly to him, pointing at one of the chairs sat in the office lobby, “You can sit there.”

“Whatever you want. I’m here for moral support,” Bruce replied as he plopped into one of the plastic, cushioned seats.

Liar, Y/N thought as she approached the receptionist's desk. The receptionist, an older woman with a shorter, choppy haircut, had given Y/N the basic rundown of what happened, but it felt like a few details were missing. Some boys were arguing over an article with Carl, and it caused a little tiff between them when Lucas got involved, and that’s when the… physical violence started, she had relayed to Y/N. What article? Why did Lucas get involved? Who was Carl fighting with? It wasn’t making sense.

“You can follow me,” she said. She moved behind the desk to lead her over to the principal's office, but not before glancing over at Bruce Wayne and looking back towards Y/N with a curious look. Y/N mumbled, confused, “After you.”

Bruce had sat nice and close to the entrance of the principal's office. He wanted to be in range if Y/N needed anything. Not that she would, but just in case. God, what is wrong with him?

“Why would you fight him?” she scolded, sharply.

He could hear her brother try to defend himself, “He needed help!”

So, that must be Lucas.

“He needs mental help,” she teased back. “Seriously, you’re already on your third strike. What’s going on?”

“They were talking shit about you,” Bruce could hear who he could only assume was Carl mumble. That’s my cue.

It seemed as if Bruce had manifested in the doorway, “What’d they said about your sister?”

“What are you doing in here?!” she bellowed at him. Bruce took in the situation. Y/N was squatted in front of her brothers, who sat in similarly uncomfortable cheap chairs as they had in the lobby. She had her hands placed on their forearms, in a comforting manner. The oldest one, Lucas, looked like he was maturing well. He could see similarities between him and Y/N, but for the most part, he had his own individual look. His eyes were bordering on sunken in, and his cheek sported black and blue from his fight earlier. The second boy Y/N was with had to be Carl. He looked younger and impressionable. He clung to Y/N’s arm as if she hung the moon and sported a black eye and busted lip. Not only that, he was the spitting image of Y/N, but that wasn’t even the most shocking part. There at the desk was no one. No principal. Not a single person.

“Where is your principal?” he responded, unbothered.

Carl stared up at Bruce Wayne flabbergasted, “Holy shit.”

“Don’t swear,” Y/N said with clenched teeth. “You need to go sit in the lobby-”

“Sorry, I’m late, Ms.Y/L/N,” the principal stepped in. “I had to settle a matter with the other student.” Their principal, a stout man with a slick combover, looked over at Bruce Wayne with what seemed to be slight shock and then a knowing look. He cleared his throat and gestured to the two empty chairs. “Please sit down. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.Wayne.”

“I’m sorry he really doesn’t need to be here-”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, interrupting her. Bruce looked over at Y/N and gestured his hand for her to sit first. She was embarrassed enough as it was, she really didn’t want him to hear about her dysfunctional family here, at her brothers' school, of all places.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N broke the silence, “Where are the other student's parents? I’d like to speak to them about this whole situation.”

“Well, that would be me, Ms.Y/L/N.” You have got to be fucking kidding me. Y/N looked over at Bruce in disbelief. Should the principal be handling situations his own son is involved in? She certainly didn’t think so.

“Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate,” Bruce started, “to be handling your own child’s punishment? Regarding the situation, I mean.” Y/N gave him a sideways glance telling him it wasn’t his place to butt in, but he seemed to ignore it.

“Mr.Wayne,” the principal seemed to become defensive quickly, “I don’t suggest you put your nose into other people's business. These aren’t your kids.” Wasn’t he the one to tell Bruce to sit in? Y/N became visibly annoyed.

“As a donator,” Bruce smirked, and Y/N felt her ears perk up, “I just can’t support a school that handles issues in such a way. You understand?”

The principal’s face turned white, and every negative feeling Y/N had about Bruce Wayne, had dissipated. She could kiss him on the mouth.

Oh, he was good. He was so good at getting around people, getting exactly what he wanted to be. She felt a sigh of relief leave her chest, and Bruce placed a knowing hand on her knee. He was letting her know, I’ve got you.

After the sour meeting with Carl and Lucas's principal, Y/N had suggested she and the boys take the bus home, despite her brother's protests. Bruce simply wouldn't allow it; he had other plans for the four of them. So here they all sat at Lucy’s Pancakes, a breakfast diner near the office. Y/N couldn’t even be bothered to be annoyed with the change in plans after Bruce’s stunt earlier. Her brothers might have been suspended if he hadn’t stepped in.

So she pleasantly ate her Choc-O-Chunk pancakes sitting across from Bruce Wayne, who looked like peak domesticity. He gave his full attention to her brothers, answering their every question and whim. With his shirt slightly unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, she couldn't help but grin. It was all too sweet.

Her brothers threw all kinds of questions at him.

How much was your car?

What do you even do?

How did you meet our sister?

How much money do you have?

How many girls have you dated?

“So you broke up Y/N and Russ huh? I’d call it an upgrade.”

Y/N swore her head had completely swiveled when Carl asked that question. Bruce looked up at her, unsure how he should respond. He had to remind himself it wasn't his place, but he found himself shaking his head anyway. Y/N raised her eyebrows, "Carl, what?! No-"

Bruce cleared his throat and slipped out of the booth, "I think I should go pay the check."

Y/N couldn't help but feel so embarrassed, watching Bruce head toward the cashier. "Okay, not funny, Carl. What are you talking about?"

“You didn’t see the article?” he asked.

"That asshole kid was saying you were Bruce Wayne's bitch," Lucas said angrily, "Carl headbutted him."

"The article in the Daily Planet,” Carl handed her his cracked iPhone. There on the screen was her and Bruce at her birthday dinner. Y/N was photographed with Bruce’s arm on her bare waist, fingertips dipping into her dress. He was whispering in her ear in the picture, and she blushed about as red as her dress, but other than that, she looked good. It was the headline that shocked her. Bruce Wayne Breaks Up Assistant’s Engagement By Lois Lane. She snatched the phone out of her brother's hand.

