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hellowhisperingstars · 5 months

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All I Want For Christmas

Summary: Christmas is upon you and for the first time in years you head to your Moms for the family Christmas party. Too bad work calls Eddie away.

Pairing: Rockstar/Bar Owner!Eddie Munson x Baker!Reader

Words: 6K

Warnings: 18+, Y/N used, overuse of pet names, dom/sub dynamics, phone sex, masturbation (Male and Female), family, christmas, airplanes, barely edited, please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! Here is my Sugar Cloud Christmas one shot! I hope you all like it! Please let me know what you think!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! <3

Sugar Cloud Masterlist

This time of year was your favorite time of year. It was the time of warm food, cozy sweaters, your stepdad Joel’s horrible eggnog (which he swears up and down is the best in New York), and most of all… family. This year, like every year, they were gathering at your grandparent's house in Ithaca. It was a time to catch up, exchange gifts, eat too much food, and play games. To say you were excited was an understatement, giddiness rolled through you as you packed your bag for your trip, going over your list just in case you forgot anything.

The past few years you weren’t able to head to your grandparent’s house due to the bakery needing your attention and your dad being a huge pain in your ass but not this year as you were heading to upstate New York with Eddie. He was officially going to meet your mom’s side of the family. At least that had been the plan. You got a little less excited as Eddie sat on your bed next to your two open suitcases, his own features screwed up in sadness that he was going to miss it.

“I’m sorry baby,” He muttered, grabbing your hips and pulling you between his legs after you placed a wrapped present for your cousin into one of the cases. “I know how much this meant to you.”

“It’s okay,” You said, waving your hand in the air like you were trying to push away your sadness. “There will be more Christmas’. It’s not every year you get invited to play KROQ’s Almost Acoustic Christmas.”

“I told Curtis it wasn’t a good time,” He said, placing his chin on your stomach as he looked up at you. You were sure the angle wasn’t flattering but he didn’t seem to care one bit. “But he pushed it. Even scheduled some interviews with a few magazines and TV spots. I’m about ready to fire him.”

“Please don’t fire Curtis,” You said, pushing your hands through his hair. “He’s doing his best with a needy rockstar like you.”

“Needy?” He asked, his eyes wide, brows hiding in his bangs. “You think I’m needy?”

“Well yeah,” You smiled a little. “I distinctly remember you telling me that you ‘need just one more’ for about two hours last night.”

“Hey, you got to cum like six times. Who got the better end of the deal here?” He laughed, pinching your ass a little so that you would jump a bit. The two of you stared at one another for a few quiet seconds before he sighed. “Fiiine, I won’t fire Curtis. Kinda like the guy anyway.”

Laughing a little you lean your head down to touch his forehead with yours. “We’ll still have New Years.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss the one year anniversary of meeting you.” He smiled, and kissed you on the nose making you giggle. “Let's finish getting you all packed, you have an early flight tomorrow.”

Together you moved around your room, both gathering the things on your list, double checking once everything was packed that you indeed had everything you needed for a two week trip to upstate New York. Presents included.

The next morning Eddie walked with you into the airport in Indianapolis, hand in hand, both of you dragging one suitcase behind you. It was loud in the building, the sounds of planes landing, taking off, people moving quickly from one side of the airport to the other to catch their flights home, or work, or even to just get out of the cold Indiana weather for a few days. Airports always had a funny energy to them. The buzz of adventure.

“Alright,” Eddie said as he led you over to the line to check in. “Gotta get you checked in. Don’t want you missing this flight, your mom would murder me.”

“No she wouldn’t,” You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder as he grinned down at you.

The line moved quickly and soon it was your turn. The pretty airport worker gave Eddie a flirty grin, complete with an unnecessary “accidental” hand touch when he passed your ID and his credit card over the counter to her. He had insisted on paying for you to be upgraded to first class for both flights, you had tried to argue but he wouldn’t hear it, it was almost six hours in traveling with one layover and he wanted you to be comfortable. He even made sure your bags were checked and would be transferred to the new plane so you wouldn’t have to re-check them.

You watched with slight amusement as the girl behind the counter continued to try to get his attention past normal work communication. It didn’t bother you much anymore when people would flirt with him. Eddie made it very clear that he only had eyes for you and when his hand went around your waist to pull you closer, the smile on her face dropped. The rest of the transaction went by with no interest from her end when she passed your tickets over to him.

Once you were all checked in, Eddie pocketed his wallet and grabbed your hand to start walking with you towards your gate. Checking his watch, he handed you your tickets. “We have an hour to kill. Want some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” You nodded, putting your tickets in your purse, you let his hand go so you could wrap your arm around his waist. His arm automatically goes over your shoulder.

Finding the airport coffee shop quickly, Eddie placed your orders and together you waited until it was ready. Grabbing your orders he walked with you towards your gate, taking a seat facing the large windows so you could watch the planes come and go.

“I’m going to miss you.” You pouted at him, taking a sip of your hot drink. The coffee warmed you from the inside out making you feel slightly better.

“I know, baby.” He said playing with the ends of your hair with the hand not holding his own cup of coffee. “But it'll only be two weeks and then we'll be together again. Plus you can call me whenever you want.”

“That’s true,”

All too soon your flight was called over the loudspeaker and it was time to board. Finishing your coffee you tossed the empty cup into the trash can as you both walked towards the gate. Turning you hugged him tightly, giving him a kiss when you leaned back a bit to see him.

“You have your tickets?”

“Right here.” You said pulling them out of your purse.

“Call me as soon as you land at JFK for your connection and again when you land in Ithaca.”

“Yes, Sir,” You smiled up at him sadly, you hated leaving him and this time you both would be on opposite sides of the country. “And you’ll let me know when you get to LA right? Don’t make me worry about you.”

“You know I will.” He smiled, pulling you close to kiss your forehead as the flight attendants called for first class passengers. Eddie nodded a bit before he looked down at you. Tapping the point of the pick on your collar that poked out a bit from under your scarf he smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled sadly. “I'll see you in two weeks.”

“Be safe, be smart, and have fun with your family.” Kissing you once more he moved his arms away from you and put his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he watched you take a step back. “Tell your mom sorry I couldn't make it.”

“Break a leg rockstar.” You smiled with a nod once more before you turned and got in line.

He waited until you were through the gate turning back to give him one last wave before watching you walk down that long hall and into the plane. He even waited until your plane was taxiing onto the runway, watching through the large windows as the plane took off, taking you away from him. This was going to be a long two weeks he decided as he turned and left the airport alone.

You rarely flew growing up and even less now but when you did most of the time you just chose economy, since you had to pay for it yourself, your father didn’t want to spend any money on a ticket that would take you to his “alcoholic ex-wife”. But now you were practically melted into your first class seat on the second flight heading towards Ithaca and you wondered why you fought Eddie on this. It was so comfortable, the chair was large and could fold out into a bed, plus there was so much leg room just to stretch out if you wanted. No crying babies, no one accidentally elbowing you as they adjusted in their seat, and best of all you were in a window seat, watching as the world below flew by.

At the start of the last leg of your trip you had pulled the CD player from your purse and put the headphones over your ears turning it on so you could listen to the Corroded Coffin demo that Eddie had given you, for the one billionth time. You loved that you could still hear his voice even though you would be thousands of miles away from him. A tap on your shoulder made you jump a little and when you looked over one of the flight attendants was smiling down at you, so you paused your cd and pulled the headphones from your ears.

“I’m sorry I didn't mean to scare you.” She laughed a little.

“Oh no it’s fine. I should have been paying more attention.”

“I just wanted to let you know that we will be landing soon and your tray needs to be in the upright position.”

“Thank you.” You smiled as you turned off the CD player and pushed it back into your purse as you prepared your spot for landing and she walked away to assist the other passengers. With your seatbelt on you watched as the ground grew closer and closer, the town of Ithaca getting bigger and bigger. The plane jolted and the tires squealed as you landed and sighed a small smile growing on your features as your plane was taxi’d to an open gate.

In a line you followed all the other passengers out and into Ithaca Tompkins International Airport making sure you had your purse securely on your shoulder as you dug inside to turn on your phone. Once loaded you hit Eddie’s saved number and held the phone to your ear but all you got was voicemail. You had spoken to him earlier when you got to JFK but now he must already be on his way to LA. “Hey baby, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know that I landed in Ithaca just fine, going to grab my bags and head to my moms. I love you, have fun at the concert. I’ll talk to you later.”

Hanging up you shoved your phone into your pocket and continued your way down to the baggage claim. As you came through the archway that led to the front of the airport you heard your name be called by a deep voice. Turning you smiled, throwing your arms out into the air as you ran to your stepfather. He looked the same as he always did. Tall, dark, and handsome. Decked out in plaid and denim with his warmest jacket on. “JOEL!”

“Hey kid!” He laughed as he hugged you. “How are you? How were your flights?”

“Good, good, everything was good!” You laughed as you hugged him back. “I'm so happy to see you!”

“You're by yourself?” He asked as he looked around hoping to catch a glimpse of your plus one. “Your mom told me your new beau was coming. I was hoping to meet him.”

Sighing, you shook your head. “Duty called unfortunately. It's not every year you get picked to play KROQ’s Almost Acoustic Christmas so he had to go. He hated having to cancel on us at the last minute. But you'll meet him in the spring when you and mom come out to visit.”

“Life of a rockstar.” He smiled a bit, throwing his arm around your shoulders in a fatherly way walking you towards the baggage claim. “Let's get your stuff and head on home. Your mom's cooking your favorite tonight.”

Christmas in LA was a lot different then Hawkins. No snow covered the ground, there was a slight crispness in the air, and the sun was still able to keep you warm during the day. The only things he hated about LA was that you weren't here with him and the layer of smog that laid over the city.

Eddie groaned as he lifted his guitar case over his shoulder and grabbed his own suitcase from the back of the van so he could follow the rest of the boys inside of the hotel that they would be calling home for this trip. He was a little jealous of Jeff and Gareth, they were able to bring their girls with them for this trip, watching Andrea and Lizzy talk animatedly about the pretty Christmas decorations made him miss you that much more. Knowing you would be right there with the girls pointing out the cute little snowman statues that sat next to the large decked out pine tree in the middle of the lobby.

“Just wait here guys. I'll get us all checked in,” Curtis said as he gestured for them to relax.

“You have been pouty the whole way here Eddie Bear.” Lizzy said as she broke off from Andrea to bump her hip into his. “I'm sorry you had to miss Y/N's family party for this. I know how much you wanted to be there.”

“It happens,” He shrugged using one hand to push his sunglasses up onto the top of his head letting them get lost in his curls. “There will be more Christmas’. We both knew going into this that I would have to fly off sometimes.”

“She call you yet?” Brandon asked from his chair he found to sit down on.

Looking at his watch he took note of the time. You should be there by now and dropping his arm he reached into his pocket to grab his phone to turn it on. “I forgot to turn it on after we got off the plane.”

“I'm sure she left a message.” Lizzy said, rubbing his arm a bit.

Like magic the little notification popped up showing he had a voicemail. Smiling he pressed a few buttons and held the phone to his ear, the robot voice spoke for a few seconds before your voice started. He felt like he could breathe easier knowing that you were safe on the ground and heading to your moms. “She made it. I'll call her once we get into the rooms.”

“Alright guys and gals.” Curtis said as he came back to the band with a packet of key cards in his hand, he started to pass them out to the band while he explained what was happening. “Okay, tonight we have to be at the venue to check in and get settled, tomorrow you play at eight pm, and then the rest of the week is photoshoots, a few late night tv show spots, and interviews. Then home on Christmas Eve.”

‘One day too late to be at the party.’ Nodding, Eddie grabbed the key card Curtis held out for him and followed the group as they moved towards the elevators. With all the people and their luggage all trying to load into the small space a few of the band members had to take a separate elevator.

Coughing a little to clear his throat Jeff looked over at Eddie as he pushed the button for their floor. “I have an idea if you wanna hear it.”

“About what?” Eddie said, looking over at Jeff.

“The guys and I have been talking and we think that after the show and a few interviews you should go to Ithaca and be with Y/N for Christmas. You can cut out early on Friday night and be there for the party on Saturday. The guys and I can handle the rest of the interviews and the TV spots.”

“Curtis will be pissed.” Eddie chuckled a bit as he thought about it.

“We can handle Curtis.” Lizzy said, leaning her head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Plus, you do everything he asks, don’t feel bad about taking time for you.”

Biting his lip Eddie thought harder about the idea. He could do it. He’d have to look up times and spend a fortune to get there but he could do it… and seeing the look on your face would be worth the ungodly long flight and jet lag that he would be dealing with. Looking over at Jeff took a breath. “You sure it’s okay? If I just bail on you guys like that?”

“We want you too.” Jeff nodded as the elevator dinged on their floor. Looking over at Eddie he smiled. “This is your first Christmas with your girl. You should be there.”

Nodding a little the trio moved out of the small space and into the hallway of the hotel. Scratching at the back of his neck Eddie laughed a little. “Looks like I have some flights to book.”

Slapping him on the back Jeff smiled at him before he took Lizzy’s hand and together the two of them walked down the hallway towards their room. “See you later Munson.”

“Later.” Eddie smiled as he started down the other hallway towards his room.

You smiled as Joel pulled his truck to a stop in front of the house he shared with your mom. It was a cute two story colonial with a lot of history from what you were told. You loved it here. It looked like a home out of a fairy tale. The four bedroom home was so different then your dad’s grand house in Indianapolis, it was cozy, welcoming, and made you feel at ease. You couldn’t wait to get inside and see your mom.

“Home sweet home.” Joel smiled before he opened the car door and stepped out to grab your bags from the back of the truck. Looking at the street in front of the house he noticed a few cars sitting on the street. “Looks like your Aunt Lisa is here. Which means Jack and Annie are here. Jack’s been a little punk lately.”

“He’s like what? Fifteen now?” You ask as you follow suit and jump from the car, pulling your jacket closer around you and moving around to the side of the car to help Joel.

“Something like that yeah,” Your stepdad said as he passed you a bag.

With both bags now on the ground the two of you rolled the cases up the snow covered pathway to the porch, stepping to the side you let Joel open the door before you both entered the warm home. The fire burning in the fireplace keeps the cold at bay.

“Honey!” Joel chirped as he closed the door behind you. “We’re home!”

Sounds of excitement echoed from the kitchen as the sound of rushing feet brought your attention to your mom who ran into the room straight for you. “My girl!”

Laughing, you let her take you into her arms to squeeze as you hugged her back. “Hi Mama.”

“My girl! Oh how I missed you! Come in, come in.” She took a step back and looked around the living room. “Where's Eddie?”

“Work.” You smiled a bit. “He's sorry he can't make it.”

“Who's Eddie?” Your cousin Annie asked as she looked up from her game console.

“Y/N's boyfriend,” Your mom said, holding her hands out for your jacket. “He's a famous rockstar.”

A snort came from Jack who was lounging halfway off the recliner in the corner of the living room with a magazine in his hands. “Yeah right. A famous rockstar.”

“He is!” Your mom said defensively.

“It's fine mama.” You smiled at her handing her your jacket and scarf. “We don't have to prove anything to him. Let me help Joel take these upstairs and I'll be right down.”

“Don't worry about it. I got this. You go hang out, relax, have some coffee. These will be in your room.” Joel said, waving his hand at you as you went to grab one of the cases.

Rolling your eyes jokingly at Joel, who only chuckled at you as he started up the stairs, you let your mom drag you into the kitchen where your Aunt Lisa was pulling out some homemade chex mix from the oven.

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, placing the hot pan on a corkboard on the counter before she tossed the oven mitt off and held her arms out for you. “Give me a hug!”

“Hi Aunt Lisa!” Moving over you to her you wrapped your arms around her giving her a big hug. “I’ve missed you!”

“You look great!” She said as she moved back to get a good look at you.

“So do you! Where’s Uncle Tim?”

“He’s working. Last day before his holiday vacation.” Your Aunt said as she waved her hand in the air. “Aren’t you supposed to have some big rockstar with you?”

“He’s working too. The band got invited to play a concert for a popular radio station. Couldn’t pass it up.” You smiled with a shrug, you missed Eddie but you were so proud of him.

“Is that something we can watch on the TV?” Aunt Lisa asked as she moved back towards the counter to fiddle with the chex pan.

“No, I don’t think so.” Shaking your head you moved towards the counter leaning on the other side.

“That’s too bad. I would love to see what this guy looks like!” She winked, “Your mom says he’s a really eighties rocker. Got the hair and everything. What did you say his band was?”

“I think he’s hair metal?” Your mom says as she starts up a fresh pot of coffee.

“Thrash metal.” You corrected as you stole a still hot piece of the seasoned cereal popping it in your mouth. “Like Metallica.”

“Jack listens to them.” Aunt Lisa muttered. “Maybe he's heard of your boyfriend's band.”

“Probably,” You shrugged as you snuck a second piece. “They're pretty popular.”

“Those are for the party!” Your mom scolded, smacking you lightly with a towel she grabbed from the counter when she turned to see you chewing.

“Okay, okay..” You smiled cheekily at her before stealing a third piece.

“Y/N!”

The night came and went and the day of the concert was upon the band. They sat in the trailer the radio station had provided for them, Gareth tapped his drumsticks on his leg to keep his hands busy while the others made sure their guitars and Brandon’s bass were in tune. Curtis sat there with his palm pilot in his hands, fiddling with the stylus as he checked on the band's schedule for the next few days.

The sound of his ringing phone grabbed everyone's attention and Curtis put his phone to his ear. “Hey Allen! Give me one second.”

The band and the girls watched as he left the trailer and as soon as the door was closed Lizzy and Andrea turned towards Eddie. Andrea leaned forward to rest her arms on the back of his chair. “So did you buy those tickets?”

Smiling Eddie nodded his head a little, his hands still playing a few chords on this long loved Warlock. “Yeah. By this time next Friday I will be in the air to surprise my girl for Christmas.”

The girls squealed in joy for a moment before Andrea leaned over the back of the chair to hug him around his shoulders from behind. “Good! I would’ve killed you if you didn’t!”

Eddie chuckled as he placed his hand on Andrea’s arm giving it a few little pats. “Yeah, yeah.”

Curtis stuck his head back into the trailer after a few minutes. “You’re on deck guys.”

Excitement ran through Eddie's veins as the band stood from their spots and headed out towards the stage. It was always the same, no matter where they perform, no matter how long they’ve been doing it, the adrenaline high they got from being on stage was something that never faded.

All he had to do was get through this concert and a few interviews and he would be on his way to you.

That’s all he wanted.

You spoke to Eddie a little while after the show once he was back in his hotel room, he called you to tell you how awesome it was. He was tired, he always was after a show, he put so much of himself into performing that he was usually left exhausted for a few days but he was also really amped up. You could practically feel the energy coming off him through the phone.

“I wish you could have seen it baby! It was awesome!” Eddie gushed at you from over the phone as he flopped back onto the bed. “The crowd had so much energy, they made a mosh pit, there was almost a fight!”

“And you didn’t even want to play this concert,” You teased. You were laying on your bed with your Nokia to your ear as you cuddled up under your blankets wearing one of Eddie’s shirts that you stole for comfort.You had even spritzed it with his cologne when he wasn’t looking so it would smell like him.

“Yeah, I would still rather be with you but.. Shit it was fun babe.”

“I’m glad, baby.” Chuckling you stared up at the ceiling trying to imagine his post concert glow, hair frizzy, covered in sweat, and a smile so bright it could outshine the lights of Las Vegas. You heard him sigh, completely content.

“How was your day? I didn’t ask you that before I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine baby.” You giggled, brushing it off. “Compared to yours my day was pretty boring. Went last minute christmas shopping with mom, there’s this cute little cafe in town that I think you’d like actually.”

“I can’t wait to see it one day.” ‘Maybe next Sunday when I’m in town’ Eddie thought as he smiled to himself. An idea popped into his head as he placed his hand on his stomach, phone sex was always fun. “So not to sound like a total cliche.. But… what are you wearing?”

A smirk pulled on your lips as you looked down at your body, “Oh nothing special. Just one of your shirts and some flannel pants.”

“One of my shirts huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Is your door locked?”

“It can be.”

“Why don’t you be a good girl and go lock your door for me hmm? Then I want you to get back into bed and get comfy for me.”

“Yes, Sir.” You hummed as you removed yourself from your warm bed and towards your door, taking a moment to hear if anyone was up downstairs. Thankfully it sounded like everyone was asleep and once the lock was clicked into place you rushed back to your bed cuddling under the blankets again to keep the chill away. “All cozy now.”

“Good girl,” He praised in a sultry voice, still raspy from singing, and you felt heat start to fill your cheeks. You loved when he used that voice. “Now I am going to give you some instructions and you are going to listen to everything I say, sound good?”

“Yes, Sir,” You nodded even though you knew he couldn’t see you.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to take your pants and panties off, spread your legs, and put your fingers on that pretty little pussy of yours. But you have to be quiet, not a single sound or your can't cum got it? Don’t need to wake everyone in the house.”

“Yes, Sir.” You breathe out as you follow his instructions, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you shimmy out of your sleep pants and undies, kicking them to the side as you spread your legs, holding in a little gasp when you place your fingers between your folds. You could feel how wet you were getting just from hearing him command you over the phone. It felt wrong doing this in your moms house but you couldn't find it in you to care at the moment. Maybe tomorrow you would be a little ashamed but not now.

For the next hour Eddie edged you both. You could hear him groaning, letting out little whimpers, and breathing heavily as he jerked himself off, stopping when he told you to stop so you both were on the same path towards that cliff's edge into complete euphoria.

