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hier--soir · 1 year

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

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

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pedgito · 9 months

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𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘, 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 | BFD!Joel x Fem!Reader

summary | the rich father of your bestfriend, sarah — joel miller, was a mystery to you until one day he isn't and you quickly find that your interest in him isn't one-sided. [12k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, bfd!joel, ceo!joel, mentions of reader growing up poor/absent parents (joel is ridiculously loaded, it's fic y'all let me live lol), sneaking around, age gap (not explicitly specified, but reader is in final year of college and joel is probs late 40s/50s), vacations, gift-giving, unprotected piv, come swallowing, daddy issues if you squint, one (1) pussy slap, oral (f receiving), semi-public fucking

author’s note | anyways, here’s this. big age gap, some power dynamic stuff but not really. if you don’t like, don’t read & all that jazz. love you babies. xo.

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There was no hiding who Joel Miller was to the town of Austin—a pioneer in the community for rebuilding and building upon the surrounding shopping areas and neighborhoods to save the town from complete gentrification. He owned three companies at this point—one manned by his brother Tommy who dealt with larger businesses, handled the biggest amount of workload when it came to dealing with customers. The other was handled by his wife Maria, more often communicating with smaller businesses in the area. Mom and Pop shops, family owned and locally sourced shops. And Joel dealt with the community directly, building houses at an affordable rate that kept his business booming and well above the surrounding competition.

He was so sought after that the idea of him felt like an enigma.

But, to you—he was just Sarah’s dad. For years you never had the pleasure of meeting him, with his constantly busy schedule he was often away when you came to visit Sarah on their massive—almost too comically large piece of land on the outskirts of Austin, Texas.

A large two-story farmhouse that seemed like something right out of a storybook—pristine and in perfect condition, surrounded by what felt like miles of grassy land and fencing. Horses, chickens, goats, growing piglets that were taken care of by Sarah and Joel themselves.

You’ve known Sarah since you were fourteen, aware of her upbringing and the type of family she came from, but it never deterred her from being the kindest friend you’ve had. And your shared, similar interest led to an easy friendship that lasted well into college. Sarah was also aware of your…less than ideal family situation, living under the roof of a single parent household, given you were an only child it wasn’t horrible—but your father was a drunk and didn’t manage his money well and that often meant going without. It didn’t matter what, but there was always something lacking that you wish you didn’t have to make up for with your already overwhelming amount of college work and lingering debt.

You didn’t have anywhere to go, unfortunately.

But, Sarah was always there.

And it isn’t until your final year of college that you find yourself finally meeting the once mysterious Joel Miller, remembering that Sarah told you something about how he was trying to take a step back, allowing more responsibility on his trusting employees to head the company while he took a step back and managed everything as a whole from a distance—less involved, more time at home around Sarah, it was a win win situation.

With both of you working toward similar degrees, it was helpful and convenient to share notes and study as often as you could, especially as your final term papers were nearing and looming like a dark cloud.

It’s an unsuspecting Thursday night when you and Sarah are pausing the heavy studying to cook a quick dinner when Joel walks into the kitchen, approaching the island and nearly tilting your entire existence on this earth on an axis. Your breath catches briefly, eyes dragging over his figure. You’ve seen pictures—family vacations that Sarah has shown you when they were flying across the country over summer breaks and you were stuck at home.

But, nothing compared to the real thing.

His hair is grown out, curling around his ears. A warm, soft brown that is styled and shaped so perfectly it seems unreal—but the loose curl that falls over his forehead gives it away. There’s a deep cut in his silk-pressed shirt that hangs loosely on his frame, some abstract pattern that shouldn’t work as well as it does on him, but his tan skin compliments the deep tones and varying designs. The faint dusting of chest hair is obscured by the chains that hang in the space the silk-button up creates where he lacks the ability to fasten them, or rather chooses not to.

And you try not to let your gaze linger on the cut of his jeans as they cling snug to his legs, cuffed at the ankles and showcasing a pair of—what you can only suspect are new loafers. A dark chocolate brown accented with a gold metal piece along the center to complement his jewelry around his neck and the few rings placed meticulously on his fingers.

It’s no secret his ring finger sits untouched, lacking the heavy weight of a significant other's mark. Sarah mentioned her mom dying young, much like your own—maybe that’s why you two bonded so easily.

“Got enough for your old man?” Joel questions curiously, tapping away at his phone meticulously before pocketing it, eyebrows raised in question.

“You hate boxed mac and cheese,” Sarah argues flippantly, flicking the empty box at her father across the counter, “so no, I don’t.”

“No, babygirl—I just hate the powder kind.” He flicks it back just as easily and you note how easy their relationship feels, like this is how things should be.