Bruce Wayne’s assistant, Y/F/N Y/L/N, was seen at The Ocelot wearing her engagement ring, but where was it the next day? Bruce Wayne might be the answer.

Sources say the bachelor's assistant was involved in a four-year engagement with her high school sweetheart, Danny Russell. After witnesses saw Wayne mingling with Y/L/N in the Ocelot, the assistant appeared ringless as she walked into Wayne Enterprises the next day. Sounds like a classic romance trope to me-

“This is bullshit,” Y/N read.

“I dunno,” Lucas spoke pointing to the picture. “You look pretty close there.”

She slapped his hand out of the way, “Bruce is not the reason I’m done with Russ-”

“Your sister was lucky to dump that cheater,” Bruce emerged again, placing a tip down on the table.

Carl turned toward Y/N for confirmation. Once he realized it was true, his eyes turned cold, “I’ll burn his house down.”

“He couldn’t afford a house and even if he could it’s none of your business,” she spoke pushing Carl’s head down, “now eat your pancakes.”

@pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt @maxinehufflepuffprincess @padsfirewhisky @moejoeflow @pank0w @qardasngan

#batfam #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batmom #bruce wayne #batboys x reader #slow burn

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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“It’s half past eleven, Nico. I told you to get some rest.”

Nico’s face twists somewhere between a scowl and a frown.

“I don’t need to.”

He’s sorted the medicine cabinet eight billion times in his life — Will doesn’t need to think about it. Instead, he lets his mind wander, lets his hands handle themselves, lets his eyes stray to the hunched way Nico is standing, one knee resting on the cot Will assigned him, the other straight, foot resting, pointed, towards the door. His fingers twist and steeple together, thumb worrying his skull ring, faint scratches picked and scabbed over. His clothes sag off of him.

“It’s safe,” Will assures softly. Nico startles, turning his big, dark eyes to face him, and Will meets them head on, determined to let the seriousness show in his face. “Argus is watching the door, and Peleus is awake at the border. Nothing is going to attack us while you sleep.”

Nico worries his lip. “That’s not it.”

Half-lie. He was worried about being attacked — Will can feel it, the same way you can feel a bug crawling on your skin. Tiny brushes of something foreign along the sensitive nerves of his skin. But he’s shifty, still, beyond that, beyond the same fear they all carry.

“What is it, then?”

Nico shrugs. Squeezing his eyes briefly shut, Will focuses his energy, sending out teeny tiny vibrations too tightly wound for regular human senses to pick up, waiting for them to bounce back at him. Usually, he hates doing this — too much input. He can feel the ions shaking on the metal bed frames, feel the cling of every microbe on non-sterile surfaces, feel microscopic patch of skin flake off every person’s body, feel the ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk of every heartbeat. It’s hard to sort and hard to interpret. A massive wall of noise beyond auditory.

But he focuses, channels the input as much as he can, and interprets like Rachel taught him — like picking up a handful of silt and focusing on one grain of sand at a time. One person out of the masses — one input at a time.

Sweat, gathering in the palms of his hands, chock full of DHEA and adrenaline. Pinpriked with serotonin and a sprinkling of cortisol. Elevated heart rate, barely so; increased blood pressure. Fourteen hundred hair follicle deaths. Minor lactic acid buildup in the muscles. Contracted veins and capillaries.

“You’re feeling guilty,” Will guesses.

Nico gapes.

“How did you — there’s no possible way you — lucky guess,” he lands on eventually.

“Stress is just pouring off of you, man,” Will says, holding back a small smile, “I can feel it.”

Ha. If only he knew.

“Whatever. I just —”

Will waits, tucking away the last of the half-used bottles. They’re going to have to start rationing nectar, soon. And he might have Nico cut some bandages if he’s up for it, tomorrow; it’ll save him some time before Chris’s surgery.

“You just?”

Nico gestures helplessly at where Will is finishing up the last of the inventory. “There are a dozen more deserving people than me of this bed, I can’t —”

“You’re important too, you know.”

The click of Nico’s jaw snapping shut rings throughout the quiet infirmary. It’s just barely louder than sleeping patients shifting in the cots, and a little quieter than Miranda’s snoring.

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Hesitation. Cortisol and adrenaline, again, even higher heart rate.

“…Yes?”

Hm. Interesting.

“You’re telling the truth,” Will muses. He tilts his head. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

The immediate honesty in Nico’s voice is flattering. Will smiles, and he flushes, slightly.

Serotonin flash. Salivary gland inhibition.

Interesting.

“Listen to me, then: you’re important. And you’re still dangerously exhausted — medically exhausted. You’re a step and a half away from a coma, dude. You need this bed as much as anyone else here.”

“There are stab wounds in some of them,” Nico argues. “And missing limbs and slash marks and —”

“And they’re all stable,” Will interrupts. He raises a challenging eyebrow. “D’you think I maybe know what I’m doing after three years of this, Nico? I know how to triage. Is anyone close to death?”

Nico purses his lips. “No.”

“Right.” Will shrugs. “I know you’ve been teetering on the edge of fading, which isn’t great. The only reason I waited until now to get you in here was because I had people in worse condition. They’re stable now — and so I have space to prioritize you. Okay?”

Slowly, Nico nods. Gut serotonin and heavy endorphin release — good.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

Truth.

“You’ll sleep?”

A ghost — ha — of a smile flashes on his face. “Yeah, you nag, I’ll sleep.”

“That’s all I ask,” Will responds, meeting his smile. “Night, Nico.”

“Goodnight.” He hesitates. “Thank you, Will.”

Will grins wider.

“Anytime.”

#will solace i love u u are so so cool #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #will solace #nico di angelo #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #pre solangelo #solangelo #post boo #my writing #fic #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #longpost

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bloatedandalone04 · 9 months

Text

The Only One Invited

➪the one where you’re with a.j. and ghost, your ex, gets out of prison. (requested)

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, jealousy, mentions of a bad past relationship, toxic ex, unwanted attention, descriptions of fighting, mentions of blood, descriptions of wounds, alcohol consumption, swearing, blood kink....? kinda? never wrote this before heha

Word Count: 8.6k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The loud music and flashing lights were the furthest things from your mind as you stared down at your left hand with a permanent smile on your face.