He could hear your breathing over the phone, how hard you were working to be a good girl for him. At one point he even had you place your phone by your cunt so he could hear the sounds as you fingered yourself. He knew you were close, he knew you like the back of his hand by now, and he knew you wouldn't survive another edge. “You ready princess? Play with that pretty clit again. Slow circles. There we go. You can make a little noise, baby. Are you close?”

“Uh huh,” You muttered. You hated how wrecked you sounded compared to him. Besides his moaning he sounded perfectly normal.

“Uh huh," He mocked. “Brains are completely gone now. Countdown from five and you can cum.”

Your brain broke at his words and you don't know how you did it but you were able to count down between deep breaths and once that little word left his lips you knew you were gonna be a goner. “F-four… Five...”

“Cum.”

You did. You both did. You had to drop the phone to slap a hand over your mouth to keep in your loud whimpers as you finally fell over that edge, that twisted coil in your gut now completely unwound. All you could do was mutter ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you’ over and over again brainlessly as you heard him groan over the phone.

Slowly you moved your hand around the bed to find the phone that was lost in your blankets until you were able to grab it and bring it to your ear again. “Holy shit.”

Eddie laughed as he heard your voice pop back up. “Damn I’m good.”

“God I hoped no one heard that.” You laughed lightly through a sigh.

“I hope everyone heard that! Fuck should record that for the next album.” He laughed again when you scolded him.

After that night the days flew by with you wondering around town with your mom and getting your grandparents house ready for the party, while Eddie and the boys were being driven from place to place, photoshoots, interviews, TV spots and by the time Friday night rolled around he was exhausted as he packed the last remaining items into his bags so he could catch his redeye to Ithaca from Burbank.

As far as he knew Curtis still had no idea and he was ready to have his phone off until he got to Ithaca to give him enough time to come up with what to say to his manager. Zipping up his bag he threw it over his shoulder along with his guitar, did one last check of his room and headed out of the door.

Jeff was just about to knock when the door opened and he smiled at Eddie. “Ready to escape from LA?”

“Absofuckinlutely.” Eddie said with his own smile. “Get me out of here. I have a girl to see.”

“Curtis is in his room,” Jeff said as he walked with Eddie to the elevator. “Should be there all night, Lizzy is staying back and keeping an eye on him. She’s going to distract him if he starts to even look like he’s going to your room. We want to give you a good head start.”

“Thanks man,” Eddie said as the doors opened and they walked into it. “I owe you big time.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jeff shrugged as the doors closed and he pressed the button for the lobby. “Maybe you and Y/N can help me and Lizzy run away for a while.”

The two men laughed as the small room descended, taking Eddie out to the lobby and into a waiting taxi. Jeff waved as he watched the car drive away.

The day of the family party was here and you had gotten up early that morning to bake a few batches of cookies for the event. Running on a cup of coffee and only a few hours of sleep it was a mad rush getting through the day as you went about making sure you had all the presents, treats, and other things for the party ready to pack into Joel's truck to take over to your grandparents home.

Throughout the day your family trickled into the small home until the building was so full you could barely find a place to sit. Drinks of all kinds were flowing and the place smelled delicious with all the food your grandmother, mom, and Aunts were cooking up in the kitchen. You took it upon yourself to organize the tables full of treats and other pre-dinner snacks.

You were pleasantly surprised that not one of your family members mentioned the whole mess with your dad. It was nice to just forget about it. Soon the sun started to set and the stars peaked out through the clouds. You had tried to call Eddie a few times but all you got was voicemail. Looking at the clock you sighed as you pulled your phone out to call again but one of your Uncles came over to give you a hug.

“Hey Kiddo!” He said as he ruffled your hair a bit. “How’ve you been? Still baking?”

“Hey!” You smiled as you pushed your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah, I'm still baking! Got a little shop and everything. I made those cookies you like!”

“You spoil me!” He smiled as he took a few from the plate.

You were about to make a quip back when your phone started to ring in your pocket. Pulling it out of your pocket you smiled when Eddie’s name was flashing on the screen. “Excuse me.”

Moving away from your Uncle you pressed answer and put the phone to your ear. “I have been trying to get a hold of you all day!”

“I saw. I’m sorry baby something came up and I had to turn my phone off.” Eddie said as he pulled his rental into an open spot miraculously in front of your grandparents home. He looked through the passenger window at the crowded living room through the front window. He had to admit he was a little nervous but he shook it off. He wasn’t here for them, he was here for you. Popping open the driver door he stepped out and moved around it to lean on the passenger side one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket. “Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”

“What?” You asked as you smiled at one of your little cousins who ran by you.

“Can you go to the front yard and just look at the stars for me? I bet it’s beautiful outside.” Slowly he started to walk up the sidewalk to the front door of the home.

“Outside?” You laughed, moving from your spot in the kitchen to grab your jacket from the closet. Slowly pulling on your coat, you waved your mom’s curious look away, as you head towards the front door. Pulling it open you stepped out of the house and stopped as you stared in shock at Eddie who was standing just three steps away from the porch with his phone to his ear. Dropping your phone you squeal and rush from the home watching as he moves forward to catch you when you practically jump from over the steps. “What are you doing here?!”

“I wanted to spend our first Christmas together.” He said as he wrapped his arms around you. Pressing the disconnect button on his phone before he pulled you in for a kiss. Leaning his forehead against yours when you both pulled back.

“But the band…” You asked, your breath leaving you in little puffs. “All your interviews…”

“Coming here was their idea. Curtis is pissed but I will deal with that later.” He smiled back at you.

“You flew all the way over here just to be with me for Christmas?”

“Baby, I would fly across the world to be with you on a random Tuesday.” He smiled.

You moved back a little so you could fully see him, the cold was making the tip of his nose a little red and snow was starting to collect in his hair. “How did you even know how to get here?”

“Joel.” Eddie shrugged a little.

Shaking your head you laugh a little as you pull him back in for a kiss. Mumbling an ‘I love you’ against his lips.

“I love you too.” He smiled and kissed you a few more times.

A few wolf whistles and catcalls got your attention and when you both looked towards the front door you laughed as your entire family was standing there watching you, heat flaring in your cheeks as you buried your face into Eddie’s chest. Jack looked particularly shocked when he recognized Eddie.

Laughing, your mom pushed his shoulder a little. “I told you he was famous!”

Time Stamp Taglist:

@micheledawn1975

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie #barowner!eddie #dom!eddie munson #sub!reader #baker!reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #st s4 #sugar cloud series #sugar cloud timestamp

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mineonmain · 2 years

Text

P’Mile back on his sugar daddy agenda, like putting all of his money and his pussy into saving KP in the first place wasn’t enough bye☠️(just bc he wanted to tell his little story about gay mafia and gay bodyguard in love with each other against the world) ((which btw. Did y’all know that P’Mile was the author’s inspiration for Kinn in the book👀☕️))

#kinn x porsche #Kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #mileapo #VegasPete #BibleBuild #be on cloud #thai bl #thai drama #thai series #bl drama #bl series #these bitches gay good for them #mile at any moment: 😍😍apo has the prettiest eyes uwu #whipped culture methinks #kp world tour #mile is sugar daddy. i said what I said

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jeonride · 10 months

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seungcheol reading list / fic recs !

don't forget to like + reblog the fics that you like to support the authors <3

navigation

FICS ! ✧*

written by @cheolism :

In The Eye of The Beholder (smut but also fluffy and soft, boyfriend!cheol and he's such a simp) by

Couch Comfort (fluff)

The Great War (historical au, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers) by @amourcheol

written by @lovelyhan :

Down Bad (So So Bad) (friends to lovers, fluff, smut)

Thirst Trap (smut, fluff, established relationship)

Sonder (angst, smut, knight!cheol) by @jundundun

Gryffindor Captain (hogwarts au, angst, smut, one sided love) by @http-mianhae

written by @toruro :

Exes and Oh's (angst, smut, rebuilding relationship)

The Cake In The Back (smut, fluff, rich dilf!cheol)

All For You (smut, fluff, hurt/comfort) by @gfcheol

Push It Down (Sooner or Later It All Will Comes Out) Series by @dontflailmenow

Crossing Boundaries (smut, fluff, single dad au) by @wonusite

written by @duhnova :

A Witches Apothecary for All Your Desires and Needs (smut, angst, witch!au)

Who's in Control? (smut)

Setting The Mood (smut, fluff) by @playmetheclassics

Black Suit (smut, mafia boss!cheol) by @gyuranhae

Lover (smut, strangers to lovers, sugar daddy au) by @starlightxsvt

Terrifyingly Innocent The Series (smut) by @twogyuu

I Like You (smau with some written parts. fluff, angst, doctor!cheol x nurse!reader) by @taeyegu

Your Touch; My Lullaby (fluff, smut, angst) by @j6shua

After Class (smut, professor!cheol, with several continual parts) by @rubyreduji

Tomorrow Tonight (friends to lovers, angst, mutual pining) by @cheolbooluvr

Bite That Lip (smut, fluff, mild angst) by @beahae

Romance at Mistletoe Inn (smut, fluff) by @1-800-hwahui

written by @smileysuh :

Sapiosexual (smut, sugar daddy au)

Cherry Cheollie (smut)

written by @yoongiseesawmp3 :

Cupid (smut, brother's bestfriend!cheol)

Get You (fluff, neighbor!cheol)

Banana Pancakes (smut)

Reliable (smut, humor, bestfriends au) by @ncteez

Indulgence (smut, vampire!cheol) by @sluttywonwoo

Shiver Me Timbers! (smut, fantasy au, pirate captain!cheol x siren!reader) by @beefboyandbabygirl

Just Friends (smut, childhood friends to lovers, slowburn) by @lvscoups

Shiny Star (fluff, hurt comfort, university au) by @wonwoonlight

To Boil A Frog (fluffy, childhood acquaintances to lovers) by @seungkwansphd

When You Love Someone (angst, eventual fluff) by @shuahoonie

Exam Szn (smut, a bit fluff) by @azamf

11/10 (smut) by @bluejeanstrash

Track 1 ; Hotel (smut, heir!cheol, old money au) by @drunk-on-dk

Clouded (smut, slight fluff, established relationship, idol!au) by @hoshzone

It's Always Been You (smut, fluff) by @heartkyeom

Lusty Gallant (smut, roommates fwb au) by @onlyseokmins

The Devil Said... (angst, smut, half demon!cheol) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

DRABBLES / SCENARIOS ! ✧*

Wine & Dined (fluff, smut, established relationship) by @celestiababie

Silky (fluff, smut) by @playmetheclassics

Driving Me Crazy (smut, bandmate!cheol) by @1-800-hwahui

11.00 PM (smut) by @celestialpearls

dry humping (smut) @sluttyminghao

written by @idyllic-ghost :

birthday sex (smut)

written by @lovelyhan :

when you're having a bad day (soo fluffy)

forced orgasm (smut)

you sound pretty hot when you shut up (smut)

written by @toruro :

take care (smut)

escapades (smut)

written by @onlyhuis :

wedding night (smut, fluff)

more please (smut)

written by @yikesmary :

three : he falls first (fluff)

pregnancy cravings (fluff)

Insomnia (smut) by @jaestrz

written by @bluejeanstrash :

manspread (smut)

giving road head (smut)

unholy (smut) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

6.29 am (fluff, established relationship) by @ksywoo

ice cream (smut, fluff) by @/seonghwalogy

baguette (fluff) by @/bwinnies

possessive cheol (smut) by @/meltwonu

fwb with cheol (smut) @/wonwoonlight

written by @/fairyhaos :

what's good? (fluff) by

4.15 am (fluff)

5.02 am (fluff, dad!cheol) by @/slytherinshua

winter (smut, husband!cheol) by @/xmyunghoe

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hier--soir · 5 months

Text

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

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

Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still nothing.

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

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

First from yesterday afternoon:

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

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

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A family matter?

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

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

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

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

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

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

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

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

Where were you today?

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

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

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel says your name then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hungry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I?” you scoff.

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

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

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

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

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

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

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

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

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

“Please say somethin’.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk to me.”

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

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

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

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

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should rest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, cowboy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

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

“I could get used to this.”

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

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

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

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

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

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

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

“Then what?”

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

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

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

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

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

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

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

thank you for reading! x

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

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lou-struck · 3 months

Text

Made with Love Part 1

Obey Me Brothers and Datables x reader

Part 1

MASTERLIST COMING SOON!

~After Luke uses a bowl from Solomon's Lab to make some Cookies for the Valentines Day party. Everyone starts acting a bit... Love Drunk.

a/n: I hope you guys like this little Valentine's Day series! If you want to be tagged in part 2 Comment Below!

Introduction:

As the Angel reaches up on his tiptoes to reach an upper kitchen cabinet, Luke's little white beret slips from his white blonde head. The sweet smell of angelic sugar cookies wafts through the air around him from the dozens of batches he has made today. From what he has 'sampled' earlier, he can tell that if he were to wrap them up right now, even Barbatos would have seconds. But he wants to frost and decorate the little heart-shaped cookies with a whipped-cloud icing you like before bringing them to Diavolo's castle for his Valentine's Day celebration.

The party may be small, but it was planned especially with you in mind.

Although he was up in the Celestial Realm running an errand for Michael, Luke heard all about the little prank that Solomon played on Simeon and the others about some evil, human-world monster called Cupid that was trying to steal you away.

You were never in any real danger, but he and everyone else agreed that the prank made the day less enjoyable for you. Which is the last thing anyone wanted.

Meetings were held, contracts were signed, and it was agreed that for this Valentine's Day, there would be no funny business.

Today has to be perfect for you, so his cookies need to be frosted.

Fueled by his good-natured desire to make you something sweet, Luke is able to reach just a bit higher, his fingertips grabbing the ceramic mixing bowl by its patterned edge.

This victory is short-lived, however, as it slips past his butter-coated fingers and thuds to the ground, the heavy bowl splitting in two.

The broken bowl in front of him causes the Angel to feel a bit distressed. Why couldn't he be bigger?

To clean up the fallen pieces.

But as his kitchen timer takes down slowly he realizes that he's running out of time. He has to get the frosting made soon.

"Where are all the other mixing bowls?" he wonders aloud as he looks through the other cabinets and dishwasher, finding none.

He knows that there are more than just the ones he has been using for the batter. But where are they?

He puffs out his little cherub cheeks with a pout as he tries to think where they could've gone.

And then, it hits him.

Solomon…

The Sorcerer has a habit of 'borrowing' things from the kitchen, bringing them into his Lab, hoarding them, and not bringing them back for weeks. The batch of cookies in the oven only has a few minutes left, so he wastes no time scampering up to the Lab to retrieve the stolen mixing bowls.

Thankfully, the dark wooden door to the Lab is unlocked, and he slips inside. Every step is anxious for the little Angel. You never know what is crawling about Solomon's Lab.

This time, the air is unusually sweet, like cotton candy and pomegranate seeds.

The mouthwatering smell has the angeling giggling to himself, although Solomon can't cook an edible meal to save his life, some of the spells and potions he cooks up can be classified as tasty.

From the corner of his eye, Luke sees a small stack of his mixing bowls on the countertop. But as he gets close, he sees that they are completely filthy, covered in remnants of some experiment.

Luke knows not to try to touch those ones; after all, the last time he tried to clean some of Solomon's dishes, he ended up cursed with webbed feet for a whole day.

As he shudders from the memory, he spots a light blue bowl on the edge of another table.

It's his favorite bowl; this one would be perfect for him to use to make the frosting.

The best part is it looks clean.

BUZZ...

The sharp ringing of the kitchen timer causes the little Angel to jump as he hastily grabs the bowl and runs downstairs so his cookies won't burn.

But in his rush to prevent what he thinks would be the day's biggest disaster, he fails to notice the small layer of shimmery glaze that has gathered at the bottom of the bowl.

There is Love in the dark, chilly air of the devildom as you make your way to the Demon Lord's castle. Your feet are not quite running, but they step with an embarrassed quickness,

The Valentine's Day outfit that Asmodeus picked out for you earlier had caused a few delays, so now you worry you are running late to the party.

How can one shirt have so many different types of buttons and zippers?

A part of you wonders if the Avatar of Lust had given you this particular outfit to distract you and prevent you from leaving for the party with the other brothers.

Your hands pat the back pockets of your jeans again as you feel the solid outline of your DDD through the fabric and sigh in relief. Barbatos wrote on the invitations that bringing the device was necessary for today's events since he had planned a few party games that required them.

It's then you notice a little figure dressed in white slowly making his way up the path just ahead of you.

Luke's steps are as small as he awkwardly carries a large container. You are about to ask him if he needs any help, but the look of determination on his face tells you not to try and take it from him, so instead, you raise a friendly hand and call after him.

When he sees you, he stands up a bit straighter.

"Mc, Happy Valentine's Day." he beams.

"Thank you, Luke." you look down at the box curiously. "Whatcha got there?"

The little Angel's cheeks turn a bit pink as he looks shyly away from you. "I made angelic sugar cookies for the party.

Your grin is elated at his words. "Those are so good. That was very thoughtful of you, Luke."

He perks up like a little dog at your compliment. "It was nothing, I made that frosting you like too, but I didn't have all the ingredients I needed, so only a few were frosted."

"I'm sure everyone will love them." you smile purposely, making your strides small so the little guy can keep up with you. "Did you remember to bring your DDD for the party games?"

His blue eyes widen in shock, and he looks at you with an expression of pure distress. "Oh no, I knew I was forgetting something."

"Since you have that big box of cookies, I can just run back to Purgatory Hall and grab it for you." you offer with a kind smile. "Where did you leave it."

He looks at you gratefully, and his shoulders relax as much as he can with that huge box of cookies in his hands. "You would really do that for me? Thank you, you're the best Mc; I think I left it on the kitchen counter."

Sounds good, I'll see you in a little bit." you smile. As you turn around, you remember one more thing. "Make sure to save a cookie for me."

"Don't worry," he calls back happily. "I will."

The enormous doors part for Luke in an almost haunting manner as he approaches the castle door. He fights the shudder as he steps inside, clutching his box of cookies with a death grip as his ears pick up the faint sound of conversation.

He follows it closer and closer to the banquet hall, where he was told the party would be held.

As the sounds grow louder, he can make out the excited rambling of Leviathan, the loud and merry laughter of Diavolo, and the animated squealing of Asmodeus.

Although they are demons, their happy chatter soothes his nerves as he pushes open the door with his shoulder.

The conversation in the room dies as the door creaks open. And when he steps out from behind the wood, he notes that everyone has been staring at him. When everyone sees it's just him, they quickly return to their usual conversations.

"I'm glad you could make it, Luke," Barbatos says with a polite smile, being the first one to recover from the momentary disappointment.

Simeon approaches the smaller Angel friendlily, placing a hand on top of Luke's head and ruffling his hair. "It seems everyone heard you approaching and assumed you were Mc."

"It could've been." he mumbles embarrassedly, "I had forgotten something back at home, and they offered to get it for me so I could bring over the cookies."

"Cookies?" Beel says, his head snapping towards Luke with gluttonous intent.

Luke's fondness for the Avatar of Gluttony's interest in his sweets causes him to smile and place the box on the table.

He removes the first layer of beautifully frosted cookies for all to see. "Yeah, I made these for the party. That's why I was running late today.

"Smells good," Beel mutters, taking a slow step toward the tray of cookies. Luke is so proud of the attention he garnered that he doesn't realize that everyone else is staring at the plate as well, enthralled by the sweet smell.

"Ohhh, they're soooo cute." Asmodeus gushes, holding up the heart-shaped cookie with his freshly manicured nails. The little red heart decals stand out on the glossy pink background.

Lucifer clears his throat. "May I try one?" he asks, "I do not have the biggest sweet tooth, but since it is a Holiday, I may as well."

"S-sure." the Angel replies, as everyone reaches for a cookie. There are only a few left on the plate, so he decides to wait to have one himself until you get here.

"Thank you, Luke, these look delicious," Barbatos says, removing his white glove before touching the gooey sweet.

Luke watches as everyone takes a bite of the cookies, his heart feeling full when he hears the sounds of approval as they chew.

"Wow," these are really good," Levi says, being the first to try to take another cookie.

"Wait," he says quickly, snatching the plate off the table. "These are Mc's favorite; let's wait until they get back to eat another one.

Lucifer giggles and stumbles back clumsily. "Yay, Mc's coming…" The dreamy lift in his tone makes Luke's eyes go wide in alarm.

Something is wrong.

Are they drunk???

"Mc…Cutie Pie." Satan hums; the usual sharp intelligence in his expression is gone and replaced with giddy lovesickness.

There is a haze to the Prince's eyes and a ruddiness to his cheeks as he nods thoughtfully. "I'll bring this plate up to my chambers. I want to feed them every bite myself.

"No way," Levi says way too confidently. "If anyone will be alone in a room with Mc. It will be me.

Barbaots stretches his arms out lethargically. "I'm… going to lay down in my room." he yawns. "Tell Mc to come to my room when they get here."

"You're tired, Barbatos?" Belphegor asks, the Avatar of Sloth looking wide awake."

"Yer not?" Mammon slurs, his pupils dilated. Luke turns and looks into the Avatar of Greed's eyes and sees that his pupils are now heart-shaped.

"How could I be?" the youngest of the seven answers. "Mc is coming soon, and I don't want to waste my time sleeping when I can be looking at them.

"Do you think Mc would give me a piggyback ride?" Beel hums absentmindedly.

"Course they would." Mammon gushes. "Mc is super strong and pretty and smart. And….~" his love-sick rambling is cut off by a dark chuckle from Simeon.

"No way," he coos. "You would crush them if you jumped on their back. You clearly don't know how to treat someone as special as Mc.

"And you do?" Levi laughs.

Simeon's smile is sinful. "Let's just say once I had my turn with them, Mc won't be thinking about any of you."