Sarah laughs, scrunching her nose up in amusement. “Charming, isn’t he?”

Oh—she’s talking to you? You look at her for half a second, confused, before you’re quickly nodding in agreement without fully listening to what she had asked.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to lie.” She assures, stirring the noodles in the pot over the stove.

Your gaze lingers selfishly, catching the faint twitch of a smile on Joel’s face as he catches you looking. It’s nothing more than a friendly smile, comforting rather than disarming.

“You know—Sarah never brings her friends around.” Joel starts begrudgingly, eyeing Sarah down before switching to you, “Seein’ as I’ve been hearing all about you for years now and I’m just now meetin’ you in the flesh.”

“Dad, stop scaring her.” Sarah gripes, searching around haphazardly for a couple of bowls, “seriously—just ignore him. He doesn’t know how to act now that he’s home more.”

Joel rolls his eyes dismissively, extending his hand in a kind gesture. You grab it hesitantly and he senses it, pointer finger dragging along the underside of your palm as he holds it delicately and bows his head.

“She’s just mad she can’t get rid of me now,” Joel tells you softly, nodding toward Sarah over your shoulder, “how’s the studying goin’?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand immediately and you don’t try to escape either, allowing the brief moment of lingering contact before you slip it away, shoving your hands into your back pockets.

“Fine.” Sarah’s response is clipped.

It’s stressful, if you’re being honest. But, you could see that Sarah didn’t want to relay that to her father, side-eyeing you wearily.

It’s the first of many interactions that led to the tiny crush you began to have for Joel Miller. Your once a week studies eventually turn into two or three times a week, desperate to spend as much time away from your own home situation as possible.

Eventually, it’s nearly an everyday thing. You and Sarah would finish your day of classes and drive the short distance to her house and spend most of the night studying. Gradually, you were introduced into their own routine. At first, Joel would offer to buy dinner and leave things be, allowing you the space you needed. But, it eventually delves into weekly dinners and sitting down as if you were a part of this pseudo-family situation you’ve interjected yourself into.

Sarah knew you didn’t like it at home, so it was never a problem. Joel caught on after a few weeks—noticing how you avoided any questions about yourself, your family, anything that would allow him any glimpse into who you were outside what Sarah had told him, which wasn’t much at all. He’s trying to make you feel welcomed and you can appreciate that.

You’ve offered to help pay for meals on multiple occasions, but it never works. Quickly thwarted off by Joel’s extended hand as he shoves your cash away, assuring you that it wasn’t your responsibility. This was his house, his gesture, and he didn’t want you to think you owed him anything.

Yet, something in you yearned to do so.

You wanted him to know just how grateful you were.

His curiosity about you comes to a head on a night after a few beers with friends, poker table trashed and the kitchen a mess. You were bringing down the trash from Sarah’s room, the shared dinner you two had had as a treat for your first day without studying—it was relaxing, mostly because your day had been spent here rather than home.

Joel gathers a few bottles in his large palm, slipping the lips of the bottle through spread fingers. “You two enjoyin’ yourselves?” He asks, looking at you casually. It was a question you’ve heard often, a simple conversation starter. And talking to Joel was much easier now.

You nod, lips pulled into a tight smile. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”

“C’mon now,” Joel jests, dropping the bottles into the trash, “none of that—it’s Joel. Shit makes me feel old, darlin’.”

The nickname wasn’t new either. He often called Sarah by her name or babygirl.

Darlin’ though, it was all you.

He takes the dirty plates from your hands and places them in the sink, palm extended against the ledge of the counter while he rests his other hand against his hip.

“How are you doin’?” He asks, voice softer but still gruff. “Not that you have to tell me, I just want to make sure you’re feelin’ comfortable here.”

“I’m okay,” You say through an unsure smile that Joel notes but doesn’t press on, “it’s just easier to study here—I’m sorry if I spend too much time around here. Feels like you should be charging me rent by now.”

“Not a chance in hell, darlin’.” Joel grins, shiny white teeth showing behind his smile. The small bit of his shirt that was tucked in came loose by the rub of his fingers at his hip and drawing your eyes to the skin briefly, “you’re always welcome here.”

And you hate the way you crave even an inkling of physical contact from him. A pat on the shoulder, a hug, a fucking kiss on the forehead. You weren’t his daughter, you didn’t want to be. But, there was something about Joel that you couldn’t pull away from, trying your best to keep it at bay.

“You know what,” Joel says suddenly, pulling your lingering gaze back on his face, feeling guilty as you chewed on your bottom lip, “why don’t you come on vacation with Sarah and I next month?’

“Mr—Joel, that’s—” You’re quickly silenced by his hand actually pressing against your shoulder now—and fuck, when had he gotten so close?