A large rock attached to a band stared back up at you, shining under the bright lights of the club.

A mere half an hour ago A.J. had proposed to you, back at your shared apartment, and you had to practically force yourself to carry on through with your plans of meeting Rachel and the guys at the club.

You were more than willing to skip out on the gathering, simply because you had officially been taken off the market by the man you fell so hard for so fast.

But, A.J. assured you that there would be lots of time to celebrate your engagement, one on one, after a few hours spent with your friends.

While you agreed to still go, you also gave him a fair warning that you probably wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of him for more than a minute or so. That only made him want to go out even more, just so he could show off that you belonged to each other and no one else.

John congratulated you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, something A.J. didn’t even bat an eye at. While he has always been somewhat possessive over you, he couldn’t bring himself to feel jealous whenever you interacted with his friends. John, Jesse, Jake and Gordon all know about how your ex boyfriend, and their former group member, treated you.

If A.J. was a little possessive over you, Ghost was convinced he had a say in every single thing you did. He was not only emotionally manipulative, but he also rarely let you have outings like this. Ghost didn’t like the fact that you were close to the guys, and he really didn’t like how much A.J. pined over you.

It was obvious from the start how much A.J. was into you, but you had already been spoken for by the likes of his friend. Ghost made it clear that he would never get the chance with you, and A.J. had to sit by and watch as you slowly became a shell of the person you were before.

When Ghost was arrested and officially taken out of your life, the two of you couldn’t deny your feelings of each other any longer. It was only a year and a half after when you began dating, and now another three and a half years later, he finally worked up the courage to ask you to marry him.

You hadn’t given your toxic ex so much as a thought in almost five years, and you couldn’t be happier. You were in a much better place now, and you had A.J. to thank for that.

After a bit of small talk with Rachel and the guys, and a fair amount of alcohol consumption, A.J. had decided he was done with socializing at this point.

So, after a quick goodbye and a few more hugs of congratulations, you were off, your hand held tightly in A.J.’s.

As soon as you were in the entrance hall of your apartment, his lips were on yours and your back was against the door. He was addictive as well as addicted, and he was kissing you like he still couldn’t believe he had managed to have you all to himself.

Finally, you were all his.

After years of pining and watching Ghost treat you in all the ways you didn’t deserve, he had stayed true to his word and given you a much better life. You were finally being shown the adoration and respect you had been missing out on, and A.J. couldn’t be more full of pride that it was he who got to shower you in all of it.

A vase was knocked off the front hall table in the midst of him taking you right there, and he didn’t care one bit about the replaceable porcelain as he carried you to your room after getting you off a couple of feet from the door.

It was all smiles and kisses as he stumbled his way through the apartment, his hands never leaving your body, and your fingers never detangling from his hair.

Pictures were accidentally knocked off the walls, and there would be a mess to clean up later, but neither of you seemed too worried about it as the feeling of bliss took over the pair of you completely.

The next morning, or maybe it was the afternoon, you and A.J. still hadn’t left the comfort of the king sized bed when his phone went off.

He felt around the comforter with the hand that wasn’t gripping your waist, and squinted as he read the caller ID. “Jake,” he muttered and you hummed, nuzzling closer to him. He answered the call, bringing his phone up to his ear with a muffled, “Yeah?”

“A.J.,” Jake said and he could hear the frustration and panic in his best friend’s voice. “You won’t believe it, man.”

A.J. closed his eyes again as the sun seeped into the room, him having failed to shut the blinds before taking you to bed for the night. “What?”

“It’s Ghost,” Jake muttered. “He’s fucking back.”

A.J.’s grip on you tightened at that, and his eyes opened again. “What do you mean, he’s back?”

“He’s out, A.J.,” Jake said. “They released him this morning.”

“Fuck,” A.J. grunted and you felt it as his whole body tensed up. You lift your head and take note of the crease in his forehead, frustration evident on his face.

“What?” You ask quietly, placing a comforting hand on his bare chest. “What is it?”

A.J. just shook his head at you as he listened to whatever else Jake was saying. “Yeah, alright,” he replied. “I’ll be there later. Thanks, man.”

When he hung up and tossed his phone to the side, you furrowed your brows and propped yourself up on your elbow. “What’s wrong?”

As he looked at you, A.J. felt a surge of anger go through him. He hated Ghost and was pissed off that he had been released from prison so quickly, and the fact that it was the day after you got engaged was another thing that royally ticked him off.

He had saved you from the man once before, and he had no problem doing it again, but he still hated the fact that he was out now.

“It’s Ghost,” he mumbled.

The tracing of your fingers against his chest stopped. “What about him?”

He felt you tense up in his arms, and he knew all those memories you had of Ghost were coming back. The same memories you hadn’t thought about in years, the ones he never wanted you to think about again. A.J. hated Ghost with a passion that ran deep. It had been building up since the minute he saw your awful excuse of an ex lay his hands on you.

“They released him this morning,” he quietly informed you and felt your hand move to squeeze his arm.

“So,” you trail off, hesitantly meeting his eyes. He hadn’t seen you be this on edge with him since the beginning of your relationship, the beautiful thing it is. You were closed off and apprehensive at the start, but he was quickly able to break down the walls you had spent the whole duration of your relationship with Ghost building up. “What does this mean for us?”

You sounded nervous, and he really couldn’t blame you. Ghost is a menace and one of the worst people A.J. had ever met. If he had any say in it at all, Ghost would still be behind bars and for much longer than five years.

A.J. gently lifted you up so you were straddling him after he moved to rest against the headboard. “Nothing,” he assured you, resting his hands on your waist and nudging your nose with his. “This means nothing. You’re my girl, my finaceé.”

You place your hands on his shoulders, gently digging your fingers into his skin in a soft massage. “But I was his girl before,”

He ran his hands up your back in an attempt to comfort you, not knowing what else he could do at the moment to make you feel at ease. “Yeah, he had his chance,” he agreed, and continued before you could say anything, “But he fucked it up, as if he even deserved to have you in the first place.”

You give him a weak smile. “A.J.,” you trail off, unsure of how to put your concerns into words. You know he understands either way, but you were still uneasy about the very real fact you would have to continue to live your life like normal, but now have your abusive ex back in the picture. “I can’t go back to how things were.”