"That's so inappropriate." Asmodeus gasps with wide eyes. "I-i can't have you speaking about Mc like that." he covers his ears with his hands to block out the sound.

"Some Avatar of Lust you are," Simeon smirks, leaning in and using his writer's brain to get a bit descriptive with what he would like to do to you when you get to the party.

"What is wrong with you guys?" Luke stammers as he tries to block out Simeon's sinful words.

With everyone else thinking about nothing but you, Solomon shyly taps a rather distressed Luke on the shoulder. His cheeks are a soft shade of pink as he stares down at the floor, "I-i think I know what is happening…"

~Why was in those cookies??? Find out what happens next in part 2

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me #Diavolo x reader #Barbatos x reader #Simeon x reader #Solomon x reader #Lucifer x reader #x reader

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runawayolives · 4 months

Note

So for baby daddy Nate, does reader go to school visibly pregnant? Or once she starts showing she does virtual school?

Thank you for the ask, anon!

So this is not that, but something I had in mind kind of in the same topic.

This belongs to the series Baby Daddy

Maddy took a deep breath while laying down in her backyard, running her hand over her face.

"How is college application going?"

"Nonexistent."

She turned around to face her slightly pregnant friend. "What do you mean nonexistent?"

She shrugged, replying with a dry tone. "It means I'm 17 and pregnant, and I don't want to be a college student and a mother at the same time."

"So? Your parents offered all the help to raise it, you can go to college and during the weekends be with it." Maddy tried to hide the distaste she felt towards the small thing currently existing in her friends abdomen, seeing it as the biggest impediment in both their lives.

"It isn't an it anymore it's a she."

"I don't give a fuck what it is, what I care about is that you're not going to college because of it." She turned her head around to face her friend, practically seeing smoke coming out of her ears and nose.

"Mads, she isn't the guilty one, you said it, my parents offered to raise her."

"Then why are you not going?"

"I don't want someone else raising my child, I don't want her to see her childhood as a period where I was too preoccupied studying to be her mother." This time she really looked at Maddy. She looked at her as if gazing into her eyes would connect with her soul. She wasn't just looking at her, she was trying to explain in a too deeply way her reasons that had already become a stable decision.

"She won't remember."

"She will know eventually."

"If you don't go now, you will never go."

"Lorelei Gilmore did it."

"Fuck her." Y/N broke off eye contact to laugh. She liked Maddy because her abrasiveness did just that, in high tension moments, it acted as a terminator, making it all disappear ear. "Don't laugh, I didn't say that for you to laugh."

"Why are you so mad about this, Mads?" Her friend scoffed, looking away, as if the racional answer was somehow in the clouds or the sky.

"What about me?" Y/N was too confused by the question to read her friends body language.

"I mean, you're like the number one not fan of the baby, but I guess you can be the godmother. Or you could learn how to cook and we could start an inn and raise a bratty and train-wreck kid." Maddy stood up, still not turning around to face her friend.

"What about me, Y/N?"

"Mads, I don't understand what you're asking." She finally turned around, facing her friend. Y/N could now see her face, red and with a few angry tears falling down her cheeks.

"What about me, Y/N? If you don't make it out, what does that mean about me? If this has happened to you, there's no hope for me."

"Maddy..."

"No, don't sugar coat it. I was rooting for you, I was. My mother was proud of me whenever she saw us together, she could see me actually doing something with my life. And now you're here, giving up, ruining your life for a baby you haven't planned and stuck to a guy that is set on ruining your life. If that's what you get, I don't want to know what's waiting for me." She took a deep breath and kneeled down beside her friend. "You've given up on yourself, but I won't. I won't because I refuse to believe this is all there's going to be to your life."

Y/N leaned forward to hug her friend, squishing her as if that would make all her worries evaporate. "I have not given up on you, Maddy Perez, and I'll never will."

They both stood there, for as long as they needed, crying and sometimes laughing, trying to find humor in their seemingly dooming predicament.

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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 days

Text

Gentleman part 4🌼💌

AU Geneticist CEO!Miguel O'Hara x Fem Intern College Student! Reader

Synopsis: Noir speeds steadily towards your sugar daddy's grand estate in the countryside after rescuing you from the college football game from hell... Word count 6.9k

A/N: I'm so grateful for the support on this fic and others 🖤 thank you for your patience. 🖤🥰🫶🏽 This art by blahhberry on insta is Dr. O'Hara's face claim btw. 🥰 I put my whole heart into this chapter so pretty pls let me know what you think 😁🥰

CW: MINORS DNI, SMUT(P IN V, FINGERING, ORAL F RECEIVING), SUGAR DADDY RELATIONSHIP (BOSS/EMPLOYEE), POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, OOC MIGUEL, LEGAL AGE GAP, READER IS MID-LATE TWENTIES ISH, MIGUEL LATE THIRTIES, TALK OF ASSAULT, DRUNKENNESS, COMFORT, FLUFF, INSECURE READER, LITTLE ANGST

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

------

You wake up from your nap as you hear the sound of gravel crackling under the tires of the Mercedes as you come up to a long dirt road. Your eyes widen as you approach a tall, ornately crafted black iron gate nestled between two large trees. Noir leans out of the window, punching in an access code and waving a badge with an elaborate two step verification process before the gate opens slowly towards the car with a loud creak and a groan, a small cloud of dust being kicked up in its wake. Noir drives forward, down a long, winding driveway.

You squint and your mouth falls open at the sight in front of you. Seemingly endless expansive miles of greenery in what appears to be a private vineyard and gardens, the bushes neatly trimmed and groomed with tiny flowers blossoming from the branches, vines weaving neatly in intricate patterns up a gargantuan, ivory colored estate with a black roof and dim lights, a gorgeous stone fountain with teal lights running in the front of it.

But, Noir makes a right hand turn, traveling down another twin driveway that runs further down, a little deeper into the trees. When you finally reach the end of it, there's a comparatively smaller, but still gorgeous farm style country house nestled in the middle of several tall trees.

Noir pulls into the garage, your eyes widening at the two fancy vintage sports cars and the two private golf carts parked in the other vacant spots. Noir gets out, opening the backseat door and helping you. You stumble, your vision still chaotic from the leftover booze in your system, holding onto Noir as he coaxes you inside the house.

Your mouth falls open as you enter the gorgeous home. Polished wooden floors and warm cream colored walls are the interior. You take a deep breath, the smell of fresh linen and florals flooding the house mixed with the crisp air of the trees outside.

"Welcome to the guest house, madam." Noir says with a hum. "Here, remove your shoes please. All outside shoes except bedroom slippers should be kept in this room."

He helps you pull off your dirty shoes, leaving them in the mudroom next to the garage door as he brings you further inside.

There's a huge, beautiful kitchen with a large island in the middle with granite countertops, a large bowl of fresh lemons as the centerpiece, giving an air of zest from the delectable citrus. Your socks gently glide along the furnished shiny wooden floors, reminding you of when you'd slide around the house in your socks as a little kid.

Noir brings you to the living room, an enormous TV mounted on the wall above a stone fireplace, a couple of candles burning quietly on the mantle giving it a peaceful glow. He sits you on a large, cushy sectional couch that could seat a dozen people with tons of fancy decorative pillows with gray accents, throwing a fuzzy blanket over your legs and turning on the TV to your favorite comfort series.

"Getting you water and food, miss." Noir gives you a thumbs up as he disappears into the kitchen. "Madge! You here?"

A faint call comes from outside. You sit up on the couch, craning your neck a little bit. A small stout woman is working in the gardens outside. You stand up, walking to the window, your mouth falling open again as you notice a gorgeous square swimming pool with a connected hot tub, colorful lights illuminating the bottom of it.

There are several rows of fruit trees: apples, peaches, pears, nectarines, and apricots, and a vegetable garden with tomatoes, eggplant, carrots, pumpkin, squash, cauliflower, potatoes, zucchini, cucumbers, and radishes where Madge is kneeling, standing up and brushing the dirt off her apron as she brings a basket of freshly harvested veggies inside.

"What's on the menu tonight, Mrs. Madge?" Noir asks the jolly cook/housekeeper pleasantly, starting to fiddle with a Rubik's cube he takes out of his trenchcoat pocket as he leans casually against the kitchen countertop.

"Homemade Tomato Bisque, Copycat Cheesy Wisconsin Cauliflower soup from Zupas, and Chicken Orzo with bread bowls!"

"Mm-mm! Sounds delightful as always, Mrs. Madge. Just letting you know we have a guest tonight." Noir nods in your direction.

"Oh!"

Madge turns to look at you, offering you a friendly handshake. "Pleased to meet you, miss."

"This is her, by the way." Noir says, holding his hand against his mouth as though he was telling her a secret.

"Ohhh?! Well in that case welcome, welcome!" Madge bubbles with a huge grin. "I'm so happy to finally meet you. The doctor is quite fond of you...I've heard nothing but glowing things. Please, make yourself at home. Oh, careful dearie!"

She rushes to your side as you stumble a little, still in a daze from earlier. Noir signals to Madge discreetly that you've been drinking.

"Ohhh...well in that case we better get some soup in your system ASAP. Come with me."

She leads you back to the couch, putting each of your legs up on the cushions so you are reclined back, stacking pillows behind you and tucking you in once again, making sure the TV is at a good volume.

Noir returns with some ice water, and Madge reappears a short time later with a tray with a brimming bread bowl of your favorite soup out of the three she cooked, a slice of freshly baked french bread for dipping, a small bowl of the reddest strawberries you've ever seen, and a small garden salad with the freshly picked vegetables on the side.

You hum graciously, and thank her enthusiastically, each sip of the divine soup bringing you slowly back to life by the spoonful as you watch TV, the agonizing ache in your head slowly dissipating.

Noir sits in one of the leather recliners with his soup and his Rubik's cube, eating silently for a bit before he checks in with you.

"You feeling better, missy?"

You nod, pressing a finger to your lips as you swallow a bite of the French bread.

"M-much better...thank you."

Noir nods, tweaking one of the sides of the Rubik's cube. "You gave me quite the scare back there, miss. Those bastards at the game went too far this time."

You hold back a shudder, your head pounding at the cloudy reminder. "Yeah....I'm sorry you had to be in the middle of it. It's all my fault."

"Now..." Noir shakes his head, setting down his Rubik's cube. "It is not your fault, missy. Being assaulted is never the victim's fault. I'm just doing my job. To be honest, you're one of the first girls the doctor has had that have actually treated me like a human being instead of a glorified chauffeur or personal assistant."

You faintly smile at that, not too keen on hearing about Miguel's exes, but your ego slightly boosted from Noir's glowing praise of you.

"R-really?"

"Yes ma'am." Noir says with a hum, taking a generous slurp of his soup. "You are an absolute gem to be around, miss. I think you underestimate yourself and discount your worth too much. The other ladies were usually pleasant in the beginning, but, that quickly wore off over time and I kind of became more of a caddie they could boss around."

You nod, eyes sympathetic towards Noir.

"Well, if I ever become bossy or short with you, I give you full permission to say, 'you know what y/n, you're being a bitch.'"

Noir gives a low chuckle. "I could never refer to you in that way, miss. But, I appreciate it. I'll definitely correct you, but perhaps using a milder way of putting it."

He grins and turns his attention to the screen. "So, what are we watching this evening, madam?"

"Umm, looks like an older movie, Casablanca, I think it's called?"

"Ahhh, good taste, madam. I love this one." Noir sets his empty bowl aside, reclining in his seat as he watches the movie next to you.

"What are you kids watching?" Madge pokes her head in with a smile.

"One of the greatest romances of all time: Casablanca, Mrs. Madge." Noir hums. "Come on, pop a squat and stay a while."

"Oh I'd love to!" Madge beams at the kind invitation and smile you offer her, scooting over a bit on the couch as all three of you enjoy your evening movie and warm soup.

-----

Hours later in the middle of the night, a black sports car rolls in the driveway. The hum from the garage opening doesn't disturb your slumber on the couch as Miguel arrives home. He steps out, rubbing his shoes on the mat before slipping them off and venturing inside, still clad in his dress clothes with a tight dress shirt layered underneath a black cashmere sweater with tight dress slacks that highlighted his strong thighs.

He does his usual visual scan of his home as he enters making sure everything is in order, giving a warm smile to Madge who's doing inventory in the kitchen.

"Evening, Mrs. Madge." Miguel says pleasantly, opening the fridge and grabbing a fancy artesian bottled water. He takes a generous sip, sighing as the cold water wakes him up. "You're not staying too late are you? On your way out soon?"

"Yes, doctor." Madge hums, clicking her pen, setting down her clipboard on the countertop.

Miguel nods, taking one more sip. "Is she here?"

"On the couch." Madge nods in the direction of the living room. "Poor thing passed out after dinner. I think the soup did her good after that awful day she had."

Miguel feels the rage rushing back into his body at the reminder. He had spent nearly an hour on the phone with the campus police and the dean of the university. Justice was going to be temporarily delayed, due to the ongoing investigation that was just opened and your testimony still needed to fill in any gaps. He knew that would be something quite heavy for you to deal with, and the most important thing for you to do now, would be to rest.

"Her room is ready then, all of the clothes and items I requested have been delivered?"

"Yes doctor." Madge answers. "Her closet is stocked with all the clothing items you sent me and jewelry , underwear, and shoes. The monogrammed towels and robe are in her bathroom. Fresh linens on the bed in the color you requested. I also made sure each bathroom has enough toiletries. I haven't had a chance to buy all of her beauty and makeup items she said she wanted just yet, since I didn't realize she was coming tonight, but Noir said he can do it in the morning after breakfast. Oh, and a fresh set of pajamas and slippers and her welcome presents on her bed for tonight."

"Good, good..." Miguel nods. "That should be just fine for now, thank you Madge. I do apologize for all the last minute list of things on short notice but thank you for getting everything together that you could."

Madge nods with a smile and goes speechless as Miguel slides her two envelopes, both containing checks with several thousand more dollars tacked on than normal.

"Your payday early." Miguel says with a smile. "Make sure Noir gets the other one for me, will you?"

"Oh doctor." Madge clutches the envelope to her chest with a sigh. "Bless you...no words just....just bless you so much. I'm so honored to work for you."

Miguel smiles, giving her a squeeze on the shoulder. "Pleasure's all mine, Madge. Thank you for everything you do for my family and for taking care of my girl tonight. I appreciate your service and your loyalty."

"Well, Doctor O'Hara you have this old lady's allegiance for life! Of course, of course! Please call me if you need anything. See you in the morning, Doctor!" Madge chimes as she walks out the door, jingling her keys.

Miguel watches her leave fondly then sighs and rolls up his sleeves as he approaches you on the couch, turning on the lamp. The dim, yellow light illuminating the soft burning mocha of his eyes as he looks lovingly upon your sleeping silhouette on his couch. He crosses over to you quietly, sitting down next to you, taking care not to shift the cushions too much under his weight and turning off the TV that was still running.

You groan a little, shaking your head in your sleep and your eyes flickering open slowly at the feeling of a man's hand stroking your jaw, your eyes elated when you realize it's Miguel.

"Hi, sweetheart." He whispers, giving you a smile. He leans down, positioning himself over you, inhaling as he pulls you into a tight hug. You feel your body flood with happiness as you nuzzle into his chest, intoxicating woodsy cologne wafting from his neck.

"Missed you so so much..." You mumble, the cashmere of his sweater tickling your cheek, your tone rasped from sleep.

"I missed you more, cariño..." He holds you tighter for another moment in silence before he pulls away a little bit, still keeping his face close to yours as he lets you lay back on the pillow, keeping his knuckles underneath your chin.

"I'm sorry to wake you." He says kindly, eyes raking over you for signs of hurt. "I just need to make sure you're okay."

You release a shaky breath, your body shivering at the memory. "I...I don't know. I mean, physically, I'm a lot better now...I just..."

Miguel holds your hands in his, occasionally letting his palms brush over your forearms with tender strokes. "It's okay. You don't need to figure out anything right now, cariño...." He gestures for you to come closer.

"I've taken the liberty of speaking to the police and the dean of the university myself. I will make sure those roommates of yours never come near you ever again."

You feel a chill down your spine. Even though you were angry and hurt, you felt nervous at the idea of them being punished. Surely now you would forever be blacklisted in their minds, a permanent subject of their torture from here on out, blaming you for their consequences despite them being a direct result of their actions.

"Miguel, you don't need to do all that..." You say cautiously. "I mean, I really appreciate you having my back and all, it's just, I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of the semester. If they didn't like me before they definitely aren't going to now..." You shudder at the thought.

"Let me worry about that." Miguel says firmly, resting both of his hands on yours. "You won't need to worry about what happens next or seeing them again because I'm going to keep you here with me. You'll live here in the guest house until I know for certain that it's safe to send you back to the university."

"Oh..." You shake your head slowly. "No....no Miguel, I couldn't do that to you. I don't want to be a burden...."

"Stop."

Miguel silences you with a kiss, releasing a deep sigh, the chill from his bottled water brushing gently against your lips.

"Eh....sorry...what I mean is, I already have arranged for everything you need to stay here. I would much rather know that you're safe with me than send you back there. And you are never a burden to me."

Before you can say anything again, he pulls you back in for another kiss, making this one last a tad longer than the first, you feel yourself melt when his hand grabs your waist with the other one holding the back of your neck so you could be pressed a little tighter against him.

Miguel feels a little fire burning in him, but he knows he needs to be patient, especially with everything you went through tonight. However you feel yourself giving into your desires, the feeling of his lips on yours leaving you with a hungry sensation, having him so close to you and the way he touched you too electric to stop.

The next time your lips meet, you prod your tongue gently in the open space between his lips. Miguel groans softly, unable to turn you down and opens his mouth, permitting you to explore it with your tongue. His breath is fresh, the unique, succulent taste of his mouth paired with his cologne just steering you further down a road of temptation.

Miguel is a little flustered, having underestimated that the intensity of the fire burning within you was actually the same, if not bigger than the one inside of him. He chuckles softly with his forehead against yours,

"Now..." he raises one of his hands, laying the back of his knuckles against your cheek, his thumb delicately swiping the area under your eyes. "We should probably get you in bed, yeah?"

You exhale softly, "Okay."

Miguel smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips and sweeping you up into his arms without warning.

"Miguel?" You giggle at the gesture. Miguel smirks as he approaches the staircase, walking up it with you cradled against his chest. When you reach the top of the staircase, you notice the living room where you just were is visible on the other side. Miguel makes a left, walking to the end of the hallway, carefully setting you down before opening the door.

You feel your breath get taken away as you look at the large king sized bed, a thin white canopy drapes across all four corners of the bedposts, making it look like a luxurious cloud. Across from the bed is a fancy modern fireplace behind a panel of glass with a shiny marble mantle piece and another large television mounted above it.

On the far end of the room are French doors with glass panels covered by cream colored curtains that lead to a balcony with a small bistro patio set with two chairs and a table, perfect for reading or a cup of tea that overlooks the garden and swimming pool.

Miguel smiles at your reaction, watching you as you marvel at the beautiful room before taking you by the hand to show you the rest of it.

"Here is your bathroom..." He opens a door that's to the left of the fireplace. Your mouth falls open yet again at the open space, white marbled floors with a counter to match, a vanity with an ornate mirror, a shower with cream colored tiles and a waterfall shower head, an ivory golden claw foot bathtub and a separate water closet for the toilet which came with a bidet.

Miguel opens the drawers of the vanity and the bathroom sink, showing you where all the toiletries were: your favorite shampoo, hair conditioner, other hair care products you needed, as well as bars of soap that were both scented and non scented depending on your preference, moisturizer, makeup wipes, toothpaste, and a new fancy electric toothbrush that was charging next to the sink.

"Madge and Noir will have the rest of your beauty products you wrote down by tomorrow morning, as well as all of your medications you need." He says with a smile.

"And now back to the room..." He shuts off the bathroom light and guides you to the door to the right of the fireplace this time, leading to a walk in closet.

There's a gorgeous diamond chandelier on the ceiling, the far end of the room has a ceiling to floor mirror, on either side are racks of clothes. Dresses, sweaters, blouses, skirts, pants, even work clothes for school or work and something for every occasion, all matching the descriptions and brands you listed in your contract.

There's racks with several pairs of shoes on display nearly arranged ranging from fancy heels, to beachy sandals, casual street footwear, and boots. In the middle of the room is a cream colored ottoman sitting bench which is pushed up against one of the biggest jewelry cabinets you've ever seen.

When you open it, there's several black velvet rows with little LED lights that highlight the pieces on display. There are four elegant Cartier watches, Alex and Ani bangles with all your favorite charms you pre-selected that fit your personality and aesthetic, more Pandora bracelets and necklaces like the one Miguel originally gifted you that you can swap out depending on your mood, Swarovski earrings and necklaces adorning the holders, and a variety of Dior rings in the styles you selected.

You're damn near in tears from all of this attention, all of this generosity bestowed on you. Turning this night around from one of the worst to one of the best you've had in your entire life. Feeling like you must be in heaven, must be dreaming and not sure what you did to be so lucky. You turn around, jumping into Miguel's arms.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you...." you whisper, closing your eyes.

Miguel's eyes widen in surprise at first, but feels his heart melt as he bends down, bringing his hands to the back of your thighs, warmth pooling in his belly when you wrap your legs around him like a koala as he carries you to the bed. He gently sets you down on it. You feel the mattress dip below you gently. You run one of your hands along it, the fibers massaging against your skin.

You can already tell this bed will probably pose a huge threat of making you late in the mornings, with how heavenly and soft it feels. Nothing like the stiff, cardboard, twin sized mattress in your dorms that had been used and recycled between God knows how many users.