“Sarah was thinkin’ about asking you anyways. We’re gonna take a trip to the Keys,” He rubs gently at the junction in your shoulder, the thick expanse of his thumb pressed against bare skin, “—just consider it, alright? Lord knows you both need a break as much as I do.”

The thing about Joel is that he was such a good father, something you haven’t been privy to in the couple decades and some few years you’ve been alive. You want to feel jealous and angry, spiteful that this was something you couldn’t have naturally. But, it feels nothing like that.

The crush you had on Joel was dangerous. But, that was all it was. A craving to be around Joel, to seek his approval and gain his trust. And bask in the care he provides. A simple case of daddy issues that you couldn’t admit to yourself was actually happening.

You shouldn’t entertain the idea.

You shouldn’t even consider it.

“Oh—okay. Yeah, as long as Sarah is alright with that.” You nod, a genuine, soft smile stretching across your face. Joel squeezes your shoulder tighter and you swear you feel it moving in closer, like he wants to hold you closer, cradle you in his hands. But, then the touch is gone and his fingers are running through his hair, curls separating through his fingertips.

“Alright then.” Joel says triumphantly, “You gonna be okay gettin’ home tonight?”

Sarah was driving you home soon, like usual. You nod.

“Good,” Joel nods, “Goodnight, darlin’.”

“Goodnight, Joel.” You say sweetly, patting your hand against the countertop softly, unable to spare a look his way as you walk in the opposite direction.

But, he can’t help his own fleeting and inappropriate thoughts, eyes dragging along your figure as you walk away, hands gripping the countertop like a vice, internally kicking himself how indecent he was allowing himself to think about you. Still, it didn’t stop the thoughts from flooding in and if he found himself spread out on his sheets that night, cock held tight in his hands as he fucked himself into his fist—well, he could repent for it some other time.

You touch down in the early morning on a Sunday, still riddled with anxiety from the plane ride. Joel had tried his best to accommodate, even buying first class tickets despite his usual tendency to go business. He didn’t care much for amenities but he wanted to treat Sarah and you, making you feel guilty with how quickly your face lit up at the sight. Spacious seats stocked with gifts and snacks, a tiny television molded into the area, it felt like too much.

It was. But, Joel assured you it wasn’t.

There was little planned for the week you had to spend there and you had tried to scrounge up a little cash within the month you had to save, picking up a few extra shifts at your job and stowing it away for this—hoping you could treat yourself to something, anything. Even if it was just a stupid tourist shirt that cost an egregious amount of money.

Joel quickly snuffs out that idea, putting his foot down as he assured you that this trip was a treat. Not just for himself, but for all of you. You never asked how much money the Miller’s had, but it was clearly more than you could ever fathom to be imaginable. He yanks the black Amex from his wallet and hands it off to every waiting server and store owner you three come across.

It’s abundantly clear that they don’t worry about money in the sense that you do—it wasn’t unwelcomed, but it was an adjustment that took a couple days to get over, feeling shame for enjoying it. He’d paid for the plane fare, booked the hotels and the activities you had planned, made sure meals were paid for and then some, even allowing you and Sarah some spending money to go shopping for clothes or whatever you needed.

He didn’t ask, it didn’t matter. He just wanted you to feel welcomed. Like family…or something.

The trip is fairly harmless fun, a few swimming activities that tire you all out and lend to an early turn in on a couple nights, dinners that lended you to learn a lot more about Joel. Still, as much as Joel tried, you weren’t as open. Vague answers, sidewaying the conversation. He didn’t try to pry, though. And you were thankful for that.

But, with fairly harmless came a few instances that didn’t feel so.

The first comes in the deep end of the ocean, floating on a shared longboard in the midst of the calm waves, humid heat sticking to your skin. Fingers fiddling with the loosening tie around the back of your neck as Sarah wades off to the shore for a brief minute to reapply sunscreen. And maybe you shouldn’t have asked, but you see the lingering look Joel gives you, fingers curling subtly against the edge of the board.

“Can you help me?” You ask, slowly edging around the board until you’re beside him, turning before he has the opportunity to answer. “It’s hard to get it tight on my own.”

Joel clears his throat and offers a smile, “‘Course, chin down for me?” And you follow his lead, feeling his fingers brush against your neck and guide your head down, untying the loose not completely and feeling your swim top go slack, covered by the safety of the water and your back turned to him, but it doesn’t stop the touch of his fingertips against your skin as he ties the knot and tugs slightly, assuring that it was secure to his liking. You lift your head slowly when you feel his palm press flat against your back, fingers curling around the point where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Thanks, Joel.” You turn your head over your shoulder to look back at him, earning a small nod as his touch lingers, only loosening when you rescue your grip on the longboard in front of you.