You knew Ghost would hold a grudge against the other guys for the fact that he was the only one who was arrested, so just not seeing him wouldn’t be an option. He would be around the guys again, and possibly on a daily basis, so you would just have to resort to avoiding him as best as you could.

“You won’t,” he said sternly, his eyes softening at just how nervous and different you had become since he told you about the release of your ex. “You won’t, baby, I promise. He’s not going to hurt you, he won’t even fucking breathe in your direction as long as I can prevent it.”

You give him a genuine smile and lean in to brush your lips against his, “I don’t want him hurting you,”

“I don’t care what happens to me,” he replied and you could tell just how much he meant those words. “You’re the best thing in my life, and I won’t let you slip back into the way you were before.”

He grabbed your left hand and raised it up, pressing his lips to the finger that held your ring.

“I promised you when I put this ring on your finger that I would spend the rest of my life making sure you’re the happiest you could ever possibly be, and I intend on keeping that promise,” his words were so soft spoken, it had tears gathering in your eyes almost instantly. “You’re my future. Ghost is our past. He’s not going to ruin what we’ve spent almost four years creating. I’m not going to let him.”

His words make you feel at ease, and you nod at him before pressing your lips to his in a proper kiss. You slide your hands up and grip the sides of his face as he pulls your chest flat against his. Slowly, you move your hips and feel a shock of pleasure shoot through you at the friction.

A.J. felt it, too, and he deepened the kiss with a low groan. “Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “He’s fucking crazy for taking this for granted, the fucking idiot.”

You smile against him and grind down again, tangling your fingers in his hair as you murmur a quiet request, “Make me forget about him all over again,”

A.J. groaned loudly before he was pushing you back down onto the bed and hovering over you, just like how he was last night.

Later, you and A.J. finally got out of bed after getting a couple more hours of sleep. Jake had texted him and invited the two of you out to the club tonight, and though you were a bit hesitant about possibly running into Ghost, you agreed to go meet up with the guys again.

“Damn,” A.J. said under his breath as he leaned against the bathroom door frame. You were standing at the counter, the bright lights around the mirror making you look like something straight out of heaven. His eyes trailed up and down the tight red dress you wore, giving you a bit of a sinful look amidst the heavenly glow that surrounded you. “My girl is hot.”

You grin at him in the mirror, shaking your head slightly as you apply a matching red lip.

“Fuck,” he muttered and pushed himself off the frame. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. “Maybe we should stay home tonight.”

Laughing, you lean back against him and keep eye contact with him in the mirror. “We’ve spent pretty much the entire day at home,”

“Why not spend the rest of it at home as well?” He shrugged, smirking at your reflection. “I didn’t hear any complaints from you before.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” you match his smirk and hold up your left hand. “I just want another night to show this off.” You wiggle your fingers for further effect.

A.J.’s smirk turns into a genuine smile for a second as he says, “I guess I can stick it out for another night,” he replied smoothly, running his nose up your neck until his lips were right next to your ear. “It allows me to show you off to everyone.”

You turned your head so you were able to look into his eyes. “I love you,”

A.J. hummed, closing the distance and connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. You lift your right hand and tangle it in his hair, the angle of your arm a bit awkward but nothing you couldn’t put up with if it meant you got to kiss him. “I love you,” he said back, his lips slightly wet from the quick heated kiss. “And I got you something.”

You raise a brow in curiosity, allowing him to use his right hand to turn your head back towards the mirror, where you saw the necklace dangling from his left one. “A.J.,” you trail off, eyeing the chain as a warm feeling spread all throughout your body. “You didn’t have to get me anything else. The ring is more than enough.”

A.J. waved you off as he helped clip it around your neck. “I’ll never pass up the opportunity to spoil you,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck once the clasp was secured. “You know that.”

You look at the charm in the mirror, a smile gracing your features as you take in the simple A.J. that was engraved on it. It was backwards in the mirror, but you were still able to immediately tell what it said.

When you didn’t say anything else, A.J. bit down on his lip and reached a hand up to flatten his now messy hair. Even though he would be wearing his hat later, he still wanted to look good for you at all times; including right after you just finished making a mess of his strands. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too…I don’t know, possessive or something like that,”

You shake your head and wrap your arms around his neck. “Not at all,” you say and brush your lips against his. “Claim me as yours in any way you see fit. You won’t hear any complaints about it from me.”

A.J.’s look of nervousness quickly wipes away and a smirk replaces it. “Is that so? In that case,” he leaned down, teasing your mouth with his, before moving past it and placing an open mouth kiss to the side of your neck. Before you could stop yourself, a moan escapes you as he sucks your skin between his lips and creates a dark love bite, right above the chain of your necklace. “Now I’m ready to go.”

“I’m so excited for you guys!” Rachel says as she gives you a hug. You hug her back as A.J. and Jake greet each other with a quick hand shake. “I knew you two would end up engaged, I just can’t believe how long it took him to ask you.”

A.J. rolls his eyes and embraces her in a half hug. “I bought the ring four months into the relationship,” he points out and your eyes widen as you tug him towards you.

“You did?” You ask and he nods, a smirk forming on his lips when you lightly slap his shoulder. “A.J., you tease! What the hell were you waiting for?”

His smirk turned into a smile as he shrugged and pressed his lips to your forehead. “I didn’t want to rush things,”

You shake your head and kiss him quickly, wrapping your arms around his middle while his hands tightly grip your waist. “I would’ve said yes four days into our relationship, never mind four months,”

A.J. raises a brow as you reach a hand up to straighten out his hat. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,”

“Damn,”

You laugh and nuzzle your face against his chest. “But I love you, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about the last four years,”

He smiles down at you, “Me either,” his eyes meet John’s from across the club. A.J. squeezes your hips, pressing another kiss to your lips before stepping away from you, his mouth next to your ear. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod, moving towards Jake, who was leaning against the bar. “I’ll get you a drink,” you offer, and A.J. gives you a grateful smile and a quick kiss to the side of your head before he’s wandering off in the direction of John.