Miguel smiles, leaning over you to hand you his housewarming gift neatly packaged in a gorgeous gift basket tied with a red bow. Silk pink pajamas monogrammed with your initials that matches the robe in your bathroom, with fuzzy white slippers, as well as chocolate, sparkling champagne, bottled water, mints, Burt's Bees Chapstick, lotion, and some healthy chips.

"Here..." He pulls out one more bottle from the gift basket of room spray, giving a small spritz to the bed.

"For your pillow." He grins.

"It's lavender and vanilla, a nighttime medley. I use the same kind for my daughter, Gabi, on her pillows... It's helped her stay calm and sleep much better at night. Let me know if it helps with your headache." He lovingly strokes your cheek, setting the spray on your bedside table.

"You can put anything you'd like in here." He opens the bedside drawers of the nightstand. "There's a Kindle and iPad for your personal use. They are yours to have. My mother wanted you to have her Kindle because she went and bought herself a new one for Christmas." He chuckles.

"But this one is still extremely nice. Feel free to download whatever books you like to read on it. I trust you not to go too crazy." He winks.

"There's also tissues, allergy medicine, some melatonin, vitamins, spare chargers if you need them, the remote to the TV is also in here, along with the one that controls the temperature, lights, and humidifier. I just ask that you be conservative with the temperature changes. Usually around 70-72 degrees is more than comfortable for this room."

He brings his hands to your thighs, his smile gradually melting, eyes going a little half lidded as he runs them slowly up and down.

"Anything...else I can do for you before I let you go to sleep, love....?"

At this point, you don't care about your headache. You just want him. Right now. After receiving this absolute princess treatment and pretending to ignore all of the lingering tension between you two, it felt more than right to spend a little more time with him tonight. The dim lights and the luxurious room and mansion in the middle of his countryside property was just pushing you closer and closer to him by the minute.

"You're not staying with me...?" You whisper, a faint tease to your voice.

Miguel gives you a shadow of a smirk, letting his hands run a little further up your thighs, coming to very gently grip over the curve of your ass.

"I'll be in the room across the hall..." He says gently. "But..." He leans his face closer to you, lightly pressing his forehead against yours. "I can stay with you, if you wish."

You exhale softly as you feel his hands start to knead the plump flesh. "Yes please..."

He smiles, his eyes closed with his forehead still pressed against yours. He softly lifts your chin with his fingers, bringing your face to look at him. The look he's giving you could pretty much make you fall in love with him instantly.

Soft, silky orbs of the most decadent chocolate brown lovingly staring back into yours, with the faintest hint of hunger, something seductive and fiery that he was holding back behind them. You were more than curious to find out.

His lips part and he leans in, softly leaving his breath in your mouth, his lips barely ghosting over yours,

"Dime exactamente todo lo que quieres... ahora." He purrs.

You moan softly, tangling your fingers in his hair, making him sharply inhale more oxygen to his lungs, your body language pushing him dangerously close to the edge.

"Miguel...."

"Tell me....exactly, everything you want me to do, right now, beautiful....." He repeats, his voice hovering above a whisper. "I won't break the rules unless I have your clear, absolute consent...." He runs both palms against the side of your neck.

"Hmmm...? Dime, cariño...." (Tell me dear)

You feel your face get hot, biting your lip as you look up into his beautiful face. "Stay with me tonight..."

"And...?" He whispers with a smile, tickling your cheek.

"Make love to me..."

Miguel feels his body practically light on fire. He knew damn well that's what he was hoping for but hearing you say it out loud just made his excitement triple by the minute.

"Yeah....?" He stops smiling, biting his lip as he gently and ever so softly squeezes your cheeks between his fingers.

"Want me to fuck you, pretty girl....?" A lustful switch activates in his brain. He clenches his teeth hungrily.

"Please..."

He leans in, pressing sweet kisses to your neck, you groan and let your head fall back, giving him more access to your throat and chest, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He nuzzles his face into you, full lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hands run up and down your shoulders and arms.

"Have you done this before, my love....?"

"Mmm..." Your face is warm again as you nod slowly at him.

"I-I have..."

Miguel smiles, leaning in to kiss you passionately, sliding his tongue into your mouth, his hand grasping your chin, holding you still so he can make it deep, a subtle demonstration of his claim over you.

"Have you ever been with a man like me?" He asks softly.

You exhale carefully, voice slightly quivering. "N-No...."

He hums at this, a little smugness in his tone. "Well...if you're still sure, baby.... I'd love to show you....what it's like...to be with me. I'll show you just how a pretty thing like you should be treated..."

Your body is on the verge of exploding. "....Yes.....?"

"Yes, lovely girl..."

He smirks as he gently rubs his nose against yours, pausing for a moment when he notices your jacket. It's not in line with the usual style of clothes you wear. His brow furrows curiously as he tugs at it with his fingers.

"Whose is this?" He asks in a low tone, a slight hint of sternness.

"Oh-um..." Your face gets hot. "T-the guy at the game. Made me wear it. I was freezing. I'm, I'm so sorry...I should've said no...."

Miguel feels a slight annoyance at this, but he keeps his voice low, keeping a handle on his emotions for your sake. "You know my rules cariño..."

You bite your lip, stressed that you've upset him and killed the mood completely. "I know, I know, I'm so sorry Miguel...."

Miguel hums, slowly starting to unzip the jacket. "I know you are, baby...." He pauses as he watches the zipper coast downwards, letting the anticipation build for a moment.

"S'alright...." He breathes slowly, brushing his lips against your ear.

"S'not your fault, my dear..."

Without warning he rips the jacket off of you. You squeak in alarm, he holds you tightly against him, his hands gripping your waist hard, fingers digging into your skin as he ravenously attacks your neck and bare shoulders with his lips, nipping at them with his teeth.

"From now on...the only clothes that I will rip off your body...are the ones I buy you. Not any other man's. Understand?"

He takes your cheeks between his fingers, roughly bringing your gaze up at his, the silk brown of his eyes now gleaming with fire.

"You're all mine..." He whispers.

You shudder and moan softly, when you feel him grip your clothed pussy, the attention to the ache you felt all night long for him finally being satisfied with the warm grip of his hand.

He seems to take notice of your neediness as well, smirking as he moves his hand softly against your sex, his voice reducing to a purr with satisfaction at your weakness.

"See....you enjoy this yeah, my dirty girl...?"

He works his palm into a steady caress, the heel of his hand hitting against your clit. You let out a little whine.

"Shit....so sensitive....so weak to my touch...." He licks his lips, eyes drinking in every little shudder your body makes, coming to rest on your breasts.

"Miguel..." You're fighting to keep your eyes open, the pleasure coursing in your veins making them heavier than usual.

"That feels soooo good...."

Miguel smirks even wider, leaning in and continuing his trail of kisses on your neck, pausing to suck on your skin.

"Yeah....? Mmm good..... You deserve to feel good, cariño. Let me make you feel good...."

He lays you back on the bed, his hands dance underneath your shirt, another moan leaving your lips as the warmth from his palms make contact with your skin.

"Can I take this off, angel?"

You nod numbly, lifting your body and arms as he removes your shirt. He removes his sweater as well, unbuttoning his dress shirt halfway before he gets distracted by the goddess in front of him.

Miguel groans at your bare upper half, leaning in to lick and suck his way down the middle of your chest in the valley between your breasts, affectionately motorboating his face in between them and flicking your nipples with his tongue, leaving the sensitive buds perky before he coasts down to your soft stomach.

"Mmmm..." You arch your back, biting your lip as you give in to your own burning desire, letting yourself caress your breasts with your free hand while he indulges.

He chuckles against your skin, admiring how you're taking charge of your own pleasure, his eyes looking up at you from where his cheek is laid against your stomach, leaving soft kisses.

"That's a beautiful sight..."

He rubs his cheek against your stomach, pressing another soft kiss into it. "It's nice watching you enjoy yourself, baby. You drive me insane...."

He gently slides his fingers underneath the waistline of your pants.

"Open your legs..." He whispers.

You breathe deeply, letting your hand run softly, slowly down your body, giving your breast another tender squeeze on the way down, easing your knees apart.

"Lift your hips..."

You obey, your breath shuddering as he pulls your pants off your body, followed by your panties.

"God..." He groans. " Such a good girl...your pretty pussy's already wet for me...."

You gasp quietly as his fingers trace the top of your sex until they gently circle around your clit, softly pushing against it, as though it were a switch, your back arches and your mouth falls open, Miguel groaning above you.

"S'alright, beautiful...let me get you ready for me..."

He starts to softly, softly rotate two thick fingers inside your pussy, already wet with want, greedily welcoming any penetration as your walls envelope them, the soothing pitch of his voice arousing you, encouraging you to stretch yourself wider.

Miguel is impossibly turned on right now, using his free hand to unbuckle his belt and release his large cock from his boxers, allowing his aching length to flop against his stomach, angry tip blooming with precum already.

"Mig-"

He interrupts you with a soft kiss, making out with you passionately as his fingers curl and scissor within you, soft whimpers you leave behind in his mouth as your tongues slide and massage against one another.

He pauses and removes his fingers, the feeling within you empty for a moment as you catch your breath, but not for long as his mouth surrounds your pussy, his arms locking around your upper thighs as his tongue starts to lap up and down.

You pant, gazing up at the ceiling then down at him as you struggle to prop yourself up a little, your pretty lips open in a mixture of shock and pleasure as you watch him greedily lick and eat your pussy to his heart's content.

He moans at the taste, letting his tongue circle in a repetitive motion up and down as he nuzzles his face a little deeper into your warm cunt, your wetness transferring onto his whole face and nose as the tip of it prods at your clit.

You shudder and moan loudly, eyes shut as all you begin to focus on is the overwhelming wave of pleasure as you grind on his face, the way you can practically feel every creamy drop leak out of you and into his mouth as you fall apart underneath him.

No man has ever made you feel this damn good before. Never made you feel so womanly, so worshipped before tonight.

You lose yourself to the sensation of his tongue curling and rolling inside you, massaging and lingering in the plush spots that make your toes curl and flickers of light erupt your vision, letting yourself be completely vulnerable in this moment, alone, with him.

He studies you carefully, mind imprinting which angle of his tongue causes you to shudder the most, which soft spot inside your pussy makes you whimper the most desperately, memorizing your body as if it's a Bible as he continues eating you out on top of the master bed.

"That's it, almost there for me..." He licks your arousal off his lips, pussydrunk before reassuming his position.

"Dios, baby...those stupid little college boys can't make you feel this good, can they.....?" He smirks as he continues to lather your pussy with his warm tongue.

"N-No....only you baby...."

The knot in your stomach snaps and you feel your body turn to mush as your love seeps out of you, the sweet, sweet peak of arousal overcoming and absolutely wrecking you, sending shockwaves of overwhelming pleasure all through your mind and senses, lying there out of breath as Miguel pants, his soft stomach and dark happy trail with slightest hints of grey peppered in covered in a thick gloss of his beautiful sweat, a dazzling, satisfied smile on his face, pecs shiny and proud as his chest heaves up and down in simmering heat.

He peels off the rest of his shirt and clothes, leaving himself naked before you, the warm glow of the room making him look so godly, so entrancing under the scarce light as he positions himself above you, gently nudging your legs apart with his knees.

He leans in close, kissing you, your lips breaking apart a little from a sharp gasp you let out as you feel his fat tip massaging between your folds, the fullest part of the curve dipping in slightly, an agonizing tease.

"Miguel..." You whine.

"Cariño...?" He answers innocently with a smirk, as though he's completely oblivious to how much he's torturing you with not filling you up with his cock all the way.

"I need you..."

"That so, baby....? I'm enjoying this though...."

"Please..."

"I love hearing you beg, baby. It's so sweet..."

"Please, please fuck me Miguel..."

"Mmmmm...."

You both moan in sweet unison as he slides inside you completely.

"There...." He pants, hooking your thigh over his hip, squeezing it as he grips the headboard with the other. You cry out loudly for him, running your hands all along his dense muscle. His pride, ego and lust swelling as you admire and feel his strength, letting yourself become so submissive and cockdrunk underneath him as he snaps his hips lewdly against yours.

"Fuck!!....so amazing....Miguel....need you so badly..."

He cradles your head delicately in his hands, slowing down his thrusts, dragging his clock slower and deep within you, letting you really feel every inch.

"I know baby, I know...M'right here, baby..." He groans loudly as his cock strokes against a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

".....bet no man's ever fucked you this good hmm...?" He smiles as he pants above you, toying with your bottom lip as he continues thrusting slowly.

"Bet I can make my pretty baby so needy for this cock after tonight...."

"Oh....." You groan, closing your eyes as your lips meet in a hot sweaty kiss.

"N-Nobody has fucked me like you do....n-never felt so good in my life..."

"Oh...tell me more, you sweet thing..." He slowly tilts his head, caging you below him as he continues to slowly fuck you, the space between you more intimate.

"I wanna feel all of you....all the time..." You feel your eyes water, the vulnerability of the moment pushing you to confess your deepest feelings, the chemicals and hormones between you to driving you to spill the innermost contents of your heart.

"I...I don't deserve you. I feel so lucky.....I don't understand what you see when you look at me. I'm so addicted to you....your body, your voice, your laugh, everything...."

Miguel's eyes soften, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Oh cariño...but you do deserve me."

He leans in, pressing soft kisses, every word he speaks carries intention which swiftly translates into more passion in his hips as he begins to fuck you faster and faster.

"You enthrall me....you entice me....drive me crazy just thinking about you ever since the first day you showed up in my office..."

He buries his face in your neck, holding onto your hips.

"Know what I had to do after you left cariño....? Had to fuck my fist and think about you because you drove me so damn crazy..."

You pant, your eyebrows knitting when you feel another knot twisting itself in your stomach, preparing to snap.

Miguel groans, gently pressing his hand against the small bulge in your stomach, doubling your pleasure as he fucks you, edging himself closer to his own blissful end.

"You consume me....you're perfect.....you're mine, all mine. Sweet, sweet girl...."

You grab his face, kissing him passionately, he moans eagerly into the kiss, your sweaty bodies completely engulfed in the other.

"M'close...." He murmurs. "You are too, aren't you beautiful....?"

He interlocks your fingers together as he fucks you harder than before. Your back arches, legs shaking, struggling to keep your voice down, fighting to lock down your concentration on that one area that he keeps hitting so perfectly, pushing you dangerously close to the edge, dead set on falling off of it.

The heat in your core dials higher and higher, to the point you're practically screaming. You continue to hopelessly moan and pant, letting him hear your sweet chorus of pleasure as he continues plunging his cock in and out of your cunt.

Soon, a sea of arousal leaks out of you both, painting your lower stomach in his salty white ropes, his mouth open in shock as he gently coaxes any remaining cum from his cock, tenderly kissing you for several long moments, his body frozen above yours.

The blinding emotions of such an intimate experience nearly causing those three little words to slip through, practically screaming to be said, but he holds back for now, instead a warm look of adoration all across his face as he kisses you some more, a soft hum of satisfaction you purr quietly into his mouth as you return his kiss.

After a relaxing wash underneath the heavenly soft waterfall showerhead in your master bathroom and him lovingly massaging cleansing soap all over every sensitive inch of your body, you were tucked in his arms in your clean pajamas as he dimmed the lights with his remote, pressing one last loving kiss against your temple.

"M'right here, cariño....get some sleep...."

The hold that tiredness has on him is so strong to the point that he barely hears the quieted words you mutter in response before he's rendered unresponsive by the spell of sleep.

"I'm in love with you..."

Before you're gone as well, your hearts syncing in quieting rhythm alongside one another, the faint sound of crickets chirping outside your window in the peaceful countryside.

----

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maryangelex · 8 months

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Never Let Me Go

Captain John Price x f!Reader

Part 2 here

Summary: You worked at a coffeehouse, your life is filled with mundanity and you wouldn't change it for anything else. That is, until one crisp autumn morning, you meet the handsome Captain John Price and there’s an immediate, undoubted connection between the two of you.

WC: 3,352

Warnings: fluff, smut in other chapters, cheesy coffee shop au, inaccuracies, soft!price, barista!reader, some reader descriptions, slow romance, pet names, meet-cute.

A/N: Remember that Price series I mentioned? Here ya go!!! Each chapter will be the title of a song I feel is related to it or that I was listening to while writing it hehe so make sure to check that out ;) I'm planning for 6 chapters but there might be more. Smut will happen eventually, of course!

The song for Chapter 1 is I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen, but also the covers of it by Awolnation and Gus Dapperton.

Happy reading!!

Dawn was breaking through the clouds. The waking sun broke through grey clouds that poured a steady, incessant shower of rain; the contrast of the glimmering rays against the somber clouds painted a watercolor sky.

You walked down the cobblestone street, the heel of your shoes clinking with every stride as you walked into the coffeehouse at a speedy pace. It was the middle of autumn, the weather was tepid and chilly. You worked at Roasts & Poets, a hybrid of a cafe and a bookstore that your sweet aunt had left your favorite cousin, and she had been gracious enough to let you run it alongside her.

Every morning was the same, and you wouldn't change a thing about it. You arrived at the crack of dawn to open the cafe, you were alone until your cousin arrived much later; you had always been more diligent and work-oriented than her when it came to running the cafe. You went through the whole process of the opening shift: setting the chairs and tables, stocking the sugars and napkins, picking up your cousin's slack from yesterday's closing shift, and setting out the freshly baked pastries.

That's how you start your day every day. Your life was simple yet rewarding. Alone behind the counter, you took in the sight of the deserted shop, the smell of the books on their shelves collecting dust hitting your nostrils while sleep was still weighing down your eyes. The stillness and silence of the shop every morning made you content and warm.

About half an hour later, your cousin arrived. The energy in her contrasted your mellowness. The minute she walked through the door, the sound of her cheery greeting and of the edge of the door's swing knocking the bell atop it sparked you awake. You gave her a wide smile as she stormed in, the rays of sun being her spotlight.

"Morning, cuz," she beamed, you returned the greeting mid-yawn, followed by you letting out a loud sigh. She set her coat on the hooks next to the door beside yours -- you two had set those there as a cozy detail for your customers.

"I had the best night last night," she started, walking towards you behind the counter and tying an apron around her waist the same as you. "Remember that guy I told you about?"

"The Birmingham one?" you scoffed, remembering the drunken night when your cousin could not stop rambling about the bloke from Birmingham who stood her up.

"No," she rolled her eyes, "the hot one my friend set me up with!"

You vaguely recalled, giving her an affirmative nod as your eyes drifted up, trying to remember the details of her extensive, messy love life. The two of you had been close and very similar since you were kids, but what stood out between you was how much of a hopeless romantic she was. You were more reserved about it; even though you knew it sounded cliche, you had decided long ago that the right man for you would come to you one day. Your knight in shining armor, your prince charming, perhaps. So you'd rather wait passively for that moment rather than how your cousin approached men head-on.

You listened to her fawning over her most recent rendezvous with her new suitor, amused and enjoying her experience vicariously.

As the day progressed, you welcomed and attended more patrons. You and your cousin took turns between taking orders and ringing up anyone who purchased books. There were a few regulars who came in every morning for a quiet space to work in, and others who just liked to lounge and read a book they had purchased along with a coffee in the comfy sofas you and your cousin had picked out when setting up the shop -- you had lost count of how many years ago that had been.

When the shop was slowing down, you liked to prop your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your hand as you people-watched. You loved the tranquility of it, thinking about each one's stories, reading them like books.

One of the regulars was a man who always came in a burgundy knitted sweater and sat down with his laptop and headphones. He was quiet and reserved but always left you gratuitous tips; you knew his order and routine like the back of your hand. Another one was an older lady who always wore something pink, no matter what the rest of her outfit consisted of or what the occasion was. She was kind as well, but when she was feeling chatty she would sit at the counter and talk your ear off; today was a quiet day for her as she sipped her chamomille and read her novellas.

As much as you enjoyed the peace of the shop, today was not a great day for silence for you. You hadn't gotten the best sleep last night, you had opted for binging the show you had been obsessing over and downed an entire bottle of wine by yourself. So, between your early start to the day and the light thumping of the headache you had medicated was making your eyes heavy with sleep. You couldn't wait for your shift to be over, maybe you would ask your cousin to let you lie down in the back.

The sound of the bell as the door swung open jolted you awake for the second time today. You stood upright, fixing your posture and glancing at the door to greet the incoming customer. Your eyes captured a man you hadn't seen before around the area. He was tall with a bearded face and had a burly physique, sporting a navy blue sweater and grey coat that matched the beanie he slid off his head. You gave him a welcoming smile, not paying him much mind because of the sleep that still crept into your eyes. He returned the gesture as he made his way across the store, disappearing from your vision.

You let out a sigh as you rubbed your knuckles into your lids. You desperately need a coffee if you want to get through the day, you thought, turning on your heels to pull yourself two shots of espresso. You poured the shots into a cup of milk you had frothed, making yourself a latte to spark some energy into you.

As you turned back around to face the counter you were caught off guard by--

" 'Scuse me, miss?" a smokey voice startled you, making your body jump in place with a gasp escaping your lips. The latte in your hands splashed in your grasp at the sudden response of your body, its contents lightly spilling over your apron.

"Shit!" you hissed, setting the cup down on the work counter behind you and grabbing the nearest rag to wipe your hands clean from any coffee that got on them. You looked up to the man across the counter, laughing at yourself in a mix of embarrassment at your clumsiness and lighthearted amusement.

At that moment, your eyes caught onto the face of the mystery man who had recently walked in. His expression was genuinely concerned and apologetic, truly not knowing what to do with himself as he stood across the counter.

"I'm so sorry, love, didn't mean to startle you," he stumbled over his words, "you alright?"