“Enjoyin’ yourself so far?” He asks, always able to ease into steady conversation without missing a beat. “Any complaints?”

“Definitely,” You smile wide, huffing soft laugh through your nose as you shake your head, “I guess I do have one complaint, actually.” You tell him honestly, a subtle nervousness to your voice.

“Well, I’m all ears, darlin’.” He responds, leaning his elbow onto the board as it bobbed slightly.

“I just…you don’t have to pay for everything, Joel.” You find yourself rushing out the words, hoping that it wouldn’t cause an adverse reaction, but instead, Joel smiles wider.

“Look, I invited you on this trip,” Joel explains, “and that means you aren’t paying for a damn thing. Alright?”

You nod meekly, quieting down as Sarah waded back into the ocean toward you both.

With Joel, it was something you would have to learn to accept.

You try to ignore the lingering touch of his fingertips on your neck, but now it feels like a burn in your skin that would only get worse as time went on.

The second instance isn’t as much of a thing, rather than a moment.

Eyeing a sundress that resembled some of the similar outrageous patterning that Joel wore, shapes and blobs morphed around the material yet somehow managing to look chicer than anything you’ve ever come across, strappy and long and deep cut down the center. It wasn’t for modesty, you could assume that much. You run your fingers along the creases and stitching in the fabric, admiring it as you flipped the tag in your hand, immediately gawking at the price.

Joel had been lingering by, browsing the various knick knacks and souvenirs lining the shelves off the small store—all hand-made pieces that he could appreciate, but didn’t find any use for himself. And he’s watching you, has been for a while, noticing the way your eyes kept flicking back toward the dress despite your path around the store.

Joel casually follows the same path, taking a subtle peek at the tag. It was a few hundred dollars, but given the silkiness of the material and him being very familiar with the tone of pricing around the area, it wasn’t an outrageous ask. He slips the dress off the rack, careful as he removes it off the hanger and finds you separated from Sarah as you peruse down a wall of jewelry—some cheap and some not, looking around with no real want, just admiring.

He slips the dress into your hands, rough, overworked palms cupping your own as he makes you physically wrap your fingers around and claim the garment, chest to your back as he speaks, lips a hair's breadth away from your ear.

“It’s a pretty dress,” Joel says calmly, much calmer than your rapidly beating heart and the sudden uptick in your breathing, silk material spread out over your fingertips, “shame for it to go to waste, darlin’.”

“It’s expensive.” You argue, voice soft as he locks eyes with you in the mirror nestled in the nearest corner, “It’s nice to want things Joel, but I don’t need it.”

“I dunno,” He responds, unconvinced, “and—maybe I’m speaking out of turn but I think it’d look great on you.”

And you’ve never been more thankful of Sarah’s obliviousness to certain things, so wrapped up in her own shopping across the store that you two remained unsuspecting, eyes still locked on one another through the shared mirror.

He can see the way your body twitches at the comment, responds, but what he doesn’t understand is how it makes your cunt throb, solid body pressed against your back as he squeezes the backside of your hands with his palm. The willingness of contact was still fresh and new but it never made you feel unsafe—in fact, it had the opposite effect entirely.

Joel speaks again, directly to you in the mirror.

“I might just have to buy it for you, darlin’.” He says quietly, “You alright with that?”

You hesitate for a moment, but nod shakily. “Thank you, Joel.”

“Don’t need to keep thankin’ me.” Joel assures, “I know it’s implied.”

But, the instance that had you reeling for days after, still replaying it vividly in your mind, was a night near the end of your trip. Sarah had long gone to bed and you, riddled by insomnia, find yourself at the hallway vending machine, looking for a snack to cure your growing hunger.

Though, it seemed that Joel had the same idea—fork halfway into his mouth as he turned the corner, a sizable piece of chocolate cake inside of a small to-go tray, looking even guiltier as he caught sight of you, feeling like he really didn’t want to get caught like this. It makes you laugh into the palm of your hand. Joel is acting like the kid that got sneaking cookies in the middle of the night, still not hesitating to lick the fork clean as he tucked it away in the styrofoam box.

“Don’t tell Sarah,” He swears you to secrecy, “she’s already on my ass enough about my sugar intake.”

“You’ve got a sweet tooth,” You shrug, “nothing wrong with that.”

“What about you, huh?” Joel’s eyebrows raise in question, watching as you peruse the various snacks but not finding anything particularly appetizing. “Late night snack?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You chew at your bottom lip, feeling that this was useless.

“Wanna share it?” Joel asks suddenly, pulling your attention to him immediately. “That way I feel a little less guilty about it.”

“Oh—and then bring me down with you?” You tease lightly, “Of course.”