Turning back to Jake, you give him a small smile when he hands you the same drink that Rachel is sipping on before ordering A.J. a glass of bourbon. “Don’t worry,” he winks at you, downing his own drink before continuing, “I’ll say it’s from you.”

With a quick laugh, you wave him off. “You don’t have to,”

Before he could get another word in, you feel a hand press against the small of your back. You immediately stiffen, the touch being familiar but not in a good way. A.J. was always gentle with you, never forcefully putting his hands on you, and it seems as though he couldn’t be away from you for more than thirty seconds before someone else came swooping in.

This certain someone was a person you never wanted to see again, and you had been so sure you wouldn’t have to see him again, but here we are.

“Hey, brat,” the unflattering nickname made you hold back a grimace. “Haven’t seen you in a while. It’s been so long.”

“Not long enough,” you say through your teeth, your grip on the glass tightening the longer he kept his hand on you.

A laugh was heard right next to your ear, the sound making you flinch slightly. “Nice to see you haven’t changed a bit,” he murmured, dipping his head down so his face was closer to yours. “Brat.”

You turn to face him at the same time Jake finally notices the man next to you, his eyes darkening as he pulls Rachel behind him. “Ghost,” he says, stepping closer to you, but he could only get so far due to your ex blocking his path. “How long you been back?” He knew the answer, but also knew better than to set Ghost off right away.

“A while,” Ghost answers, shrugging slightly. “Got out this morning.”

“Right,” Jake trailed off, eyeing you with a sense of protection you usually see from A.J. “Well, a lot has happened in the last five years, man. I mean, that’s half a decade.”

Ghost leans closer to the man, a flash of anger in his eyes. “You don’t think I know that?” He asked, his tone deep and deadly. “I was the one in prison.”

“I know, man,” Jake raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying. Things have changed since you’ve been in there.”

“Yeah?” Ghost asked. “Like what?”

Jake wrapped a protective arm around Rachel, his eyes flickering over to you. “You know, things,”

Ghost turned back to you and placed his hand flat against the bar on the other side of you, successfully caging you in between his arms. You wished you slipped away when you had the chance. “Care to fill me in, baby?” He asked, his voice quiet in the loud club, but you still heard him.

You turn to glare at him. “Don’t call me that,” you mutter, pushing against his chest. He didn’t budge a bit. “I mean it, we’re done.”

Ghost smirked down at you. “I don’t recall us ever breaking up, brat,”

“You went to jail,” you seethe, trying to push him away from you again. “That should have been a clear enough message.”

“You didn’t wait for me?” His voice was dripping with faux sadness. “I thought we had something special.”

You felt yourself beginning to slip back to the sad, weak girl you were when you were with Ghost. You were so easy to manipulate back then, so easy to use, and use you he did. You changed for the better when A.J. finally initiated a relationship with you, and you can’t go back to who you were before him.

Jake placed a firm hand on Ghost’s shoulder, pulling his attention from you. “Listen, man, she’s not your girl anymore, alright?” He tried to sound reasonable, but there was no reasoning with Ghost. “Let it go.”

“Take your own advice and let me go, Jake,” Ghost shoved Jake’s hand from his shoulder and turned back to face you. “Come back to me, baby. We were so good together.”

You shake your head and try once again to push him away from you. “No,”

“Come on,” he grabbed your wrist and lifted your arm, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of your engagement ring. If it made him mad, he didn’t show it as he dropped your arm back down and gripped your waist. “You were always so willing, what happened, hm? Where did my obedient girl go?”

“Leave me alone, Ghost,” you try to sound strong, though you felt incredibly weak. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

Ghost cooed, “I don’t believe that,” he dipped his head down so his lips were close to yours. “Just come back to me.”

Before you could say or do anything else, Ghost pulled away from you when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Jake, I swear to fucking-” he cut himself off when he turned around and came face to face with your fiancé. “A.J.! Hey, man. I can’t talk right now, I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

A.J. grinned at him. “In the middle of what?” It was then when you realized that A.J. had his hands tucked behind his back and was swaying slightly, his grin so clearly forced.

“You know,” Ghost gestured to you. “I’m trying to help this broad remember who she belongs t-”

Before anyone could say anything else, A.J. swung his right arm up and decked Ghost square in the face. He couldn’t even recover before A.J. was pulling you from your place by the bar and swinging his fist at Ghost’s face again once you were safely out of the way.

In the midst of all that, his hat had fallen from his head, but it would’ve hit the floor anyway when Ghost recovered from the two punches and threw one of his own. You watch as his fist meets A.J.’s jaw, and how he stumbles back a bit, his knuckles brushing against the place that would surely have a bruise forming soon.

Satisfied, Ghost looked between the two of you before laughing breathlessly, his index finger gesturing between you. “You two?” He asked, and A.J. didn’t answer. He just clenched his jaw that was probably already starting to hurt. “Really? A.J., come on, man, what the fuck.”

A.J. huffed out a breath, narrowing his eyes at your ex while you stood behind his protective stance.

Ghost glared at his former friend when he saw the initials carved onto your necklace. “You?”

“Yeah,” A.J. answers, stretching his fingers before clenching them back into a fist. “Me.”

And just like that, your future husband was knocking your ex boyfriend a few feet back with a swing of his arm and his fist to his nose. Ghost barely recovered before A.J. was punching him again, this time his cheek, where he delivered a harsh blow to the bone.

Jake pulled you behind him as Ghost got another hit in, making A.J.’s nose shed a stream of blood, but he didn’t do nearly as much damage as he was receiving. A.J. was smart, clever and a borderline genius. He was also a hell of a good fighter, and has won more brawls than he could count on two hands.

He was observant, and often used his surroundings to his advantage. That was why he easily got the upper hand by grabbing a nearby stool and slamming it against Ghost’s body, making the man fall to the floor with a harsh thud. The stool broke on impact, pieces of wood and screws flying to the ground as well.

The club patrons were looking on with shock, but some were also intrigued and impressed by A.J.’s ability to stay in control during a fight. Some of them were on their phones, no doubt calling the police, and you knew you had to get him out before he got arrested, too.