His voice was raspy and deep, sultry even. You noted the details of his face: blue eyes stared back at you, surrounded by long lashes and bushy eyebrows, his pink, velvety lips slightly parted as if having more apologies to let out, his nose pointed and narrow, and his beard neat and full. He was handsome, truly, and you couldn't look away.

"No worries!" you finally let out, a large smile on your face. "That's what these things are for!" you let out an awkward laugh, too loud to not give away the fact that you were flustered by his looks. Your hands worked the knot of the apron that tied at your waist as you spoke.

The man let out a nervous chuckle as he watched you, still dumbfounded and itching to help in some way like he was uncomfortable with himself for just standing by.

"What can I help you with, sir?" You asked, tossing the apron in a bin under the counter, where you and your cousin kept any kitchen cloths and rags that needed to be washed after your shift. You didn't break eye contact with the man as you did, you found it impossible to when his blue eyes sucked you like the depth of an ocean.

The man cleared his throat and fixed his posture, a nervous smile pulling at his bearded cheeks, "I was just wonderin' if y'could help me pick out a book" he pointed his thumb over his shoulders to the shelves behind him, "Any recommendations? 'M not sure where to look."

You responded with an eager 'of course' as you circled the counter, leading him to the array of shelves. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Erm, up to your suggestion, really," he stood behind you, letting you take the lead, his eyes weighted on you. You responded with a pensive hum as your eyes scanned the shelves, hand holding your chin. You mumbled something under your breath and moved on to a different shelf. You reached for one of the books and turned back to him, handing the selection over to him. He took it from your hands.

Large hands, you observed. You hadn't realized until now how much taller the man was compared to you. You weren't a petite girl, but, this man stood tall; the way he carried himself proudly made him look even larger.

He eyed the book, taking a moment to read the cover. He chuckled lightly to himself and glanced over to you.

"As You Like It," he read.

"You read it?" you asked a bit flustered, afraid you had made the wrong choice, "I recommend it to everyone."

"I haven't, actually," he looked over to it again, "Not very well versed in Shakespeare."

You chuckled a bit, "Well, this is a good one to get you into it."

"I trust you," he said, a smirk on his face that made your cheeks burn.

"It can be a bit hard to read but..." you shrugged, "It's one of my favorites."

"I'll come to you if I need help, then."

Your stomach fluttered at his words. Was he flirting? Maybe he's just a charming guy, nothing special.

"Would you like anything else?" you stuttered. His gaze made you shift and adjust yourself, making you feel vulnerable to have it on you.

"I'd like a tea to keep you company while you finish your coffee if that's alright," he flirted, his husky voice made the hairs on your arms stand up.

You simply nodded with a smile and he followed you back to the counter. He sat on one of the stools as you stood behind the bar, he had asked you for a black tea and you steeped it for him, setting down a creamer and cup of sugar for him to add to taste. You went back to the latte you had made yourself, pouring it into ice after having let it get cold, and observed the man as subtly as you could manage. You noted he liked his tea on the sweeter side, maybe you would use that information for the next time he came around. You hoped he would.

You watched as he took a sip from the cup, humming to himself and licking his lips as he set the cup back down. 'Good tea', he said softly as if to himself. You couldn't help but let a smile tug at the corners of your lips; something about him enjoying it was pleasant to you.

"I'm John, by the way," he spoke up, his arms crossed on the counter. His eyes were on you again, and they were amiable and warm as they held contact with yours. You responded by telling him your name.

"Are you new around here, John?" you reclined on the counter behind you, your coffee in one hand.

"I am, I just moved in nearby," he took another sip from his cup.

"What made you pick this place, if I may ask?"

"Well, military accommodations, mainly," he cleared his throat.

Military, you thought. No wonder he was such a large and buff man. You noticed the flexed muscles that bulged under his sweater. That sweater did them no justice, you were sure.

"So you're a soldier?"

"Somethin' like that, yeah," he scoffed with a smirk. You gave him a small smile as well but chose not to press any further.

"What about the shop, what made you come in here?"

"Seemed like a cozy place to spend the day," he gave you a once over, not very conspicuously, "the pretty barista's a bonus."

You rolled your eyes at his comment but couldn't help the reddening of your cheeks or the growth of your smile that you tried but failed to suppress.

At that moment, your cousin walked through the door. John's eyes didn't budge to look at the door, though, they were glued on you. She passed behind him, giving you the most excited expression you had seen on her face thus far, and mouthed something along the lines of 'He is so fit!" as she made her way to the back of the store with bags of ingredients in her hands. You scoffed at her and returned to look at John.

"You flirt with all the baristas you find pretty, John?"

"Only the ones that look like you," the man quipped, chuckling lightly to himself as if acknowledging how cheesy he was being. His comment made you laugh wholeheartedly, shaking your head at it.

John finished his tea and fished into his pocket for his wallet, "I hate to leave, but... how much do I owe you, love?"

"It's on the house," you crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a cheeky look, "for being a first-time customer."

John gave you a smile with lightly flushed cheeks himself along with a grateful nod. He left his wallet in his pocket as he stood up from his seat and dressed his head with the beanie he had come in with.

"I'll come back 'round to tell you how the book's goin'," he signaled the book in his hand on the way out the door, "You make great company, love."

"Likewise, John," you bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from gushing at his words. You were using every atom in your body to not let yourself completely overflow with glee.

John gave you a final look and raised his hand goodbye before exiting the shop. You returned the gesture and watched him walk away down the street until he disappeared from your line of sight.

Once he was gone, you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. You felt your heart skip a beat, maybe two, or even three beats as all the blood from your body surged to your face. Your cousin came skipping giddily from the back of the store, squealing like a schoolgirl as she embraced you. You couldn't help but join her in excitement. The two of you spoke in loud whispers behind the counter.

"That man is in love with you!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, he was just flirting!"

"Don't you be ridiculous! His eyes were devouring you, idiot! He might as well have fucked--"

You shushed her loudly and cupped your hand over her mouth, the two of you giggling. You two realized you were still on the clock, with some of the patrons shooting glances at you. It made you both adjust and compose yourselves as best you could, but shot each other knowing looks as you returned to work, cleaning dirty dishes and whatnot.

"So what's his name?" she asked.

"John, he just moved around here-- says he's in the military."

"Agh, hot!" she sang the last word. You rolled your eyes.

"What book did you give him?"

"As You Like It"

"Should've given him Lady Chatterley's Lover, maybe he would've taken the hint," she laughed as you pushed her with a hand playfully.

The rest of your shift went by uneventfully. You continued to serve more customers, tended to the regulars, and maintained the space. When it was closing time, the rays of the sun entered through the large windows, this time casting the golden glow of dusk. You mopped the floors of the shop and let yourself go deep into your thoughts.

You thought about John, of course, studying all the details you had taken note of. The way his lashes fanned over his deep, crystal blue eyes; how much care was put into maintaining his facial hair and how soft it looked; how chiseled his nose was; how the sweetness of his smile complimented the sweetness he liked in his tea. He looked much older than you, but you didn't mind the slightest, it was a minor detail to you, if anything. You recalled how he called you pretty, and it made you blush and gave you butterflies. You really hoped he'd come back, but didn't want to disappoint yourself if he didn't.

Once you two had finished closing, you stood outside the door with your cousin as she turned the key and locked the shop. She continued to tease you about John, making both of you laugh and making you blush with the innuendos and childish taunting she kept telling you. You bid each other farewells until tomorrow, walking your separate directions.

You lived just a couple of blocks away from the cafe in one of the many apartments nearby. A flat you had all to yourself and you enjoyed the solitude, you had learned to be with yourself from having been your only company, besides your cousin, throughout your life.

It made you think about the fact that it had been a while since you had liked someone. Did you like John? The question stood out in your mind. It was definitely too early to tell, you had just met the man quite literally today, hours ago even. But you would be lying if you didn't say you felt some sort of attraction, chemistry between the two of you. Those hopes for seeing him again only grew the more you suppressed them.

But you kept telling yourself 'Don't get too excited,' because you might not see him again, after all. For now, let's simply call it a crush, it's all it was, really. Just a man you found attractive, a kind stranger you made you feel pretty and flattered momentarily, after so long of not hearing any men do so or having their attention.

John certainly gave you a lot of his attention, you thought. Those blue eyes of his. He entrapped you with them. An act as simple as being looked at by him made you feel undressed and vulnerable.

You shook your head when you were in your flat, just standing there in a trance deep in thought. You sighed and cursed at yourself under your breath.

You practiced your nightly routine of eating dinner by yourself, showering, dressing in your coziest pajamas, and sitting on your couch alone with either a book or a movie, and maybe a glass of something, maybe wine or a soothing tea.

And for once in your life, you hated being alone.

For once you wished there was someone to keep you company. A company as nice as John had kept you today even if it was brief. You sulked a bit on your sofa as you let that forlorn feeling take over just a little bit.

And though as much as you loved mundanity, the feeling of having someone new and exciting disrupt your routine sparked a warmth in you.

God, you hoped you'd see John again.

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hellowhisperingstars · 6 months

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Epilogue: The Good Girl

Summary: Things get back to normal but Eddie has a few surprises for you.

Pairing: Rockstar/Bar Owner!Eddie Munson x Baker!Reader

Words: 4.7K

Warnings: 18+, Y/N used, dom/sub dymanics, light bondage, cussing, fluff. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: This is it! The last chapter of Sugar Cloud. Thank you all for taking the time to read this story and showing it love! I appreciate each and every one of you! I am also thinking of doing some time stamps for these two. Please let me know if you are interested!

See you in the next story!

Likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! <3

Previous - Masterlist

Months have passed since that day at the courthouse. All the money your Nana gave you went into savings for a rainy day, while the money your father and the Malloy’s had to pay you went to keeping up the bakery. Tiffany and Ada had been begging you for new ovens and you really wanted to get rid of the old storage coolers to bring in two new bigger ones to hold more orders. So you made it happen. Even the display cases and the cafe tables in the front got a makeover along with new shelves to hold the fresh baked bread that you were going to start selling. It was refreshing to see your shop look all sparkly and new.

You smiled at Marty and Emma as you placed the last basket of freshly baked rolls onto one of the shelves and waved to one of your regulars when you turned to start pulling a call in order from the display cases. Yeah, life had definitely gone back to normal and you were loving it. Though there was a small part of you that was waiting for something to happen, over all the drama of your sham wedding you completely forgot that your Nana was the deed holder to the building that Sugar Cloud was in. With her gone, who owned it? Did your dad have it? Would he find a way to sell it out from under you as payback for embarrassing him the way you did? He didn’t need to be within 100 feet of you to do that. Shaking your head you tossed the idea away. Now wasn’t the time to think about it. This was your new start and you were going to live in the moment with your Rockstar. As soon as he got back from another trip to New York.

Turns out he and the rest of the band had put their album on hold to deal with the mess your father had created and now that it had been taken care of you had urged him to get back to it. Eddie had tried his best to convince you to join him on the trip not wanting a repeat of what happened last time but you really wanted to spend time at the bakery to get back in the swing of things. The night before he left he finally relented and made you promise to call him every day when you got up and every night before you went to bed. You couldn’t wait to see him again and hear their new music when it was done.

Eddie pulled his car into the back parking lot of the bakery and took a moment to look at the building with a grin, his heart pounding with excitement knowing you are just behind those doors. It had been weeks since he last saw you and he was more than ready to have you back in his arms. This trip had gone significantly better and you sounded just as excited to talk to him with every phone call which made him breathe easier as time went by. No more scheming dads and fake fiances to make your life hell while he was away.

Grabbing the demo CD of the new album from the passenger seat he pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped from his car taking the cigarette from his lips and dropping it to the ground so he could smash it under his boot. Making his way through the lot he blew the smoke into the air as he quickly grabbed the door handle and pulled it open so he could enter into the kitchen. Taking a moment to let his eyes adjust he greeted Ada and Tiffany when they looked over at him.

“Welcome back!” Ada smiled from her spot by the sink, a pan and sponge in her hand.

“How’d it go?” Tiffany asked as she pulled a tin from the oven the smell of warm bread filling the air mixing with the sweet scent of cakes. “Did you finish it?”

Waving the CD in the air Eddie smiled at the girls. “Got the demo right here. Probably got a few tweaks to make, songs to cut, that kinda thing but I wanted some more opinions before we make changes. Where’s my girl?”

“Can’t wait to hear it!” Ada said, putting the pan in the drying rack. “She’s up front.”

“Thanks,” He grinned and started towards the door that would lead him to you. Eddie smiled as he ducked into the front of the store and leaned against the door frame as he watched you move around behind the counters, your apron around your waist as you pulled items from the fridge displays to pack orders to give to the customers in front of you. Back in your element. Moving up to you he grabbed your waist and leaned down to kiss the side of your head before he spoke into your ear. “Miss me?”

Jumping at the sudden touch you turned your head quickly and let out a sound of excitement when you saw who it was and almost dropped the box in your hands. Putting it on the counter you turned and jumped into his arms. “You’re back!”

Laughing, Eddie pulled you as close as he could, burying his nose in your hair. “Hi baby. Fuck, I missed you.”

“Missed you so much.” You mumbled into his neck as he swayed you a little before pulling you back to give you a proper kiss. The feel of his plush lips on yours made you sigh in contentment. Moving back you looked into his eyes. “Did you finish it?”

“Got it right here.” He smiled showing you the CD. “Wanted you to be the first one to hear it.”

Smiling, you looked at the plain white disc excitement bubbling up in you with the need to hear what the band had done, when a small cough got your attention. Turning around you stared wide eyed at the customer who just chuckled at you, they didn’t seem annoyed thankfully and you quickly dropped your arms from around Eddie, moving back to do your job. “I’m so sorry about that. My boyfriend just came back into town and I couldn't help myself.”

Your customer waved your worry away with a smile. “It’s no problem, I’m almost done then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Eddie grinned at you before kissing the back of your head, “I‘m gonna grab some coffee, is that okay?”

“Of course baby.” You smiled as you went back to packing an eclair into the lavender box that was once again in your hand. Eddie turned, placing the CD on the counter for later, and started to fiddle with the coffee machine behind you when a few different young muffled voices called from outside.

“Holy shit!”

“Is that Eddie Munson?!”

“No way! What's he doing here?!”

“He’s from Hawkins you idiot! The whole band is!”

Everyone looked to see a group of three young teens standing on the sidewalk outside looking through the glass of your shop window. They were staring wide eyed at Eddie who waved at them with a shit eating grin before he turned and finished his coffee.

“You have fans, babe.” You chuckle smiling over your shoulder at him, giving him a wink before you hand the now full box to the customer in front of you after they paid, apologizing again for the interruption. Turning to look at the window you waved the three teens into the shop, a little laugh leaving you as they stumbled inside, holding the door open for the customer to exit. The kids who looked like little rockers themselves, with their long hair and black Corroded Coffin band shirts, they were completely starstruck by your boyfriend. It made you giggle. Looking over at Eddie, you bumped his hip with yours when he came to lean against the counter next to you.

Grinning, Eddie took a sip of his coffee before he greeted the boys. “Heya fellas.”

“You’re Eddie Munson.” One of the boys stated his eyes still wide as he stared at Eddie. “Lead singer and guitarist for Corroded Coffin.”

“That’s me!” He laughed, placing his coffee down on the counter behind you. “You guys want an autograph?”

“Hell yeah!”

“That would be awesome!”

You watched, giggling as the boys freaked out practically rushing the counter as you handed Eddie some blank receipt paper and a marker from the register before he gestured them to the new cafe tables to get out of your way. Turning back to the boy you smiled at them, “You boys want a treat? It’s on the house.”

The three boys were incredibly polite and thankful for the free sweets and they sat at the table with Eddie for a while, after they got his autographs, just talking. He was so nice to them, answering questions and getting excited when they told him they also had started a band. You think it’s because they reminded him of himself and the rest of the band when they were around that age. It was sweet and made you smile. That’s something you love the most about metalheads, sure they look scary and unapproachable, but deep down they are the nicest dorks you could ever meet.

At one point you moved around the counter to hand Eddie a fresh cup of coffee since his original one had been forgotten when the boys came in. He introduced you to the kids as his girl as he pulled you onto his lap by your waist, telling them that you own the place, and they complimented the treats they had.

You sat there for a few minutes chatting before a new customer came in and you excused yourself to take care of them since both Marty and Emma were on their lunch break. Greeting the soccer mom you started on her order as the four metalheads chatted for a little longer.

“Thank you babe.” You smiled as you looked up at him. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Later that night it was just you and Eddie in the bakery, everyone having gone home to their families earlier in the evening, it was as you were standing at the kitchen island prepping some ingredients for tomorrow's haul of freshly baked goods that you suddenly got a craving for cinnamon bread. Fuck that sounded so good right now. Moving around the kitchen quickly you got your supplies and started on your bread.

While you were doing that Eddie had just finished sweeping up the crumbs on the shop floor, wiping down the café tables, and double checking that the front door was locked with the closed sign turned to let everyone know to come back tomorrow. Putting the broom back into its designated spot he wandered back into the kitchen to see you wrist deep in the bread dough as you had just dropped it from the bowl onto the floured countertop. “Front’s all clean and locked up, pretty girl.”

“Oh?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned on the counter by the door. “And what would that be? A cookie? A cupcake? Oh or maybe one of those blondies I love so much?”

“I was thinking more like a kiss…” You smirked at him, beckoning him over with a nod of your head before you gave an over-exaggerated sigh and dropped your shoulders as you continued to knead the dough. “Buuuuut if you want a cookie, I guuuuess yo-”

“No. Nonononono,” Pushing off the counter he waved his hands in the air as if he could toss the idea of not wanting a kiss away from him and rushed over silencing you with a kiss, his hands cupping your cheeks, his nose brushing against yours. “Kisses are good. Kisses are great.”

Laughing, you lean back your hands still in the bread dough and give him one final peck before you turn around to knead the dough again for a few minutes.

“Whatcha making baby?” Eddie asked as he moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin landing on your shoulder.

“Cinnamon bread. Thought it would be good breakfast bread for tomorrow. Cinnamon bread french toast is the best.” You exclaim, looking over your shoulder at him.

“That sounds good.” He smiled, kissing the side of your head still watching you knead the dough until you rolled it into a good sized ball.

Grabbing the clean bowl you greased it up with a little bit of oil before you plopped the dough ball inside, placed a towel over the top, and moved it to a warm spot in the kitchen to let it rise. “Now we leave that for an hour.”

Leaning back against the counter again, Eddie watched while you collected the mixing bowl, measuring cup, and spoons from the counter turning to place them in the sink to clean. Grabbing the sponge you move back to the island to wipe the countertop down, before you turn back to the sink to wash your hands a look of worry on your face as you start to think of losing the bakery again. Glancing around the kitchen you frowned a little, you loved it here, you lived here, you didn’t want to lose it. Where would you go if you had to leave? Scrunching your brows together you dropped the sponge back into the sink resting your hands on it as you thought.

“I know that look,” Eddie said, sidling up to you. Bumping his arm into yours he bent down a little to look at you. “That’s your ‘I’m worried’ face. What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“It’s stupid,” You said, shaking your head as you turned the sink on to wash the dishes you made. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“No, tell me.” Eddie mumbled giving you that look that made your thighs clench, that ‘you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t tell me’ look, one of his brows going up to hide under his bangs. “Come on, out with it.”

Sighing, you shut the water off again, dropping the sponge into the sink. “I was worrying about the future of the bakery.”

Moving so he could face you better, his brows scrunched together. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Waving your wet hand in the air you looked over at him. “I just realized earlier that I don’t know what happened to the deed to the building after Nana passed and I’m scared that as like a last fuck you dad is going to sell it out from under me. I don’t want to lose this place, it’s my home, it’s my livelihood, I have worked too hard to let him fuck me over anymore.”

“Well that's an easy fix babe. He can’t,” Eddie smirked, smiling down at you. After all that had happened he had totally forgotten to tell you about the deal he had with your Grandma. “I own the building.”

That stopped you in your tracks and you looked up at him in surprise. “What?”

Nodding, he picked at a string on your shirt. “When your grandma was in the hospital she called the bar and asked me to come see her. So we met up, chatted a little, and we made a deal that she would sell me the building to keep it out of your fathers hands as long as I continue to let you live and work here. I said yes, I wanted to protect you anyway I could, so I bought the building from her. Your dad can't touch it.”

You floundered for a moment as you tried to think of something to say but all you could get out was a breathy. “Holy shit.”

Laughing a little Eddie tugged on your shirt pulling you closer to him not caring that your hands were still wet from washing your dishes when you grabbed the front of his button down shirt. “Not mad at me are you? For doing that behind your back.”

Shaking your head you placed your forehead against his chest, a little smile on your face as you started to chuckle a bit. “No. No, I’m not mad at you. I'm really happy actually. But it looks like you’re my landlord now and I will be paying you rent for this you know. In full and on time.”

“The only payment I expect is you.” Eddie laughed, his hand cupping the back of your head tangling his fingers in your hair to pull your head back a little so he had access to your neck, his words breathy against your skin. “Preferably in the form of your ass in my bed, tied up, and struggling.”

You let out a gasped moan as Eddie latched his lips onto your neck sucking a hickey into your skin. His teeth give you a little nip as he pulls back to look at you. You blinked up at him, your breathing a little heavy now and you squirmed a little in his hold, your thighs rubbing together at the thought of you bound and waiting for him to take you. Taking in a slow breath you smiled at him. “How about I pay you with rent and my ass. That way I don’t feel like a freeloader in your building and you still get to be mean to me.”