It’s how you end up in Joel’s room that night, no other intentions than to share that stupid piece of cake, lacking a fork so you trade off for a few bites until it slowly delves into you both feeding each other as you talk, one of you hogging the fork more than the other. You curled up in one chair and Joel relaxed out in the other, styrofoam box held to his chest and forcing you to lean closer to assure you didn’t drop crumbs everywhere.

Maybe it should feel weird, but it doesn’t.

“You know—if there’s anything you do need—” Joel begins after a while, meaningless conversation having died out.

“I know—Sarah tells me all the time. I just have to ask.” It feels pointless, rehashing things again. But, Joel feels the need to reassure and comfort. It didn’t help that he was finding himself, at his age, attracted to you in such a depraved way. “I will—if I do, I mean.”

It’s forbidden territory he couldn’t cross. But realistically, that only made him want you more.

Joel feeds you a slow bite, lips catching over the fork but smearing a copious amount of chocolate frosting on your chin. Before you have the thought process to wipe it away Joel is already there, leaning forward in his chair as he uses his pointer finger to clean you up, eyes following his movements carefully after the first initiation of touch.

Your breath catches in your throat, expecting him to use his own mouth to disallow wasting the frosting, but instead he raises it to your mouth in a split decision, his eyes dilating slightly under your shy gaze. Your lips press against the side of his finger in a gentle kiss that quickly spreads, taking the full length of his finger into your mouth as you lick away the excess frosting, feeling the pulse of desire in your belly as it grew, knowing that if Joel wanted to keep you there he could, locked under his gaze with his fingers stuffed into your mouth and you’d let him.

It was despicable. Inappropriate and wrong. But, you couldn’t help how badly your body wanted him, despite your brain telling all of this was a horrible decision.

You pull your mouth away with a soft pop, watching as Joel curl’s his hands into tight fists as he pulls them back to his side lazily, seeming more tense now.

“I should go.” You say softly, terrified to disturb this moment and the tension that blanketed it.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, darlin’.” Joel says reluctantly.

Things only get worse from then on—and maybe worse is a strong word. But, it soon turns into a game that neither of you can stop, waiting until one of you finally makes the wrong move.

A few weeks later and your laptop takes the shit on a random Tuesday, head buried in your hands as Sarah tries to console you, but it isn’t much use. You knew it was a stretch to think the laptop could last you through the entire semester, and with just a few short months left, it couldn’t be worse timing.

Joel walks in at your inconvenience, keys jingling in his hands as he slips off his leather peacoat, glancing at Sarah who didn’t give him much to go off of. He folds the jacket over the back of an empty dining chair and rests his hands against the top of it, eyes scanning over the both of you at the table, one looking a little more distraught than the other.

“Everything alright?” He asks curiously, earning a subtle head shake from Sarah. He clears his throat, “Or—uh, well, how is the studying going? Feel like that’s all you two do.”

You rub a frustrated hand over your face and sigh, “I’m gonna see if I can get a ride home or something,” You tell Sarah, sliding your phone off of the table, “I’ll deal with this later.”

Joel and Sarah share a quick look of communication, her hand waving toward you sharply, forcing Joel to speak up before you make another rash decision and spend money on a long ride home when had the perfect opportunity standing right in front of you.

“I can give you a ride home.” Joel offers, much to your surprise.

You’ve been alone with Joel a lot now, though inadvertently.

Sarah would sneak away in her room for longer stretches of time just to call her boyfriend—which wasn’t a bad thing, but it felt odd when Joel would come home and there was no one to greet him but you. Still, you stretched your lips into a smile and welcomed him sweetly.

Even if this was his home.

Or times when you just happened to cross each other's path, even in such a large space. Sometimes the front porch when you were taking a break to stretch your legs, his watchful gaze dragging along your figure as he sipped on a hot cup of coffee in the evening, foot stabilized on the deck as he rocked in the wooden swing he sat on, crickets chirping loudly as the sun set.

Or just a simple trip to the bathroom, his bedroom across the hall and a couple doors down, often shut, but there were moments when you opened the doors, nearly face to face, and neither of you could look away. Joel would clear his throat, excuse himself, and kindly gesture for you to walk first. It happened often, too often—but neither of you addressed it. Instead, the tension grew. And grew. Until it felt like poking a sleeping bear. So it hibernated in both of you quietly.

Part of you expected things to change, that the small moment shared in his hotel room would make things hard to navigate, but if anything—it’s easier.

“Okay.” You agree easily, not having the proper energy to fight him over it.

The ride is quiet for the most part and Joel doesn’t need the step by step directions as he knows this town like the back of his hand, but he makes a wrong turn somewhere between his house and yours and you don’t feel like something is wrong, but it definitely feels off.