Before A.J. could finish the job, Jake was grabbing him by the shoulders and handing him his glass of bourbon. “Alright, alright, man, that’s enough,” he says, taking the glass back once A.J. downed the drink, all while keeping his eyes on the man who was still on the floor. “Go home, A.J., I’ll take care of him.”

You take that as your cue to lead him out of there. Grabbing his forgotten hat, you press yourself into A.J.’s side and guide him towards the door. You didn’t get far before Ghost was calling out to you, his teeth stained with his blood, “Fuck you, A.J. We were fucking friends,”

A.J. just scoffed and wrapped his arm around your waist. “We were never friends, you fucking prick,” he stumbled towards the door, his body on fire from the rage that had set in once he saw Ghost’s hands on your body. “Touch her again and I won’t stop next time until you’re dead.”

And he was completely serious.

Ghost had his chance, fucked it up, and wouldn’t get a second one to degrade you in all the ways he did before. Not if A.J. had any say in it.

You were glad you had chosen to walk to the club tonight, as maybe the cool air would help calm him down. A.J. was tense, his body stiff in the way that told you he was furious. You could only imagine all the thoughts that were running through his mind after seeing you with your abusive ex, and you hated having to put him through that.

“A.J…” You trailed off, feeling the way his hand tightened around yours as he pulled you along with him and towards your apartment. “I’m sorry.”

That had him stopping so abruptly, you had no choice but to bump into his side at the sudden halt. He looked down at you with confusion evident on his face. “What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault your ex is a fucking asshole,”

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I know, but I didn’t do more to get him away from me,”

A.J. was confused, but his anger overpowered that confusion. Had Ghost really made you believe that what happened just now was your fault? The thought made him even more pissed, and he had to hold onto every rational thought inside his head that was currently stopping him from going back into that club and finishing what he started.

“Y/n,” he said sternly, resuming the walk back to the apartment, but at a much slower pace than before. He was still furious, but also knew he needed to stay calm for you. The last thing he wanted was for you to be reminded of Ghost’s anger issues just because he couldn’t de-escalate a situation. “You have nothing to be sorry for, alright? Nothing. Ghost is an idiot for putting those thoughts in your head.”

“I guess,” you say quietly, and A.J. bit his tongue to stop himself from calling you out on allowing Ghost to push you back into that mindset you had when you were with him. It truly wasn’t your fault.

You make it back to the apartment a few minutes later. A.J. was still angry, and you were still on edge. It was such a contrast from the moods you were in when you returned home last night, the two of you being so happy and giddy and loving on one another.

Looking over at him, you notice the blood that was still on his lip and chin from the punch his nose took, and you furrow your brows as you feel your own anger begin to brew, as well as guilt.

A.J. noticed, like he always did. “What’s wrong?”

You reach your hand out to him, running your thumb over his bruised and bloody knuckles. “Let me help you,” you offer quietly, despite the walls being thick and well insulated, you still didn’t want to be too loud right now.

A.J. gently gripped your jaw in between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up so you were forced to look into his annoyingly beautiful blue eyes. “I’m alright, baby,” he says just as quietly. “I’m more worried about you.”

You hold eye contact as you shrug. “I wish he never got out,” you say truthfully.

A.J. nods, wrapping you up in his arms and pulling you into his chest, immediately filling you with a sense of comfort. “Me too,” he says, massaging the back of your head as you inhale his woodsy scent. “Seeing you with him tonight….”

When he doesn’t say anything else, you pull back just enough to be able to look up at him. “What?”

He stared back down at you, his forehead creased in a furrow. “I just… I was brought back to all those years ago, when I was too stupid to say anything to you about how I felt. I kept it inside, because even though you were with a guy who didn’t deserve you, I didn’t want to fuck up what we already had going on,”

You listened to the rare moment where he wasn’t able to keep his feelings inside and was forced to let them out. Truthfully, you adored the times when he felt comfortable enough to let you all the way in and loved how much he trusted you.

“I hate to admit it, but,” he began, sliding his hands up so they were caressing either side of your face. “I’m jealous, baby. So fucking jealous that he had you. I fucking hate him and I hate the history you have with him. He never deserved you, it should’ve been me, but I was too much of a coward back then.”

You quickly shake your head and place your hands flat on his chest. “A.J.-”

“No, I let him treat you like you were nothing, but you’re everything, baby,” he promises, leaning down so his nose brushes against yours. “You’re everything to me. You always were, and you always will be. Ghost won’t change that, no matter what. The fucker had his chance, but I won’t let him have another one. You’re my girl, and I’m yours. I always was.”

You exhale quickly at his words and the way they dripped with possessiveness. God, you loved this man, and would happily live the rest of your life in this apartment with him.

“Jay,” you all but whimpered, reaching one hand up to tug at his hair. He pulled you closer to him as he suppressed a groan. “Fuck, please.”

He hummed quietly, brushing his blood coated lips against yours. “Please…what?” He asked, sliding his hands back down to squeeze your hips in a way that had you whining softly. “What do you need, baby? Tell me and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you could ever want.”

“Please, touch me,” you requested in a soft murmur, using your other hand to tug at the hair on the back of his neck. “I need you, need to forget the way his hands felt on me.”

A.J.’s hands tighten their grip on your hips, burrowing his nose into your hair. “Yeah?” He asked, his anger quickly beginning to dissolve into lust. “You need me to help you forget about your fuckhead of an ex? Remind you how my own hands feel?”

“Give me a refresher,” you say and begin unbuttoning his shirt. “I don’t think I could ever forget how good your hands are, Jay.”

He groaned against your neck, his hands sliding down and playing with the end of your dress, where he pulled it up until it gathered above your hips. “That’s right, sweet girl,” he picked you up effortlessly and carried you over to the dining table, the open concept making his journey over there an easy one. “I don’t want you to ever forget how good I make you feel, just the way you deserve.”

He sets you down on top of the table, pulling off your dress completely and leaving you in just the skimpy black lingerie you were hiding underneath.

A.J’s eyes darken at the sight, a deep grunt leaving his throat as he leans down to attach his lips to the skin of your breasts that was peeking out from the confinements of the lacy bra. “Fuck,” he sighed against your soft skin, unable to stop himself from sucking a mark onto it, just below where your necklace rested. “This is what you were wearing when that fucker touched you? Did you wear this just for me?”