“Sweetheart,” He said, his voice dropping down into this dom tone that he liked to use when he was being serious with you. “As your boyfriend and your dom I want to help you. So let me deal with the payments for the building. You just focus on the bakery. I have more than enough money to take care of this place, just tell me when somethings wrong and I’ll handle it.”

“Eddie,” You started to say something else but he placed his fingers over your lips to silence you before he dragged his fingertips down your chin to lift your head up with his knuckles.

“Let me take care of you.” He said looking into your eyes before he leaned down to kiss you one more time and against your lips he mumbled. “And if you fight me about this anymore I will drag you upstairs and tan your hide with my belt. You understand me?”

Swallowing the saliva that collected on your tongue you nodded your head, even more excited now. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” Eddie smiles as she gives your ass a firm slap that makes you gasp again. Looking over towards the bowl with the ball of dough he smiled. “How much longer for your bread to rise?”

Glancing over at it, you looked at the clock, and shrugged your shoulders a little as you started to finish up the dishes you still had in the sink. “Maybe another thirty minutes? Then I have to roll it out, fill it with cinnamon sugar, make it into loafs, and then let it rise for another hour to an hour and a half.”

“Then since we have time…” Eddie said as he wandered back into the front to grab the demo CD from the counter behind the register where he had left it and turned back into the kitchen holding it up in the air so you could see it. “I would love your opinion on this.”

“Oh! Yes! Put it in, put it in!” You nodded enthusiastically pointing towards the stereo that sat in the cabinet by the backdoor.

Laughing, the metalhead moved around the island and fiddled with the stereo until he was able to pull out the mixed CD you had created and pushed the demo in and pressed play. The first few seconds were quiet until you heard the strings of a guitar being plucked at a fast pace, then the drums, and the rest of the band started and the very first song on the new album bumped through the speakers. Nodding your head to the beat, you smiled over at Eddie when his voice came out over the speakers.

By the time you had the two cinnamon sugared loaves of bread into their designated pans and set aside to rise again you were halfway through the album. Washing your hands again you turned wiping your hands on your apron to look at Eddie who had one arm crossed over his chest while the other was held up to his lips, his thumbnail between his teeth, he looked nervous about your reaction to the song. It was about two lovers who were separated but were able to come back together. When the song was ending you heard your voice start to fade in as the guitar riff faded out. It was a simple little sound bite of you saying ‘I fucking I love you, you dork’ and then you laughing. You remembered that conversation from the first week he was gone. He had called you one night and it seems he had recorded a part of it.

“I wrote that for you.” He said looking at you. “Gonna call it ‘Souls Intertwined’ or something like that. Titles are still being worked on.”

Walking over to Eddie you put your hands on his chest, a smile on your face as he put his hands around your waist. “You wrote that about us? And you used my voice?!”

“I did!” He nodded as he laughed. Pulling you flush against him he looked into your eyes. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it!” You nodded your head. “I love it. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled, placing his forehead against yours, his eyes squinting a little as he tried to recall something. “How long did you say for the bread to rise this round?”

“About an hour, hour and a half.” You said looking over at the bread and then back to him.

The smile that grew on his face was one of trouble as he started to kiss your face, first your forehead, then your nose, your cheeks, and then your chin. “Good, good. Then we have more than enough time. So why don’t you get your cute butt upstairs, get undressed, and into first position, I’ll be right behind you.”

Nodding your head you bite your bottom lip sensually, taking a few steps back towards the stairs to your apartment and right when he had turned around to turn off the stereo in the cabinet you took the chance and smacked him straight on the ass, a laugh leaving you when he turned around to stare at you in surprise.

“Really?” He said turning and slowly making his way towards you, one foot in front of the other. His hands come up as if to grab you. “You are in so much trouble right now little girl.”

“Me?” You whisper at him, your hands going up to your chest and you make your eyes impossibly wide as you feign innocence as you start to back up some more. The game was on and quickly you turned around running towards the stairs and then up them. The sound of his feet chasing you through the kitchen and up the stairs making you laugh hysterically as you swung your apartment door open running to stand behind your dining room table by your bedroom door.

“Oh sweetheart,” Eddie said as he ran into the room after you, coming to a stop on the other side of the table, his hands landing on the top so he could lean towards you with that look in his eye that you loved so much. “You’re only making this harder on yourself. You know that right?”

“Mhm,” You nodded with a smug smile, watching him carefully as you both moved around the table first one way then the other making sure something was between you at all times. It was a cat and mouse game and you were completely content with being the mouse. At one point you even ripped your apron off and threw it at him to distract him but he just batted it out of the air like it was nothing.

This only lasted about three turns before he faked you out and when you went right to dodge his movement on the opposite side he quickly stepped left grabbing you around your waist and hoisting you onto his shoulder giving your ass a firm punishing smack. “Gotcha. You are in for it now.”

Laughing you struggle in his grip, your hands on his back as you try to push yourself up. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“No you’re not.” He snarked, kicking your bedroom door open. Eddie moved to your bed and dropped you down on it so he could straddled your waist, making sure to keep his weight off of you, and grabbed your wrists pulling him above your head. “Now are you going to take your punishment or are you going to be a little brat that I have to tie up?”

You shrug a little with a smirk on your face. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I see,” He nodded, letting your arms go so he could pull your shirt over your head leaving you in just your bra and jeans. The pick on your collar sitting in the hollow of your throat. Leaning back he looked down his nose at you and pointed at you with one finger and gave you a serious look, “Do not move from this spot.”

Nodding, you bite your lower lip a little as you look up at him. “Yes, Sir.”

Smirking, he got off the bed and moved to the duffle that he had grabbed from his car earlier in the day, unzipping it slowly to mess with you. He took his time moving a few things around mostly for dramatic effect, cause he knew exactly what he was looking for. His fingers grazed across the red rope that sat waiting in his bag. “Now, I was going to tell you that because you've been so good lately I was planning on graduating you from cuffs but since you were being such a bad girl I don't know if you deserve it.”

That piqued your interest quite a bit and you fought the urge to sit up on your elbows. Quickly you say, “No please, I'll be good. I promise. I’ll be good.”

“Mhm. You gotta prove it to me.” Eddie hummed as he grabbed the rope from the duffle and stood up, unbundling it in a showy way so you could see the end of it fall to the floor with a little thud. He smirked when your eyes widened and you took in a deep breath of excitement, your thighs clenching together again. He could watch you squirm like this all day. “Come here sweet girl.”

Quickly you got off the bed and moved towards him. Your eyes were stuck on the rope.

“Eyes on me.” He muttered and when you looked up at him he smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled up at him. You really did love this man.

Holding one finger up in the air he twirled it around in a circle. “Turn around babe. Arms behind your back.”

Slowly you turned, putting your arms behind you, and you hummed when you felt the first brush of the rope against your skin. It was softer than you expected. Closing your eyes you let out a little sigh of contentment as he expertly tied your wrists. Soon you felt him push a finger between your skin and the rope making sure it wasn't going to hurt you.

“Too tight?”

“No, Sir.” You said, shaking your head. It was just right.

You closed your eyes as he wrapped his arms around you, one hand splayed out against your stomach while the other wandered up to cup your chin pushing it up so it was leaning against his chest.

“Safeword?” He whispered into your ear.

“Red.” You breathed out

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he started kissing your neck, leaving little nips as he went.

“With my life.”

“Good girl.”

Tag List:

@eddiesprincess86 @haylaansmi @micheledawn1975 @chloe-6123 @wendyfawcett

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfic #dom!eddie munson #sub!reader #rockstar!eddie #barowner!eddie #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #st s4 #sugar cloud series #multi chapter

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sashaisready · 24 days

Text

This Must Be The Place (in progress)

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Warnings for: death of a loved one, smut, grief, angst (it gonna be angsty!), Bucky not always being a good guy.

✨ I’m afraid I don’t have a taglist for this series, I don’t use them as I’ve had technical issues with them in the past. Sorry! ✨

Posting Schedule: either Mondays or Wednesdays (Sometimes both!) but at least one chapter per week

Full disclosure I'm not entirely sure where this came from...or where it's going lmao?? But I've wanted to do my own Biker!Bucky for a long time. Planning on this one to be ANGSTY and Bucky and Reader (Sugar) are going to be super stubborn hehehe.

Title comes from my fave Talking Heads song.

Let me know what you think! Always grateful for comments and reblogs.

Chapter One - Home is where I want to be

Chapter Two - Feet on the ground

Chapter Three - Head in the clouds

Chapter Four - Pick me up

Chapter Five - I feel numb

Chapter Six - Nothing's wrong

Chapter Seven - Make it up as we go along

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #this must be the place fic #biker!bucky #motorcycle club au bucky

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 months

Note

Steve Rogers x me 🙋‍♀️ number 32 or 50 please

Oh!! I love this one so much, but...just don't hate me with this.

There Goes My Life

Summary: just one last time

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, a smidge of dirty talk, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

He sighs as his blue eyes peer at your sleeping form. You never listened. It was too easy for him to get in through your window, and just gaze at you while you sleep. He warned you that there was a target on your back. Especially the moment you left SHIELD. It just didn’t seem right anymore. Not without Steve, and not knowing what you now know.

You look peaceful, which is more than what he can say for himself. Your windows seem smaller now, or maybe it was just because he felt he could never get too close to you. The picture of the two of you still sits beside your bed, and he feels an ache in his chest as you cling to his pillow. By now his scent would have worn off considering how you had your face buried into it.

“Cap, you have a short window. I’ll buy you some more time. Enjoy your girl.”

“Thanks, Sam,” he whispers, leaning over to remove his boots. If he didn’t have this need to hold you and enjoy you while he could, he would tell you how stupid it was to leave your window unlocked. But he also knew why.

You are also painfully aware that Steve had someone watch your place. Everything changed in such a short time. You didn’t think he would be coming back, much less as often as he did.

Removing his suit, he lets the mess of what was Captain America drift into your floor. Fully naked, and for a reason, he lifts the blanket on his side, and slides in. His eyes rake over your beautiful sleeping face. There wasn’t enough time for him to just watch you, but he did it all the same. He missed you so much it hurt. So much that he couldn’t even focus on the task at hand because he was waiting on you to tell him what to do. But this isn’t SHIELD, and you no longer were in his ear.

Your full lashes flutter with his warm breath. Your body sidles up to his even more. He’s so proud of you, even in your sleep you knew it was him. He reaches to pull the pillow from your grasp, wanting you to use him instead when your sleepy eyes blink away the clouds from your vision.

“Steve?”

“Shh,” he whispers, his nose pressing up against yours. Every moment with him is bittersweet because you know he’ll be off somewhere else before you wake up again. Leaving you feeling like everything was only a figment of your imagination.

Your lashes flutter close as you absorb his warmth. His breath. And when his lips press against your trembling ones. “Sugar,” he pleads, but you don’t want to waste time. Each time he visited you felt like it would be the last time, and that killed you inside. “Stop.”

“Steve, just take me. Make me forget that you won’t be here in the morning.”

“You make me feel like the biggest asshole.”

“Language, Captain,” he chuckles on your lips. Hoisting his body to hover over yours. His legs positioned in between your own, and he slides his apart as he sinks lower over you. His silky steel cock, lays over your bare mound, and you shutter at the feeling.

“I really hate that you were privy to that moment.”

“Why’s that?” You tease as he grips his length in one hand and runs it through your slick.

“Because every time I growl out filth in your ears, I want them to be your words only. Because even though you hold your head up high, and you look so regal walking into SHIELD, you’re my dirty little slut.”

“Your dirty little slut wishes that you would just fuck her…ahh,” you gulp as his thick veiny member plunges into your depths. Fully sheathing himself into your wet heat, and his weight settles on yours. It is the best kind of smothering. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you so much,” he grunts as his hips piston in and out of your walls. Pushing and pulling into every bit of you. Molding the two of you together again, and you hope that this was the normal. That you didn’t have to wait months until you got to feel him again. That this was a bad dream, and Steve wasn’t an enemy of the country.

You focus on the way his body cages around yours and how the two of you had so many beautiful plans. Feel only the way his thicker body made you feel so small. The tickle of his beard as he nips along your neck. You swear every part of him got thicker. And it made you more needy for him.

You took every bit of his hard and deep thrusts because your body was made for him. Nobody pulled out the sounds from your lips. There was nobody else you trusted the way you trusted him. In a different world you and Steve would have already been married, and have a baby on the way. He would have given up this fight with the Avengers just to live a normal life.

But those dreams weren’t reality. Now it was a dream that the man you love was becoming so feral with the limited time he had with you. His hands slam on the headboard above you, and his hips stab into you with so much force you start to see stars. This is how he always ended things. He wanted to make sure you almost passed out with pleasure and pressure.

His thrusts make the picture frames rattle on the walls. Your hands cling to his wide hips as you feel yourself start to go blank. Damn this beautiful man. He couldn’t even bear to say goodbye. The solution was to fuck you stupid. Fuck him.

You try and hold on. See the image of Steve gritting his teeth as he forces his orgasm away. Waiting on you to succumb to your exhaustion. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your walls clench down tight around his cock, and he gets a few more ruts into you before ribbons of hot thick cum fill your belly up.

He stutters his movement as he watches your head lull to the side, and he hates himself for doing this. Hates having to be so careful. There is nothing he wants more than to bask in your silky walls all day. He pulls himself out of you, and smiles when you sleepily whimper at the loss of him.

Giving himself just a moment to stare at your gaping cunt leaking of him. “Captain, it’s time. We gotta be careful.”

He leaves you laying there, but covers you back up. Leaving behind the scent of him on your sheets, and the regret that things aren’t different. This had to be the last time. He was putting you into too much danger. Slowly he’d call the eye from watching you. He’d let you go because that’s how much he loved you.

“I’m always careful,” he says, slipping back into his suit.

But this time — he wasn’t…..

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke @harrysthiccthighss @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87

#there goes my life #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fics #nomad!steve

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mannaima · 1 year

Text

My Best Friend Joel (part three)

Sorry for making you all wait so long! I decided this is the second to last installment in the best friend series, the last one being much longer as it’s gonna cover a longer timeline. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it!!!!

(part 1) (part 2)

Summary: Joel decides to hide the fact you’re pregnant, until he can’t anymore.

Word count: 2.5K (yes short i know)

Warnings: NSFW (p in v), dub-con turned consensual, breeding, joel being a scumbag, pregnancy, babytrapping(????)(small) mentions of vomit, manipulation, happy endings tho.

Joel didn’t get much sleep that night. Not like he did anyways, but his thoughts tonight were clouded with ideas of what to do about this predicament. But one thought made him shiver with guilt.

He wanted to leave.

Joel felt immense guilt with the thought, sure, he knew he was far from a good man, but even that was a low for him. But his stomach swelled in pain at the thought of another child, he couldn’t even think of children ever since Sarah. But the act was already done, there was no denying that you would be pregnant, although there's a chance you might, he had to think of the worst here. He tossed and turned, trying not to wake you, but he clenched his eyes at every possible way of this working out. You were none the wiser, sleeping so soundly, as if your body wasn’t currently in the stage of making the new child you two shared. Joel sighed, and as the morning sun crept through the windows, he had only one thought on his mind.

He just wasn’t gonna tell you.

----------

You woke up, eyes adjusting to the room filled with light, and your best friend held you in his large arms. You noticed he was already awake, eyes half shut in tiredness, and he had bags under his eyes. You tilted your head.

“Good morning Joel!” You were excited, he only glanced at you, not even a usual smirk. “Are you okay? Did you get any sleep?” You were much quieter, fearing he wasn’t in a good mood.

“Morning, sugar, I slept fine.” Lie. “Just a little tired.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

“Oh, okay.” You snuggled closer to him, head resting against his warm body, he seemed to tense around you a little. Internally, you felt the awkwardness. You were hurt, but you kept quiet.

“Do you want me to make you breakfast?” You gave him a small smile, and he glanced at you before staring at the wall once more.

“That’d be nice.” Blunt answer, but a much better answer than ‘no’. You giggled and pushed the blankets back, sitting up and climbing over Joel, making sure not to accidentally crush his arms with your knees. You stood up, and immediately felt a feeling of something droop out of your pussy. Confused, you stood still, but then the memories of last night flooded back, which made you grin a little. You walked to the kitchen, unaware of how Joel stared at you, your pretty ass out on display, only a cute pair of panties covering your lower half. Aided with morning wood, Joel’s cock became incredibly hard, despite his brain shunning him for still feeling horny knowing he knocked you up.

“Do ya want french toast?” He looked at your face now, eyes moving up from your ass. You looked so pretty in nothing but a shirt. Joel nodded. You turned back around to fix the breakfast.

Joel felt so conflicted, on one hand, it was bound to happen eventually, he was going to meet another woman, the right one this time. Though it was a new kid, it would never replace Sarah, and the child wasn’t meant to. On the other hand, he felt immense fear that something would happen to the child. This world was no place for youth, the child would never be normal growing up in a world like this, but what choice did he have? The baby was gonna come regardless, would he rather the child to a loving mother and father, or to a single mother out on the streets.

He had to deal with it.

He stood up, wearing nothing but boxers, making him shiver at the cold air. He walked over to you, and wrapped his hands around your body, his back hunched over so he could rest his head on your shoulder. His cock was pressed up against your back, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel your warm body.

“Oh Joel…” There was a hint of sadness in your voice, but he had no clue why. Despite his brain begging him to ask you what’s wrong, he just buried his face in your neck, giving you small kisses.

You felt his cock, it made your lower regions warm up, fluttering almost. You continued to make the batter and heat up the stove, Joel clinging to you tightly. His hardness not going down, you felt distracted, accidentally spilling a small amount of batter. You kept apologizing but Joel just rubbed your hips with his rough hands, you jumped at his cold hands against your cold skin as he reached under your shirt.

“You cold baby?” His hands rubbed around your stomach before slowly leading up to your breasts, where he squeezed them tightly. You whimpered and stuttered before nodding your head, to which he began pinching your nipples.

“I think I’m hungry for something else right now, sweetie.” Joel began to kiss your neck, his tongue licking up it slowly, you let out a soft moan, making him smirk upon your skin.

“D-Do you wanna have… S-Sex?”

“I think I made it pretty clear I do.”

“R-Right. Sorry.” You felt stupid for asking, wondering if it made you look stupid to him. He either didn’t care or was too horny to care, because he kept rubbing his cock against your back while kissing your neck, the breakfast long forgotten at this point. You arched your back at his touch, feeling so sensitive from the night before, your pussy fluttering at his hands. He finally removed his hands from your chest and brought them down to your lower half, his fingers poking under the fabric in order to pull them down, and he slowly brought them down. You felt the cold air, but he didn’t wait much longer before wrapping an arm around your body while also pushing your front half against the counter, making you bend over for him. You gasped at the sudden movement, but it was short-lived as his cock was now rubbing against your entrance.

“W-wait Joel-” A loud moan escaped your lips as his cock was now pushing through, your only source of lube was his cum from the night before and the small amount of wetness you had. You weren’t at all prepared for him, but he didn’t care and kept pushing.

“J-Joel. Hurts-” He kept pushing, making you groan out in pain, his hand coming up to your lips.

“Shhhh.” No words of reassurance, just shushing you to make you stop whimpering in pain. You couldn’t help it though, your walls were being stretched to their limit by his fat cock, and he wasn’t even inside you all the way yet. You kept trying to squirm out of his hold, but his grip on you was too strong, and he finally pushed you against his body, his entire cock inside you now. You groaned out, loudly, making him pull his cock back, and slam into you once more. The kindness he showed you last night was no more, as he continued to mercilessly ram inside you. You felt your face heat up as your lower half experienced immense pain, you didn’t know what to do. He just felt so much bigger than before, maybe you were doing something wrong? It hurt the first time too, but he stopped a while for you to get used to it, but he just kept abusing your hole.

“Joel please.” You pleaded for him to slow down, and he did, for a second. He slipped his cock out of you and turned you around, now facing him. Your back was pushed against the counter as he lifted you there, bottom half hanging off. You got a few seconds of relief before his cock was pushed back into you, head leaning back as you whimpered. His hands held on to your hips as he fucked you again and again. Joel forced your legs to wrap around his waist, effectively allowing him to thrust into you better. You felt the pain slowly go away, but far too slow for your liking. Joel’s groans mixed with your moans of pain and slight pleasure, his hands rubbing against your warm skin, eyes fixated on your body.

You got a good look at him in the sunlight peeking through the curtains, now able to see his body. Peppered hair covered his chest, not too much hair though. His body was definitely toned, especially for his age, and his chest glistened with small amounts of sweat. His face stared down at you with an incredible amount of enamoration, eyes boring into yours, his mouth parted slightly to let out breaths. You looked down his body to see the way his cock disappeared into your cunt, it was arousing to say the least. The mess of hair that covered right above his cock and the way his happy trail led down from his belly button. You couldn’t get enough of his body, and it seems he felt the same about you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.” He said, deep voiced slightly strained as he continued to fuck you.

“You too J-” You were cut off by the movement of his hands around your ankles. He lifted your legs up and positioned them on his shoulders, allowing him much deeper access in your pussy. Your breathy moans pushed him over the edge, he couldn’t get enough of the way your bare breasts bounced around, or the look you gave with your eyebrows arched in pleasure, lips wet with saliva as you gave into the pleasure. He couldn’t handle it anymore, his head reeling back as he gave a few more sloppy thrusts and groaned, cumming inside of you. You felt the warm cum seep inside you, Joel letting out small ‘fuck’s and ‘goddamn’s. After about twenty seconds of pure bliss on Joel’s end, he finally pulled out of you, cock soft now, and a large clump of his cum dripping out of you. Joel quickly plunged his middle and ring finger inside you, pushing the cum back inside you. He fingered you, his hand pushing the hair away from your forehead and kissing it, making you smile through the pleasure of his fingers. He smiled back.