“Joel, you missed the last left.” You speak up as he continues down the road, glancing around leisurely as you soon delve onto a main street, lined with several shops. “Joel—”

“I’m gonna make a quick stop,” Joel attempts to ease your worries, fingers tapping against the gear shift positioned in the center console, “if you don’t mind.”

The moment he pulls into the parking lot of the electronic store, you know. You can see it in his eyes as he squints, checking that the store is still open and pulls into a parking spot near the front of the store.

“Joel, no—” You grab his wrist suddenly, his free hand reaching for the door handle and he looks down, eyes connecting where your skin touched before slowly flicking up to you, “look—just, I don’t need you to buy me a new fuckin’ laptop. I can handle it.”

Joel’s shoulders shrug in his obnoxiously patterned shirt, like he’s working out a kink in his neck as he repositions himself in the seat but doesn’t pull away from you. In fact, his hand gradually pulls toward your knee, fingers squeezing around your kneecap comfortingly.

“Considering it a loan then?” Joel tries to bargain, “Let me help you out now so you won’t have to worry about it and you can pay me back as you get the money? I see how often Sarah uses her laptop, it doesn't make sense for you to go without when I can help.”

You chew on your bottom lip thoughtfully, staring intensely back at him. You could put your foot down and deny his offer, but the idea of suffering through the rest of the semster without your sole life line to surviving through college—well, that was actually torture.

“I’m paying back every single penny.” You tell him forthright, waiting until he nods in agreement.

“Sounds like a deal to me.” Joel responds.

Joel spares no expense, which doesn’t come as a surprise. He buys you the highest, top notch laptop they have to offer—and even as you stare daggers into the side of his face, there’s an inkling in your mind that tells you he isn’t going to allow you to hold up your end of the deal.

Joel liked to party too—not giant parties that felt overwhelming and unwelcoming. But, he did have a close group of older male friends that he liked to play poker with on the back deck of the Miller household.

Sarah learned to block it out early on, knowing that at some point things would get just a little too loud and not as easy to ignore. But, Joel never made you feel out of place within any of these instances. You were welcome here all the time and Joel was clear about that.

He’s showered you with gifts and accommodation and you hate the way it makes you feel special, wanted—beyond the night in his hotel room it was only innocent glances. It felt like you were misreading things, making something out of nothing.

Things aren’t great at home and you like it here—love it, even. And you feel your mind nagging away to make a stupid, spur of the moment decision. You could ignore it, but then your eyes catch Joel’s through the slight crack in the door, trapping you in his gaze like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

He squints slightly, lips curling around his beet bottle as he takes a long swig, fist uncurling against his jeans as he rubs out his palm and smiles—he has you hooked in so fucking easy it feels pathetic.

This is wrong. You inhale a shaky breath and turn away, busying yourself with literally anything else—a scuff on the table, the chipped nail polish on your fingernails, something.

Eventually his friends filter out—and Sarah had invited you to stay over the night barring that it was the weekend and she enjoyed your presence just as much as you did hers—if only she could understand the now huge, harboring crush you had on her father. It was harmless, but it felt like a betrayal.

And the feeling only increased as the night creeped along, your burdening insomnia keeping you awake, shifting and turning in the sheets beside her as you tried and failed miserably to fall asleep.

It was quiet out here, less commotion from the city. It was eerie, in a way.

You slip out of the bed quietly, walking barefoot on the hardwood as you tiptoed until you were outside of her room, closing the door behind you. You weren’t hungry, so you didn’t bother with the kitchen, rather heading toward the front door that was already halfway open.

Part of you expected Joel to be sitting on the porch, no real rhyme or reason. But, even he is out of sight. The soft, well-kept grass welcomes the press of your feet as you wander outside slowly, the hug of the warm spring air on your skin even this late at night. You catch one of the Miller’s horses hanging out around the edge of their enclosure, wondering if they managed to nudge their way out of their stable. You approach slowly, still not as accustomed to them as you’d like to be.

But, they were friendly. So, you raised a careful hand and rubbed gently at the horse’s mane, smiling at the soft huff it offered in return, leaning its snout over the fence more.

“Sunshine is always friendly,” Joel says from somewhere you don’t see, startling you out of your body as you jump, whipping your head around to look for him, eventually landing on his approaching form as he left the barn that held the stables, “—sneaky little gal, though.”

You laugh softly, finding it hard to believe that such a sweet horse was capable of escaping.

Joel whistles softly, beckoning her toward him. “Come on.” He nods, silently asking you to join him. You follow eagerly, watching as he unlocks the entrance to the fence for you to slip through, locking it behind you as you pass the threshold, catching up with Joel in a few steps.