“Yes,” came your instant reply, so obedient in the way Ghost forced you to be, but it was completely consensual with A.J. “Yes, only for you.”

A.J. smirked against the hickey he sucked onto you, his lips brushing over it as he mumbled, “My girl,” he kissed his way down your body, his hands gently pushing on your shoulders until you were laying flat against the surface of the table. “My sweet, sexy, beautiful girl.”

His words make you breathless and you arch your back when he kisses the skin of your abdomen. Your hands tangle in his hair while his tug down the equally lacy thong before he wraps his arms around your thighs. “God, A.J.,” you say under your breath. “You make me feel so good, with and without your hands.”

He grins against the skin of your hip when you lift it up towards his mouth. “I love you,”

His lips attach to your clit shortly after that, and you’re once again left without any air. “I love you,” you rasp out, your fingers getting lost in his light strands of hair. He sucks on your clit, chin still bloody and making a bit of it wipe off on you. Yet you found it strangely attractive, seeing his visual evidence of just how far he’d go to protect you rub off on you while he went down on you. “I love you more than anything, A.J.”

He hums in appreciation, kneeling down on the floor and pulling you by your waist so your thighs are resting on his shoulders. As his tongue works on your opening, your hips moving on their own accord against his mouth. “That’s right,” he praises, repeating his words from before as he keeps his head still and lets you grind your core against his awaiting tongue. “So good for me.”

You gasp quietly when he wraps his arms around your thighs again and delves his tongue inside you. “Fuck,” you drag the word out a bit as you arch away from the table again. “I need you so badly all the time, fuck.”

A.J. hummed, removing his mouth from you but keeping the pressure by sliding his index and middle finger inside you with ease. “You’re all needy for me, huh, baby,” it wasn’t a question, because you both knew what the answer would be if it were.

“A.J.,” you whine as your face heats up, your hands moving to grip the edges of the table on either side of your thighs.

“I know,” he coos quietly, pumping his fingers in and out of you, slowly getting you all riled up for him. “I know, I’m needy for you, too, baby. I want you all the time, everyday.”

“You have me,” you promise, blindly reaching for his free hand with your left one, your proof being your ring that was shining against the single light above the table that A.J. had flipped on upon returning home. “Forever, you have me.”

“Mm,” he sighed in contentment. “Forever sounds perfect, baby. Just you and me.”

“Just us,” you agreed, knowing that your words would assure him. Just from his firm grip on your hand, you knew he still kept the smallest bit of anger hidden, and you appreciated his attempt at shielding you from it. The blood was still on his lips and chin, but it had long since dried, and you were concerned about how hot you found the sight.

You shouldn’t, because it was physical harm that had been done to him, but he took those two punches for you, because he couldn’t stand the way your ex spoke about you. He couldn’t stand the sight of his hands on you, and the thought of you slipping back into the old version of you.

His fingers continue to fuck in and out of you, the digits slick with visual evidence of how much he turned you on. Because he had made you come so many times during the last twenty four hours, you were a bit sensitive to the way his fingers brushed against your walls.

You already felt overstimulated, despite not coming yet, and you blamed it on the way he took you so good just hours before you and he left for the club.

His mouth returned to your clit, where he harshly sucked at the bundle of nerves and elicited a sudden and involuntary jerk of your hips. A.J. huffs out a laugh against you, speeding up the pace of his fingers when he feels you clench around him. “You’re close,” he observes, releasing your clit and placing a kiss to your hip instead. “I can feel it.” When you pull your hand from his and tangle it in his hair again, he uses the newfound freedom to grip one of your breasts through your bra.

It only adds to the overall pressure that is building up deep within you, and you were coming before you knew it. Your thighs tried to close around him, but his shoulders prevented them from doing so, and your hand pulled at his hair with a firm tug. The grunt he let out because of that had you squeezing your eyes shut as his fingers continued to ride you through your high.

Your legs were shaking and felt numb as you cowered away from the relentless thrusts of his hand. “Jesus,” you mutter once he finally slipped his fingers from you, the pleasure beyond blinding at this point.

He grinned down at you when he stood up, his face full of pride as he sucked his fingers clean. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer breathlessly. “I’m good.”

His hands settle on your hips when you sit up on the table, your palms flat against the surface to keep you upright. You gazed up at him, his red tinted lips, slick with your arousal, and his lust filled eyes.

You were feral for this man. “Come here,” you beckoned him over with a wave of your hand. That same hand gripped the back of his neck when he neared you, pulling him forward slightly so you could connect your lips in the first proper kiss since coming back home. You moan at the feeling of his lips on yours, despite the kiss having a metallic taste to it, you didn’t care. Noisily, you pull away and grip the side of his face with your other hand. “Thank you for sticking up for me, for protecting me.”

A.J. brushes his nose against yours. “I always will,” he says and slides his hands up your back. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” you nod, licking your saliva coated lips. “I want you to do something for me right now.”

A.J. moves to stand between your legs, his still clothed front pressing against your partly bare one. “Anything, baby,” he reiterates.

You give him a sharp tug and wrap your arms around his neck. “I want you to fill me up,” you say, pressing a searing kiss to his lips, one that had him feeling lightheaded when mixed with your words. “I want to feel you, on me, in me, everywhere.”

You reach down to grip him through his pants, hearing the quick inhale from him when you break the kiss. His hands move to the base of your neck, putting no pressure at all there, despite knowing how much it drove you crazy.

“Make me yours, A.J.,” you softly begged. “Fuck me in the way we both need right now, let me make you come, I want it inside me.”

A.J. growled under his breath, gripped your throat and watched the way your eyes rolled back slightly, clearing loving the feeling of his fingers pressing against your airway. “You’re mine, baby,” he muttered, pressing another deep kiss to your awaiting mouth. His tongue swipes along your lower lip, leaving behind a string of saliva when he pulls away. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, sweet girl. I’m going to make you forget that fucker was ever part of your life.”