----------

You had stayed with Joel, your relationship was never really defined, but it was safe to say you two were a couple. Joel would obviously leave to go to work, which is something you were accustomed to. But Joel left you the privilege of leaving the apartment whenever you wanted, but you preferred when Joel was by your side. You spent the days watching the people, reading books, and even drawing pictures while Joel was away.

When Joel came back, you both liked to do “adult stuff.”

He fucked you every day after work or before you both slept. He couldn’t get enough of you, every time he saw you, he had this uncontrollable urge to just fuck the shit out of you.

And every single time, he came inside you.

He felt guilty, of course, but not guilty enough to tell you what happens when a man cums inside a woman. No, he figured he could delay it until there were physical changes, he liked you this way. It was sick of him, he knew he was a bastard for what he was doing, but he liked seeing your fucked out face while cum drooled out of your pussy. He liked you not knowing that you were going to be carrying his babies, of course he’d tell you when you’d eventually noticed the weight gain, lack of period, and giant stomach. But Joel wanted to see how long you could stay oblivious.

----------

“Joel, do I look… Fatter to you?” There you stood, in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but a pair of panties. You had turned to the side and were staring at your stomach.

“What do ya’ mean?” Joel knew exactly what you meant.

“I just look… More round. Just my stomach though.” You felt around your stomach, squeezing it a little.

“But it’s not soft like fat. It’s kind of hard?” You knocked on it jokingly, giggling slightly.

“I don’t see a difference, baby.” It was easy for him to lie, he avoided your eye contact though.

“Oh well, I’m probably just seeing things.” You went on your tippy toes and puckered out your lips, signaling him to kiss you, which he did.

He watched you walk into the kitchen, still topless, and pull out some rations. He couldn’t help but notice how big your breasts have gotten, wondering how you didn’t notice. He wanted to suck on them, hoping milk would come out already. Fantasizing about your body, you quickly snapped him out of his little world as he noticed you running to the sink.

“Oh fuck-” You had little time before you started vomiting in the sink, coughing in between gags. Fuck. Joel’s mind raced, this was getting too far, he had to tell you. You let out the contents in your stomach while Joel just watched, but his dumb brain finally realized he should be helping you. Scrambling to run to you, he held your hair back as you continued. He reassured you that you were fine, that it was just some morning sickness. As you finally felt better and washed your mouth and the sink, Joel felt a small amount of guilt now that he saw your sick face. Fuck. He had to tell you now.

“Darling there's something we need to talk about. Come with me.” He led you to the bedroom and sat you next to him, hand gripping yours tightly.

“What is it Joel?” He sighed, and rubbed your hand with his fingers.

“Well. The reason your stomach is a bit bigger, and why you have some sickness is because. You’re pregnant. You’re gonna be a momma.” You stared at him, confusion plastered on your face, head slightly tilted.

“How?” Joel sighed again, now realizing you were gonna be upset with him.

“When we have sex. When a man cums inside a woman, the white stuff that comes out of me, it makes a baby when it mixes with your parts.” Your eyes widened a bit. You touched your stomach.

“So… You were making babies with me?” Joel nodded, half expecting you to hit or scream at him. But you just kept touching your small baby bump.

“So you mean. I’m gonna be a mommy? And, are you the daddy?” There was a small glimmer in your eyes as you started to grow a smile.

“Yes baby.” Joel gave you a small smile before being pushed down by you, face smushed up against his own. You kept giving him sloppy kisses, laughing in between smooches. Joel didn’t know you’d be this happy, he thought you’d be upset with unknowingly getting pregnant, but he let that thought linger as he kept his hands on your hips, kissing you back with a breathy laugh.

You two were going to be parents.

taglist: @avengersfan25 @sloanexx @flowercrowns-goodvibes @aerangi @st4rb0y27 !! inbox me to join/remove from the taglist!!!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #dark! joel miller x reader #joel miller dark fic #dark!joel miller x reader #dark! joel miller #tlou #tw dubcon #tw babytrapping #tw pregnancy #joel the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

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greycaelum · 10 months

Text

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { Salve }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Genre: fluff, small mishap in the kitchen

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.6k)—/ finger cut from a knife, caution: hot oven, discussion on cursed techniques—/

𑁍 A/N: I'm very busy with life before college starts so, here's a little piece for everyone while I'm out sorting my stuffs

It's one of those weekends when you are ready to clean a chaotic kitchen after a good time baking some sweets with the family. A small recreational afternoon after a tiring week for everyone to unwind and just have fun as a family.

Saika seems to have inherited her father's addiction to sweet things and you are really worried for her health. After all, even if you forbid sweets in this house their Papa will always find a way to sneak some for the kids.

Kouki on the other hand would eat anything his Papa gives him. You're not sure if you should be thankful your son isn't a picky eater. It seems like his stomach would accept anything that classifies as food.

It's hard not to watch the three of them all huddled up on the counter wearing the same kitty apron. Their fluffy white manes are like those pretty cats you see in tv shows. Satoru is leaning on the counter with his hair down and sunglasses. The two munchkins are sitting on the counter wearing a chef's hat and reading the recipe.

They look so cute~ so perfec—

"2 cups of sugarrrr~"

Satoru sang and dumped 4 cups of sugar into the cookie batter.

Actually no, they're a disaster.

"Sa.To.Ru."

He looked up to you and grinned.

"Aweee c'mon Honey, it won't hurt just to be extra extra sure it's sweetttttt! Cookies are supposed to be sweet, right kids?!"

"Right!!!" The two stooges of their Papa chorused.

"Baking needs to be measured, okay? It's not gonna come out right if you don't measure it correc—"

Satoru put a finger on your lips and shushed you making the kids giggle while you glared at your husband who winked at you and gave your pursed lips a small kiss of bribery.

"I got this. You just sit there and relax, okay?"

You're left with not so many choices but to watch the kids adjust the recipe to whatever Satoru tells them.

This isn't gonna be good... Maybe you should make a batch of your own and just let them play on whatever devil spawn of a cookie they end up making.

Satoru preheated the oven while the kids cut the cookies in shape cutters custom-made just for today's fun. It includes Panda, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, Yuta, Maki, Toge, and even Todo miniature figures.

For some reason, Kouki likes hanging out with his Aoi-nii. Todo can actually be very chill with kids.

Satoru finally popped their cookie tray inside and clapped their hands while they waited.

"Why are you all crouched down there? There are seats here."

You sighed at the three cats (yes, their father is included) all crouched down side by side in front of the oven with their chins on their knees watching their cookies getting baked.

"Heyyyyy..." You pursed your lips and eventually joined the huddle, the four of you sat on the floor with the kids playing with you and Satoru to pass the time. Some thumb wrestling, tickle fights even rock, paper, scissors.

It's just like this, the simple moments of family time that you crave the most.

12 minutes passed and the 'ting' of the oven made the four of you excited (half of you dreading you'll run straight to the toilet in one bite).

Satoru carefully took out the hot tray while you were making something light for dinner. A light vegetable soup and some fried tofu and pork.

You chopped the carrots into diced and for a split second on your peripheral you saw Kouki trying to grab a cookie from the scorching tray distracting you altogether. Mother instincts leaping on action.

"Kou!" You hissed and just in time Satoru grab Kouki's hands away from the hot metal but you didn't escape the sharpness of the knife.

"Mama!"

"Hon!" Satoru put the knife away and held your finger with a cut bleeding profusely. "Can you get the first aid kit on the toilet Kikufuku?" Satoru turned to his son who immediately ran to the toilet.

"It's fine, I'm fine. The wound is not that deep." You sighed as Satoru seriously washed your wound but the blood does not stop. "Love, I'm not gonna die from a cut." You held back the urge to chuckle at Satoru's serious face as if you were hacked by a machete.

"Right, and I'm not going let you bleed like a waterfall either." Satoru snaps and drags you to sit on the tall counter chair while he tries to apply pressure to stop the blood.

Kouki came back with the kit and Saika immediately opened it.

"Mama, I'm gonna make it go away. Sho-chan taught me how to." Saika confidently brought out gauzes and betadine.

You chuckled at the little girl who wants to push her father away so she can treat you. For some reason, she really likes hanging around Shoko and often talks about being a nurse.

"Cat, clean your hands," Kouki remembered, pulling the stool so his sister could wash her hands and hop back to you.

"Princess, can you sit and behave for a minute? Papa is trying to help Mama first, okay?" Satoru frowned at the blood and was too busy to deal with the little one.

Unlike Shoko, he can use Reverse Curse Technique only to himself. He doesn't know how to heal others. Ironic.

"Papa, it's not like that." Saika huffed. She put her hands on her hips and stared at her father.

You notice your daughter's defiance and nudge Satoru. It's not like the wound is too big to worry everyone.

"Papa, Cat can do it... I saw it." Kouki interceded and for a second you thought his eyes glimmered like Satoru's.

Satoru stopped and looked at his daughter with a stubborn look on her face. He sighed.

"Cat... Well, how would our little princess do it?" Satoru crouched down and looked at her eye to eye.

"It's very easy." Your four-year-old daughter beamed and held your wounded finger. "Imagine two opposite waterfalls..." Saika murmured, concentrating on your finger.

A chill ran down Satoru's spine. Kouki didn't take his eyes off his sister and mother's interlocked hands.

"And the calm point they meet..."

A faint glow emanated on your finger and the deep cut that was bleeding was gone and there is no mark of a scar at all.

Saika's face brightened and turned to her Papa.

"See! I told you, Papa. I can do it. Sho-chan can do better though." Saika pursed her lips but smiled anyways turning to you.

"Did I do good, Mama? Is it good?" Your bubbly daughter jumped up and down and her brother ruffled her hair praising her a lot.

"Uhuh? What does my Cat want to be when she grows up?" Satoru chuckled as he carried his daughter in his arms.

You and Satoru looked at each other. A long silence before you both snap out of it and pat Saika's head, telling her she's so good.

"Where did you learn that Cat? Did Sho-chan teach you?" Satoru asked the smiling toddler.

"No, I just watch Sho-chan. She doesn't let me inside when a patient comes in so I just watch behind the door." Saika put a finger over her lips and shushed. "Don't tell Sho-chan, okay Papa?"

"I'm gonna be like Sho-chan! I'm gonna be a doctor." Saika clapped.

"See, I told you she can do it." Kouki grinned, looking at his sister being tickled by their Papa.

You ordered takeout instead and the kids happily ate their dessert and played in the backyard while you and Satoru sat beside each other, drinking some milk tea and shortcake.

Kouki has the color of your eyes, but there are several times that when you look into his orbs, the only thing he inherited from you is the color, the rest looks exactly just like Satoru. Vast and unfathomable. There are times you wonder how vast does your son actually see?

"Y'know, I struggled with reverse cursed technique until 16, I couldn't understand it very much." Satoru started while Saika tackled her brother down.

"Mnnn, even you struggled with it... Now that's something." You hummed and sighed. Your head found rest in Satoru's shoulders as he intertwined your hands and kissed the back of your palm.

There are only a few sorcerers that can perform that advance cursed technique, much severely few are those that can heal others, like Shoko. But even Shoko cannot fully explain how the technique works.

"How much does that take a toll on the brain? Unlike curse energy that comes from the stomach, reverse curse deals with the brain, no?"

"My wife is so smart, are you seducing me? Teheehehehe~" Satoru winked at you making you roll your eyes.

"Mnnn, it depends. The reverse cursed technique is more complex than it sounds. It boggles my mind how our 4-year-old daughter could even do that without being taught properly." Satoru chuckled seeing Kouki easily pinning down his sister and tagging her back and running again.

"You saw the wound she healed. It didn't even have any speck of scar Satoru. Even Shoko cannot heal wounds that cleanly. A scab or a scar is always present over the wound." You fear the situation that arises with this kind of technique. The ability to heal any kind of wound is one matter, but repairing it with no scar at all... You know it's another story. The underlying fear of her talent being exploited lingers at the back of your mind.

There are so many out there who would want to covet such precious ability themselves.

You watch Kouki playing with the bright clear marbles with blue streaks inside with Saika who is just as enamored by the swirling curse energy inside the crystal produced by her brother.

"We'll protect them." Satoru pulled you closer and kissed your temples.

It seems like your children will never fail to keep you and Satoru surprised at every chance they try.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

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All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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thetriumphantpanda · 11 months

Text

take me away to paradise

You guys voted and you wanted part 4 of Joel being a menace so here you go, the next instalment of my dbf!Joel. Shoutout to the anon who sent me the ask with the inspiration for this part - I love you.

Pairing | dbf!Joel x female reader

Summary | Joel is back fixing up the attic, you're stressed waiting for a call about the job you really want. Stress relief seems the only option to distract yourself, until Joel discovers your trove of toys.

Word count | 2.8K

Warnings | As always, dbf!Joel is a flirty menace so be warned. There's guided masterbation, sex toys, protected (FINALLY THEY ARE SMART) PiV sex, dirty talk and some fluff for good measure.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You’re stressed. There’s no beating around the bush on this one. You’d interviewed for a job you’d wanted pretty damn badly two days ago. They’d promised to call you as soon as they’d made a decision, but you were still waiting. Phone turned off silent, volume turned all the way up so you wouldn’t miss the call.

You’d tried everything to distract yourself – you’d gone swimming in the pool yesterday afternoon, but the scrabbling at the sides when you heard your ringtone for it to be your mom asking you to put the chicken in the oven ready for dinner that night had given you a heart attack. You’d tried reading, going for a walk, you’d even picked up a cross-stitch you’d started about four years ago and never finished, only to throw it down thirty minutes later when you’d realized you’d done two rows in the completely wrong colour.

Today was proving even more difficult. Joel was banging around in the attic, trying to finish up the job your dad needed doing. He’d arrived pretty early – your mom only just on the way out to work. He’d given you a small smile and a hello but had been hidden upstairs for the whole morning.

Boredom was seeping through your body, along with a tightly wound string of stress and frustration, there was only one thing for it. You shut the book you were trying to concentrate on, setting it on your nightstand, before your hand reaches into the drawer and pulls out the small bullet vibrator. Is this going to become your thing? Getting yourself off when Joel is just meters away from you? You’re pretty sure if you climbed the ladder and asked him to, he would fuck you, but there was something about thinking about him whilst you got yourself off that had excitement bubbling under your skin.

You fit your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, pulling down just enough that you can spread your legs. You make quick work of pressing the button on the bullet vibrator a few times before it stops on your favourite setting before placing is gently against your clit. Pleasure is bursting through you almost immediately and you can’t stop the small moans that fall from your mouth as your hips start moving with your hand, pressing your clit more firmly to the vibrator.

Your brain is foggy at best but you’re sure as you find yourself slowly edging towards your release that Joel’s name falls from your lips, wishing it was his fingers on your clit instead of your toy. You can feel the tightening in your belly and the spots that start to cloud your vision. You’re close and it’ll only take a few more moments of vibrations to push you over the edge.

“You’ve gotta stop doin’ this kinda thing, sugar.”

You squeal in surprise – the high you were rapidly hurtling towards quickly dissipating as you press the button to stop the vibrator.

“You shouldn’t be listening in.” You grumble, trying to pull your shorts back to a respectable position.

“I tried not to,” he shrugs, “But these walls?” He knocks on yours with his knuckles to prove his point, “Paper thin.”

You make a move to put the vibrator away, now more frustrated than you had been when you began, “No need to stop on my account.”

“Funnily enough, I’m not really in the mood anymore.” You groan as you turn over and bury your face in your pillow, attempting to mask your embarrassment.

You can feel the bed dip beside you, and Joel’s warm hand wraps around your ankle, giving it a comforting squeeze, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You turn over onto your back, Joel letting your ankle go so you can move more easily, “I didn’t mean t’make ya embarrassed darlin’,” He smiles, running his hand up your leg, “Were you thinkin’ about me?”

“Maybe.”

“C’mon now darlin’, weren’t so shy just a minute ago when you were moaning my name, were you?”

“Yes Joel, I was thinking about you.” You admit.

A smirk splays across his lips, his free hand reaching for your vibrator, which he holds between his fingers in front of your face, “Show me,” His voice has dropped a few octaves and his eyes have gone dark in that way you love, “Show me how you make yourself feel good when I’m not around.”

You stare at him for a moment before your hand is taking your vibrator from him. You lift your hips with him still sat next to you, dragging your pajama shorts down your legs, before you spread your legs. You can see his eyes flutter to your pussy, aching and wet from your earlier ministrations. You press the button and place it gently against your clit, feeling Joel’s hand come to rest at your hip, anchoring you to the bed and to his presence next to you.

“Such a good girl for me,” He murmurs as you start to wine when you press the button again to change the setting, faster and harder vibrations thrumming through your body, “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Feels so good,” You moan, pressing the small bullet more firmly to your clit, eager to find the high you were hurtling towards before he interrupted, “Not as good as you are though.”

Your eyes have fluttered closed as your hips buck every so often with the vibrations, but you can still hear him chuckle and shift himself a little on the bed, “You want me t’help, darlin’?”

“Yes!” You cry out, mostly from the fact that you’re so incredibly close to coming, but also because you can’t ever say no to this man, “Fingers, Joel,” You breath, “Put your fingers inside me.”

You feel his hand trail up the inside of your thigh and you automatically spread your legs wider for him. His fingers dip only slightly inside of you, and you can hear a deep exhale from his mouth, “Jesus baby,” He breathes, “Always so fuckin’ wet for me.”

“You… ohhhh fuck,” He’s slipping one of those fingers inside your pussy, curling it up automatically in the way he’s so quickly learned sends you feral, “You love it, don’t you?” You ask.

“Love that you’re always so ready f’me?” You nod, eyes still closed as the feeling of his finger inside you, teamed with the rampant vibrations on your clit has you teetering on the edge of oblivion, “Course I do.”

He slips his finger from your tight heat and you’re about to complain when he slips it back inside you with another, filled so deliciously. He’s shifted so he’s knelt between your thighs, free hand splayed across your belly to keep you exactly where he wants you.

“Come on baby,” He encourages, “Wound so tight, ain’t ya?” You can only nod, “Come for me darlin’, I know you’re desperate for it.”

It takes another few pumps of his fingers inside you before you’re crashing over the edge. Your legs are quaking, and you can feel yourself clenching tightly around Joel’s fingers as you move the vibrator from your clit, the stimulation just a little too much for you right now.

“Good girl,” Joel has leaned forward, fingers slipping from you, to press a kiss to your forehead, then he’s taking one of your hands and placing it at the front of his jeans, you can clearly feel the outline of his cock straining, “Let me fuck you baby, please?”

You come around from the haze of pleasure at him begging you like that – it’s new. He’s usually commanding, taking exactly what he wants from you, knowing always that you willingly give it to him. You shuffle a little underneath him, Joel pushing himself up to rest on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and then working his belt from his jeans as you open your bedside drawer, fishing around to find a condom. You’re about to pull one out when Joel’s is crowding over you.

“What’s this?” He pulls out the bright purple silicon that caught his eye.

You let out another groan, not so much of embarrassment this time, more from frustration that you were desperate to have him inside you as soon as possible.

“You got eyes?” You asked, “What does it look like Joel?”

“Looks like a poor substitute for me, is what it looks like.” He’s smirking down at you, rolling the dildo between his hands.

“Put it back in the drawer then,” You’re pulling at his wrist, tugging it back towards its home, “And fuck me instead.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He’s standing quickly from the bed, shedding the rest of his clothes, you’re doing the same, pulling your tank top off, revealing you naked bodies to each other for the first time, “God, you’re a fuckin’ picture baby.”

His big hands are running up the curves of your sides and then he’s pressing a kiss to your lips, rutting his hips into your own. You can feel his throbbing cock, sliding through your folds. You’re almost about to wrap your legs around his waist and pull him inside you when you remember his words from last time.

“Joel,” You mumble, pushing gently at his shoulder as his head is dipped to press kisses along your neck, “Joel!”

“Hmmm?” He lifts his head just enough to listen to you.

You grab the condom that was discarded on the bed and hold it in front of his face. He smiles, taking it from your hands. He settles back on his thighs, and you watch as he tears the packet, deftly rolling it onto his cock in such a practiced motion you were almost jealous of all the women that had come before you to make him the man he is for you. In this moment he is quite possibly the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Broad shoulders and a thin sheen of sweat covering his tanned skin, his dark eyes and soft lips.

He's shuffling closer to you now, hooking you’re the back of your knees in his arms, folding you almost completely in half as he wastes no time at all in slipping himself inside you. This new position has you whining below him. He’s slow in his thrusts to begin with, giving you time to adjust to being spread out and stretched like this.

“God damn baby,” He hisses from above you, “I love bein’ able to take my time with you like this, all spread out for me.”

A moan falls from your lips as he shifts on his knees slightly, pushing himself so deep inside you that the tip of his cock brushes your cervix. No-one before him had even gotten close to the level of pleasure you felt coursing through you at this moment in time.

“Faster,” You beg, gripping onto his biceps as he obliges, “Fuck Joel,” Another filthy moan tumbles from your mouth, “You’re so fucking good to me.”

“I know baby,” He coos, “I know.”

His thrusts don’t let up, in fact, they become more intense and every hit of him bottoming out inside of you has a gasp or a moan leaving your lips. He dips his head to take one of your tits into his mouth, sucking and running the pad of his tongue over your nipple before he switches sides to shower attention on the other. Your hands managed to reach around and find a homme gripping the meat of his ass, almost daring him to go further. It’s delicious, the way his cock brushes the spot inside of you, but you want more, need more from him.

“Joel please,” You almost sob in pleasure, “More, I need more.”

“Darlin’, I can’t give you much more,” He’s chuckling, leaning down to crash his lips to yours, “Why don’t you put your hand on your pussy and make yourself come for me?”