“Don’t sleep well, do you?” He asks, heading turned over his shoulder briefly to look at you. You nod quietly, leisurely approaching Sunshine’s stable and watching as Joel locks her back up, rattling the gate for safety this time, ensuring it was secure. “Seems we have a few things in common.”

Joel stays quiet for a moment—in his own head, a deep moment of contemplation, carrying and safeguarding these thoughts he knows he shouldn’t have, wondering how your skin would feel against his palm, how the pulse of your heart would feel as he pressed his hand to the center of your chest and kissed you, full tongue and consumed your essence, this unignorable aura you had around you.

He feels sick, distraught. But, he can’t force himself to avoid you either.

“There’s somethin’ that usually helps me,” Joel tells you, hand pressed wordlessly against the center of your back as he guides you out of the barn and locks it up as well, “just goin’ somewhere quiet—lot of the time it’s just my thoughts keepin’ me awake.”

God, if only he knew.

He did, but that wasn’t the point.

Joel quiets for a moment, stuffing the ring of keys into his pocket as he glances over at the house briefly.

“You wanna go for a quick drive?” Joel asks suddenly, forcing it out before he can find a reason to stop himself.

“As long as it doesn’t end with you buying me another laptop, sure.” You chide deviously, watching the smirk grown on Joel’s face, knowing he still hasn’t taken a dollar from you.

And vehemently refuses every time you offer.

Joel drives you the path further into the land of property he owns, most of it still unexplored by you, eventually finding a clearing near the east edge, right on the edge of a body of water and a dock nestled near the shore. There’s a small boat tied to a post, big enough for a few people.

Under this light, as you exit the truck, Joel looks different.

He’s free of the weight of jewelry he wore, comfortable in his worn shirt and soft cotton shorts. For a while, Joel had been such an enigma that you weren’t sure what to make of him. Sure, he was just Sarah’s dad—but he was also Joel Miller, backbone of the town. His face was plastered everywhere. There wasn’t a single street you could traverse down that didn’t have him nestled away somewhere.

He spots a small mud puddle under your feet as he rounds the truck and quickly catches you before your feet get stuck, hands locked in yours as you jump over the small patch of wet dirt.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you look up at him, silently thanking him with your eyes.

“Can you swim?” He asks casually.

“Yeah…” You respond hesitantly, eyes locked onto the boat several feet away.

Joel releases your hands, but it doesn't matter. His touch still lingered painfully and you want nothing more than to pull him back in. But, now Joel is asking to go on a midnight boat ride with you and—really, how could you turn that down?

Joel rows you toward the center of the lake, your eyes locked onto the mesmerizing sight of the stars in the sky, so much clearer out here and away from the city.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Joel asks, not bothering to look his way.

You smile slightly, leaning back onto the palms of your hands.

“Yeah, it really is.” You miss the way Joel’s gaze lingers, admiring you.

“Now—sometimes I just come out here and talk to nothin’,” Joel explains when the boat comes to a full stop and he rests the oars inside the boat, knees spread as he resting his elbows on them, “then other times I just sit and enjoy the quiet.”

Your choice—that’s what he’s implying.

You clear your throat softly, finally changing a glance his way.

“I just—I don’t wanna say I’m jealous of what you have here,” You say quietly, “but, it really is a bitter reminder of without Sarah or you, I’d have next to nothing.”

Joel stays quiet, allowing you to marinate in thought and figure out how to convey how you were feeling.

“And—I don’t know. Selfishly, I like it.” Liked him. “But, I don’t want to rely on it and you make that a little impossible. I do have money, Joel. I can pay for things. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to do any of this out of necessity.”

“I’m not,” Joel admits, “Now—what makes you think that, darlin’?”

“I just—I don’t want anyone thinking I need to be fixed, I don’t.” You tell him, “I don’t need charity, either.”

Joel waves his fingers in a come closer motion, taking your slowly extending hands in his own, thumbs rubbing over soft skin tenderly, boring his eyes into your own.

“I’m gonna tell you this once and I need you to listen,” Joel says softly, but his voice feels so loud in the silence of the night, breeze hitting your skin and sending a sharp chill up your spine—but, you’re not how much of mother nature is responsible for that, “really listen, alright?”

You nod slowly, blinking a few times as you feel yourself shrink under his gaze.

“What I give you isn’t charity,” Joel tells you seriously, “and—maybe this is crossing a boundary I shouldn’t but, you’re somethin’ close to family. I take care of people I care about.”

Not family—he couldn’t conitate that with the feelings and thoughts he was having toward you.

“Close to family?” He was praying you wouldn’t harp on it, but you needed to confirm the underlying layer of tension that lingered between you two all the time. It was driving you insane, keeping you late into the night—he was the reason for your insomnia.