“Please,” you beg as you push his shirt off his shoulders. You move onto the button of his pants, unzipping them once the waistband loosened. Shoving them down, you guide his hips closer to yours before moving your hands back to his shoulders. “Fuck me, Jay, let me feel you.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he assures you, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. He pulls it from your body and it joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor next to the table. “Like I always do.”

While your fingers slip up to tangle in his hair, he uses one hand to free himself from the confinements of his boxer briefs. He pulls you closer to the edge of the table, quieting your moan when he slips inside you with his lips.

The stretch you always felt whenever he entered you had your eyes squeezing shut and your fingers tugging tightly on his hair. “Fuck,” he groaned once he bottomed out, his thumbs digging into the bones of your hips when he gave a sharp thrust. “You always take me so well.”

You moaned in agreement, pulling at the hairs on the base of his neck. “You’re so good to me, A.J.,” you whimpered, tilting your head back when his lips attached to your neck as he began to thrust into you at a steady pace. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He moaned against your skin, his hips hitting yours at a bruising pace. “I love you so fucking much,” he says, pulling you even closer to him. “I always have.”

His sweet words make you dizzy, as does the feeling of his lips peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulders. “I love you,”

The table, though sturdy, creaked with each thrust of his hips. You tug on his hair until he lifts his head, allowing you to connect your lips in a searing kiss. His blood had been pretty much wiped off by now, but you still tasted the bitterness of it on his lips. You could only guess how much of it had been smeared on your own face.

It was messy, gross, even, but one of the hottest things you’d ever experienced. While you hated Ghost and hated the fact that he had hurt A.J., he just looked so damn edible all the time, even when he was sporting a bloody nose and a bruised jaw. He wore those wounds proudly, knowing he won both the fight and your heart, though the latter he had claimed a long time ago.

With each thrust, he slid deeper and deeper into you. Your previous orgasm had made your walls so warm and inviting, A.J. couldn’t help but pick up the pace a bit, the slick streaks he was met with every time he pulled out only fueling him to keep going.

And your sounds. Fuck.

He loved the way you sounded when he fucked you like this. You got so lost in the moment and didn’t care how loud you were being. A.J. didn’t care either. The walls were thick and there was insulation in the ceiling, so it’s not like your neighbors could hear how loud you two got when being intimate.

Even if you were living in a cheap apartment with the thinnest walls ever built, he would still fuck you just like this and take pride in the noise complaints he would undoubtedly receive. How could he not when it was him who got you all riled up and loud.

You let out quiet gasps against his mouth as he fucked into you, your hands wrapping around his biceps. Digging your nails into his tattooed skin, you bite down on his bottom lip as you pull away. “God, you’re so perfect,” he grunted, placing one hand flat against the table behind you. “I remember thinking that the first time I saw you.”

You clench around him at his words. “Five years ago?” You managed to ask as you began to feel lightheaded from the way he reached so deep inside you.

“Yeah, baby,” he said through a locked jaw, the way your walls tightened around him making his head spin. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

You whimper quietly when his hand that wasn’t next to you reaches down to rub your throbbing clit. “I wanted you for so long,” you whisper. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he confirmed, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I always was.”

You moan loudly, leaning back and propping yourself up on your elbows. As you look down at where you two connected, you were powerless to stop the string of whines that left your lips in unison to the thrusts of his hips.

“That’s it,” he praises. “That’s my girl, get loud for me.”

Your back arches and you clamp down around him when you feel the knot that had formed in your stomach begin to snap. Unable to not obey his wishes, your brows furrow as you cry out in ecstasy. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you beg, laying flat on your back as your legs began to shake. “Please, Jay, don’t- fuck… don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping,” he says, picking up the pace of both his hips and his finger. “Not until I feel you come around me, like I know you want to.”

“I do,” you say and press your heel into his lower back. “I want to so badly.”

A.J. leaned down and slid his hand that was on the table up so it was gripping yours, lacing your fingers together. “So do it,” he prompted. His lips brushed against yours as he continued to coax a second orgasm out of you. “Come for me, baby, all over me. Let me feel how good I fuck you.”

“God,” you cry out, feeling your stomach twist and tighten before you were granted with the sweet relief that came when you clenched impossibly tight around him, coming all over him just like he requested you to. “Fuck.”

A.J. groaned loudly as he struggled to keep up the pace, your walls wrapped so tightly around him making the task difficult. “Fuck,” he repeated the word, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his skull when he caught sight of the way your mouth hung open in silent pleads for him to continue until he was finished. “So fucking good. So tight. You gonna let me come inside you, hm?”

It wouldn’t be the first time, oh, far from it. You and he hadn’t used a condom since the first time you slept together, but he still liked to ask if he could finish while still being buried in you.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation, craving to feel the heat of his seed as it invades your core. “I want you to. I want it so bad, Jay. Please.”

You were overstimulated, but that didn’t stop you from allowing him to abuse your spent heat.

A.J.’s hips stuttered at your begs for him to fill you up, his jaw locking as he stared at your kiss swollen, blood tainted lips. “Fuck,” he muttered, gripping the edge of the table so tightly he was afraid he’d chip the wood. “Fuck, baby.”

You encouraged his incoming release by sucking him in deeper and whining softly beneath him. “Please,” you pleaded quietly, your core throbbing with the need for a break, but you wouldn’t give yourself that relief until A.J. got his. “Fill me up, A.J., I want it.”

And who was he to deny your wants?

With a groan of your name, he was spilling into you and fucking his come deeper inside you as his pace never let up. You moan loudly at the warmth that flooded through you, reaching both hands down so you could pull him impossibly closer to you by his waist.

He huffed out a breath once his thrusts finally ceased, his body aching with exhaustion. “I love you so much,” he whispered next to your ear before placing a kiss to the skin underneath it.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull his chest down onto yours, keeping him buried deep within you with your heel still pressed against his back. “I love you, too, A.J.,” you say back, pecking his lips as he tries to catch his breath. “Thank you for protecting me tonight, it was nice to see Ghost get his ass handed to him.”

A.J. laughed loudly before pressing another kiss to your lips, one that was much longer than the previous one. “I’ll always be there to protect you,” he promised, caging you in by placing his forearms on either side of your head. “As for Ghost….well, I’d kick his ass anytime, no matter the situation.”

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