You do exactly that. Your fingers are circling your clit at a brutal pace, desperation to find another high whilst Joel is buried inside of you outweighing the pain of overstimulation you’re feeling. You can hear his own moans falling from his lips as your fingers are bringing you back to the edge.

“Fuck baby, c’mon,” His voice is faltering, and you look up at him, he’s ruined, and you can tell he’s not going to last much longer, “Come for me.”

In all your years of having sex with other people, not that there had been many, you’d always thought that someone demanding you to come was a myth. That there was no way a voice could hold that much power over you. Joel’s voice was different. The low octave, and the way he’s looking down at you as he pounds into your tight pussy, has you arching your back into him whilst you actually scream his name. Your fingers make light work of making sure you’re thoroughly spent through your orgasm, and then all you can focus on is Joel.

His hips are stuttering, and you can tell by the way he’s got his eyes screwed shut and his mouth is hanging open that he’s not going to be far behind you. He opens his eyes, and you make direct eye contact with him, winking as your hands come to your tits, massaging them in your hands and using your fingers to run over your nipples, “You gonna come for me Joel?” You ask, batting your eyelashes with an innocence that is directly justxaposed to the fact that he still has you folded in half and is seconds away from his own ecstasy.

“Fuckin’ hell baby,” He groans, “Gonna be the death of me.”

And then he’s following you, throwing himself over the edge as he stills inside you. His head is buried in the crook of your neck as he groans your name. It’s only now that he’s stopped that you realise how much your body is aching. Almost like he can sense how you feel, he’s finally freeing your knees, letting them drop to the bed and giving you some much needed relief.

He rolls off from your body, collapsing next to you to catch his breath. For the first time since you started whatever this was you curled into his side, draping an arm over his chest, reveling in the feeling of not having to rush anywhere or worry about anyone disturbing you. He wraps his own arm around you, pulling you closer to him as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I gotta get moving, sweetheart,” He speaks softly, “Your dad is gonna have questions about why the attic is takin’ so long, and I can’t exactly admit it’s because I spend most of my workin’ hours balls deep in your pussy.”

You smile, although you’re disappointed. Sure it’s exciting to sneak around and there’s something in the thrill of the risk of getting caught, but there’s a part of you that wishes you could both curl up and fall asleep together and not worry about getting caught like this.

“Alright,” You mumble into his skin, “Get back to work then, Miller.”

You stay planted on the bed, the ache of your bones is delicious and you know you’ll be feeling him for days. You stretch as he discards of the condom in your trash bin, dresses, when a moan of pleasure at the clicking of your back as his head turning to you.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head, “Just a little sore, but in the good way,” Once he’s got his shirt back on, he’s kissing your lips, “Gonna be feeling you for days Joel.”

“Good,” Another kiss, this time longer and more languid, you think if you pulled his arm he would fall right back into bed with you, but you don’t, you know he’s got work to do, “Just know, the next time I catch you gettin’ yourself off before you ask me for help, I might not be so forgiving.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You smirk, eyebrow raised.

He’s chuckling and shaking his head, “You naughty little thing, stop distracting me.”

Your hand is motioning for him to leave you, “Go on, get back to work, I need to soak myself in a hot bath to recover.”

He stops in your doorway like he’s thinking of what to do next, “I could help you?”

“Joel!” You throw your discarded shorts across the room at him, “Go!” He holds his hands up in defeat before he’s gone.

You hear his boots on the ladder up to the attic and within minutes the hammering from before is filling the house. You finally manage to drag yourself from your bed, grabbing a fresh set of pyjamas for after your bath. You run the water as hot as you can bare it, filling the water with bubbles before settling into the water. You can still hear Joel working above you and although you had been spent and sated not moments before, your hand is automatically running down your abdomen and between your legs before you know what happening. What Joel doesn’t know, won’t kill him, right?

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morallyinept · 7 months

Text

Five Days - A Joel Miller Series

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter Word Count: 3.8k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: You've arrived in Jackson. Now it's time to formulate a plan on tackling the threat of the infected horde. Nothing too heavy to note here in this chapter, although there is some angst. Joel makes his appearance.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

The following morning, Joel Miller doesn’t hear his name being yelled over the mitre saw, lowering it to cut through the wooden beam he slides perpendicular to the blade.

Saw dust puffs out in a beige cloud at the end of the table, dispersed by the breeze, and through it he sees his younger brother coming into view.

He jabs at the button with a stubby thumb stopping the saw and wipes his blistered hands on a dank cloth hanging out the back pocket of his scuffed and beaten denim.

He feels the irritating graze of an embedded splinter already nestling into his pointer finger, and his eyes sting from the blow back. He makes a mental note to look for any goggles on his next scavenging mission.

Joel scans the work being done on the foundations to the plot on the left of him approvingly, although his expression doesn’t change; twisted up in a knot of constant frowns that's as regular as the weather. Several houses are going up as planned, and he’s on track to fill the quota he promised Maria he’d deliver by the fall.

Then he watches, with a slight mirth as he shakes his head in haughty derision, as Tommy Miller channels John Baxter from A Fist Full Of Dollars. Strutting towards him with that stupid white Stetson perched on his head, and all he’s missing is a gold star badge pinned to his lapels and a six shooter resting on his hip.

“They were fuckin’ right!” Tommy exclaims as he gavottes up to big bro.

“Who was?” Joel asks, dumbfounded.

“Shit, ya don’t know?” Tommy rattles, the jet of his hair under the Stetson appearing damp from the sweat as it catches the sun. Oiled black curls frame his grizzly face that Joel notices is ageing a little more now. Fatherhood, he presumes. “Newbies. Took ‘em in yesterday mornin', five of ‘em.”

Joel tosses down the cloth and retreats back under his workshop canopy lazily with Tommy pulling up the gauntlet. A constant shadow that plagues him when he'd rather just get on with the job at hand.

Gossip isn't his forte, despite Tommy feeling the need to run off the comings and goings of the commune to Joel on an almost daily basis. However, being in the know tends to help him navigate this tight knit community where everyone seems to know everything about everyone, much to Joel's tempestuous chagrin.

“Yeah, n’ what are they right ‘bout exactly? Forgot m'crystal ball today.” Joel drinks from a cloudy glass of homemade lemonade that’s far too sour for his liking; needs more sugar, he thinks.

His brown eyes squint out into the sunlight making them look amber as he sucks the tart taste from his tongue. He's made a whole jug of this shit and it ain't gonna go down too well with his hiatal hernia, despite being parched from working in the heat all day.

“There’s a horde of infected, ‘bout fifteen klicks from here. S’big.” Tommy explains.

Joel eyes him narrowly over the rim of the glass. “How big?”

“Least a thousand strong, they reckon. Wiped out their camp. Poor sons o’ bitches.” Tommy leans against a pile of standing wood beams and it clatters, unsteadying him.

Joel lances him a pissed off look and pushes him out the way to neaten it up again. He’s always coming by and messing with his shit.

“Thousand strong?” Joel mutters out through a strangled gulp. A subtle tightening is felt in the centre of his chest, but he does his best to wring it out before it can unfurl. Some days it's easier than the others.

And catching the splinter in his finger as it scrapes against the wood brings the sting to his focus and he winces. "They sure 'bout that?"

“Yeah. We sent scouts. They just got back."

"Shit," Joel murmurs, sucking his finger, gnawing at the irritation. He can already feel his blood start to ice over at Tommy's revelation.

"Y’ever heard of anythin' like that? They evolving or somethin'?” Tommy enquires.

“S’possible. Behaviour could change.” Joel shrugs and thinks on it for a moment. “Maybe they know there’s no-one left in the cities anymore. Finally picked 'em clean.” Joel grits his teeth and carries on arranging the planks.

He catches Tommy's look which mirrors the concerned ticking in his own mind.

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence, congregatin' like that.” Tommy shrugs.

Joel shakes his head, tipping back the remaining lemonade with a hiss around his teeth as it burns his gums. Joel doesn’t believe in coincidences.

Or much more than that these days.

“Maria’s formulatin' with their leader, planning on doin' something ‘bout it. Need you in on this.” Tommy states clearly.

“No, ya don’t.” Joel remarks sourly and turns back to the saw. “M'busy.”

“I ain’t askin’,” Tommy says and Joel's shoulders hunch up.

Joel contemplates it, contemplates strangling him, but nods in defeat as he runs his hand around his aged scruff as his younger brother stares him down into submission. His forehead sweats as he adjusts to the mounting predicament they face.

“M’gettin’ too old for this gallivantin’ around shit, Tommy.” Joel sighs.

His last supply run hadn’t gone so well; ended up with a twisted knee and returning a little worse for wear. He was still tired from days of sleeping rough on hard grounds, from fighting with infected that came his way.

From listening to Tammy and Garret bicker non-stop the whole way there, and then fucking like jacked-up rabbits, thinking he couldn’t hear them when they made up, stuffed clumsily and too tightly into one sleeping bag.

He was always paired up with them as of late for some unknown reason, probably to test him further when Garret would harp on about how using magic erasers would literally clear the dirt and gunk off of anything in a pinch. Is that so? Joel could only reply whilst his fingers became heavier and itchier on the trigger of his rifle.

Probably orchastrated to alert him to his own sense of loneliness too. Everyone, or at least it felt like that, was part of a pair in the commune.

Friends, lovers... and some days it only served to remind Joel at how he was an obvious smear on that schmoozed harmony that orbited around him.

Maria had tried - or rather forced - to pair Joel up with unwitting and unwilling suitors, fearing that the longer he was left to fester by himself, the more of an unhinged liability he was in some way.

He'd agreed, after much wearing down, to a date with Carrie, just to stop Maria from meddling. Although, if what constitutes as a date these days is an over-cooked meal in the Tipsy Bison, where Carrie and Joel were sat on the same table in stunted, awkward silence, whilst everyone around them gawked and whispered like they were in a fish bowl for their amusement, well... Joel wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

Carrie's boy was of similar age to Ellie and apparently that was enough to make her Joel's soulmate.

He was inclined to disagree.

After a frank conversation, and a bitch-fest to Tommy about his woman getting all up in his personal grill, Maria had backed off and left him to his own singular devices.

Joel just preferred the quiet now.

Preferred that to the unzipping of his skin for someone else to bear witness to the horror of his insides that were rotten and tightly wound around his bones like dried out vines.

Despite the nauseating sounds of Tammy rutting like a Red Wattle hog with Garret a few yards from him, somewhere in the back of his mind, Joel would still reminisce about the touch of a woman and how it had been a long time, despite his resistance to it.

And then his mind would think of all his past failures in the dating department and then he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore after that, so would get up and remove himself away from the incessant humping, and try not to shoot himself in the face in the middle of nowhere.

Joel needed rest, needed some damn sleep.

Needed to get these houses up whilst Tommy ran around playing Sheriff, and to stay busy. Keep the thoughts at bay, keep the fear locked up tight in the box he tried - and often failed at, keeping the lid on.

“Ah, we'll fix ya up with some retirement home later. Ya ain’t dead yet, old man.” Tommy replies.

“No. But you will be.” Joel tosses the cloth at him and a small, guarded smile slips off his lips. “T’fuck is that on ya head anyhow? Y'look like fuckin' Woody.” He flicks the Stetson.

Tommy’s face softens as he claps Joel on the back. “Y'eat any breakfast yet?”

Joel shakes his head, feeling the constant loss of his appetite standing in solidarity with him.

“Come on, I’ll buy ya some eggs.”

“What with? Ya ain’t gon’ buy me shit,” Joel snickers, allowing Tommy to drag him towards the bar.

That same morning you’re sitting in The Tipsy Bison with Kelper and the others of your group having some breakfast of your own.

Guthrie eats one-handed with furtive peepers darting madly around the place, and Sal just seems happy to be able to taste bacon again, moaning in orgasmic delight as she crunches around the crispy rind.

Max is fumbling his way through sloppy mouthfuls of mushy oats as he talks with Kelper. You’re still amazed at the variety of food that’s on offer, but the wary faces around you all cut into that enjoyment somewhat.

Their eyes are cautious, yet curious. As you meet some of them, they immediately look away.

Maria’s in the bar with her baby in her arms; a dribbling bundle of gurgles that’s cute as he is loud when he screams. She reassures you all, as she does the rounds, that everyone will soon warm to you; that it’s normal for any newcomers to be looked upon scathingly.

And you agree; you were all just as wary of intruders bundling into your peaceful harmony when your own group welcomed them in. You have to earn people's trust, it’ll take some time.

You get up to dispose of your plate, there’s table service in The Tipsy Bison, but you want to feel useful and at least try to give something back in return as thanks, no matter how small the gesture.

These people are trying to create a normal world within a chaotic one, but manners still exist.

And it fractures you for a moment at how everything seems so… normal around you.

Laughter, chatter. Everyone seems so carefree. Like the stillness has ground everything to a halt, frozen in a snapshot of time gone by that you still pine for; a hedonistic wonderment that's still craved in your blood. It's surreal, almost unsettling.

You can feel it thrash around in your squally gut.

"Hey. You good?" Kelper's voice is beside you and his hand rubbing across the top of your spine, which melts the icicles jarring your vertebrae immediately.

You smile weakly at him. "Yeah. I'm good."

You see two men come into the bar out of the corner of your eye, talking with deep Texan accents that echo into the hollows of your bones, but you pay no mind as Kelper offers you more coffee to go, as you scrape your plate into the waste bin for food scraps.

Makes sense that they’d compost it as you read the signs informing you so. Nothing is wasted here.

You turn, smiling to Kelper, lost in listening to him regale you about something with regards to the plan for the horde, when you brush past the upper arms of one of the men, colliding with him gently.

You feel it again; the wave of it brushes over the fine hairs of your skin.

Something about that accent that echoes in the deepest corners of your mind reminds you of a hole you thought you had cemented over. A bolster of prickles floods your epidermis again, and then it's gone as quickly as it comes.

You don't stop though, not capturing his face, as he throws a muttered apology over his broad shoulder, and you toss one back as the man beside him in a white Stetson talks his ear off listlessly.

You laugh as you leave, probably a little too loudly at something Kelper quips to Max as it pulls you out of any sense of recognition that you just swam in.

You forget it instantly.

Joel looks up just to see your silhouette disappear from the window of the door; your hair flowing behind you like a comet's tail in the summer breeze. The back of your head is all he glances.

He frowns, tossing away any semblance of recall that haunts the base of his spine for a moment and shakes it off as quickly as it comes.

Somewhere deep inside of him, he’s heard a laugh like that before.

A sense of déja vu clouds behind his eyes as he predicts exactly what Tommy will say next and finishes his sentence for him, much to his younger brother's joviality.

He smiles thinly, turning back to the hot cup of brown pouring out for him and wanting to get back to work. Tommy tries pressuring him into eating something, but as Maria approaches with the now screaming baby, Joel has an excuse to finally scarper.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy his nephew, more so that he can't stand the noise he makes at these decibels in his only ear that can hear clearly.

You follow Kelper and the others outside and back towards the houses, readying to meet with Maria and the council shortly.

Kelper tells you that you shouldn’t be nervous, when he clocks how quiet you are this morning, and you're not. If anything you want to get out there and get the job done. Some revenge on those dead assholes might make you feel better for what you’ve all lost.

And Max is only too eager to agree with you as you throw him a small smile.

You stop, sighing when you realise you've left your jacket in the bar. 'I'll be back, you guys go on," you say to them as you head towards the bar entrance.

As you go to push in, you collide again with the same man coming out, and it knocks the wind out of your sails as the fleeting recognition now instantly floods through your senses, as you catch his annoyed features peering at you as his coffee sloshes over the rim of the cup.

Oh my God. No way!

Crumpled Polaroid snapshots of times long since passed rattle and hurtle across your vision as it all comes back to the forefront for you to relive in painful detail.

You feel your heart lurch into your throat for it to regurgitate out of your mouth at his feet in a bloody mess of sloppy ventricles. You feel unsteady for a moment as the whole world tips on its axis and you feel yourself swaying with it.

It boils; your heart palpitating, your fingertips thrumming.

You recognise the wide, rich brown eyes staring back at you filled with regret and longing, or at least that's what you imagine in this moment of pure unadulterated shock.

It's hard to know if any of this is real, or if you've just been shoved cruelly into some torrid dream.

His hand is crushing the coffee cup in his grip as he regards you too with instant familiarity, and something else weaving across his worn features.

“J-Joel?” You splutter, amazed. Holy shit! "It's really you."

He's mute. He hears his name roll out of your mouth, something he never thought he would ever hear again, and it stops time.

Unable to speak even if he wanted to as a croak similar to a toad escapes him from the back of his throat that's now closing in on him.

"W-what are you…?" You fail to finish the question as the unspoken awe crushes and winds you both.

He thought it was you, in a moment of weak, stupid delirium; was convinced it was your laugh he’d heard, but couldn’t be sure.

Couldn’t be sure if it was just another spectre haunting him.

And now that you're here looking up at him, smiling in that way he remembers suddenly, and with watery eyes, it stuns him too. Stops every coherent thought in his jumbled brain, stops his fingers burning from the scalding coffee splashed over them, and words fail him as you stand here before him - having the audacity to be alive and looking just as staggered as he is.

His feet feel like concrete blocks and someone shuffles past him out of the bar knocking into his shoulder gently with a frazzled apology, but yet he still remains frigid in his stance, unmoving.

You speak again, despite the inability to breathe now clogging the words up in your throat.

“If anybody was going to survive the end of the world, it’d be you.” You confirm with a flabbergasted smirk at him.

Your words seems so feeble and juvenile in this monumental moment.

“Only just,” he replies now, summoning the courage to speak back to you, but from where he doesn’t know. He feels like his voice is no longer his own, floating out of him like crumpled, Mylar balloons losing their helium as they sag to the floor.

“Y’were with the group?” He asks in a slow daze.

“Yeah." You nod like you have no control over it.

He nods quickly too. His heart is racing, a blend of nostalgia and anticipation that makes Joel feel sick to his gut.

His chest tightens again as the memories of you come flooding to the front of his mind, blasting out of the locked boxes he'd kept you safe inside; blinding him and deafening him for a few moments.

"This is… I can't believe you're alive." You whisper. "I thought maybe you might've-"

“No.” Joel grumbles. And it pains him everyday that he's still here and refusing to die, the stubborn fuck. "I thought... you-"

"No." You smile weakly. Evidently you're just as stubborn as he remembers too.

He shakes the coffee off his fingers and wipes them on the hem of his plaid shirt. You don’t see that they’re trembling, and he’s cursing inwardly for them to stop.

"Fuck, h-how are you?” You ask him, knowing it’s probably a stupid question of epic proportions.

How's the apocalypse been treating you, Joel?

Oh, just dandy darlin', n' you?

But words fail you and you’re running on some strange autopilot as your brain tries to catch up with what you’re seeing and process it.

It’s failing miserably.

His once sharp features are now a ghost on his face; his head is lowered a little with his neck shrinking into his collar. He seems shorter somehow, if such a thing were possible.

A muscle somewhere inside of your heart snaps.

“Urm,” Joel states to the ground, suddenly very emotionally constipated. Maybe more so than you remember. “Uh, I need to-” He throws his thumb over his shoulder and turns away instantly.

“Yeah… sure,” you nod as he abruptly leaves and takes your remaining breath with him.

There's nothing you can do but stand there, rooted to the spot as you watch him leave. A barrage of millions of unanswered questions batter you and pulverise your bones into dust.

Joel Fucking Miller, here. Of all places in what is left of this tiny, perfidious world.

You instantly think that Joel Miller must shit out Lucky Charms. That son of a bitch made it, but you’re not surprised. He was always strong where you were weak.

The world had already come to an end when Joel had disappeared out of your life, and seeing him now reminds you of that devastation, that loss. All over again.

And it seems worse than the bloodshed somehow. Worse than the constant fighting for survival. Worse than the hunger ravaging you for days on end.

Reminds you, starkly, that you never really got over the pain of it. Never really got over him.

And it's a sucker punch to your jaw that leaves a nasty contusion blooming on it now, with purple spidery veins, as you can only watch him walk away. Rooted to the spot on which you stand with your gut slowly falling out of you.

It reminds you that you'd mourned for him in the early days, convinced he hadn't made it. Then wondering if he had and if he was mourning for you somewhere in that short burst of delusion when all hope seems lost as you're on the brink of checking out.

Convincing yourself that he was searching the world over for you and you had to continue on, for him. To find him again. But of course, when you think about it, he was an after thought through the death and destruction.

And that makes you feel guilty somehow as you look at the back of his head shrinking further away.

A faint reflection in the dusty mirror of your cortex holding onto life, that had faded significantly and was replaced with thoughts that didn't expose their length or colour, other than to focus on the immediate tasks at hand.

Like, not dying.

But now, he glimmers; he burns through the membranes and sinew and blinds your eyes with the sight of him before you. He's killing you all over again.

Suddenly, the last twenty-odd years seem worth it somehow. Even if the thought is razor-wired around the ludicrous.

You watch him go, hauling his tired and heavy bones along with him, somewhat bemused, somewhat bereft. A slight limp now to his once bold strut when you knew him back in a time where the world was still just as fucked up, only differently.

The uninvited memories of him you thought you had buried, rise from their graves; marauders with rotting flesh coming to get you.

They seep back into full technicolour and booming surround sound for you to relive and experience the resentment, the bitterness, and the full elation all over again.

Joel's alive. You're alive.

And in some unexplainable, sadistic twist of fate, you're both here, thrust together into a world where the pieces of your souls, that were once laid bare and entwined tightly together in an unflinching knot, now lay at your feet in tattered shreds.

Fuck.

To be continued...

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