Joel smirks slightly, covering it with a quiet chuckle. His hand gradually cradles your face, rubbing along your cheek with a delicate touch, “I think you know, darlin’.”

God, he hoped you did. His thumb dragging along your plush bottom lip, eyes lingering for a brief moment before he pulls away, immediately missing his touch as he reigns himself to the idea that he may have crossed a line, quietly rowing the way back toward the dock.

Neither of you get much sleep that night anyways.

More time passes, lingering touches grow, and Joel is terrible at hiding his affinity for you now. Finding that those few words burned all regards he had toward keeping himself restrained around you. He had enough of a mind to keep it private—but there were comments, sweet little words that he’d whisper as you walked by or he caught you alone.

Nothing scandalizing, but just enough that it had your heart fluttering in your chest.

Until there is a small slip up, helping the Miller’s with dinner one night as Sarah escapes to the bathroom for a brief moment, your arms outstretched into the cabinet to grab for something just out of reach.

“Use the stool, darlin’,” Joel sees your struggle, “safer that way.”

You look around observantly before you find a folded up stool tucked into the only open corner in the kitchen, taking it back to your spot and unfolding it.

“Good girl.” Joel comments quietly, catching the startled look on your face as your head snaps back toward him. And he has the nerve to smile, noticing the hitch in your breath.

And it only grows in intensity until you can’t stand it anymore, cornering him in the kitchen on a night where Sarah is already upstairs gathering herself for bed, thinking you had come down for a couple bottles of water.

Joel is nursing a small glass of whiskey and he’s silent, but his gaze tracks your movement. You move toward him.

There is a belief in you, fully realized, that something is up here.

"Joel," You lick your lips hesitantly, squaring yourself up against the counter, standing straight, trying not to seem like you were teetering near a dangerous edge of delirium, wondering if you were imagining all of this, "can I ask you something?"

There's a severe lack of distance between you two, knees knocking against each other gently from where you both stand, eyes searching out cautiously even though you know there's nothing to worry about. You were alone, something that has happened far too many times over the past few months. Lingering moments of wandering gazes, eyes connecting from across the room even if Joel was surrounded by people, partying with friends while you're tucked away in the corner while Sarah talks to you about the boys at school that you can't be bothered to give the time of day.

Because of Joel. Because your mind is so tainted by the idea of him.

His palm is flattened out against the counter, adorned with a couple golden rings that clack against the marble, gold chains to match that sat perfectly against his chest, framing the small patch of hair that peeked out over his unbuttoned shirt, silk-pressed and adorned in a silly design that somehow always managed to work perfectly with whatever Joel paired it with.

"Course," He assures you, "You need somethin'? 'Cause you know if things aren't alright at home you're welcome to stay with us."

He’s not amiss to notice just how much time you spend here and no one bothers to come around and check on you. Given you were an adult, it was still glaringly obvious you escaped here for a reason.

Joel reaches out to touch your cheek, the warmth of his skin melding with your own as your breath catches in your throat.

Touch wasn't new, but it never got old. Like a brand against your skin that screamed out for more. You look down briefly, mouth opening slightly to say something, but quickly resigns back to its previous position, lips pursed under a soft scowl.

"I can take care of you," Joel reminds, like you could ever fucking forget it, written all over your features and the outfits you wore now, the dainty gold chain that he'd leant to you as a gift when you pointed out how much you liked it—he'd bought it for himself but there was no resistance in offering over it over to you, bright smile stretching across your face in the moment that Joel felt a sickening addiction to, "—if that's what you need, sweetheart."

You nod instinctively, though you’re not sure what you’re answering too.

“We’ve got a spare room,” Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth, the huskiness to his voice shouldn’t feel intimate speaking such meaningless words, “plenty of room for you, alright?”

“Mhm,” You answer weakly, feeling the distance start to close as Joel tries—really fucking tries to fight it, but he can’t help the way his eyes track the way your body responds to his teach, lip trembling when you release it from it’s hold between your teeth, “thank you, Joel.”

“For?” Your heart is racing, terrified of being caught but also enticed by how openly Joel is admiring you, eyes wide with adoration and curiousness, something undiscovered and new to him.

“Taking care of me.” You echo his words, but you’re both quickly retching away at the sound of a door creaking upstairs, separating in an instant.

This was all you had—fleeting moments that would never be.

The logistics are complicated to figure out at first, but finishing up the last few weeks of schooling away from the stress of being at home and somewhere where you could actually focus outside of school made the most sense. You pack a big enough bag to last you through the month, clothes and personal belongings you care about, and make the small guest room your new home.

At least, as much as you could.

Luckily, your final classes are a breeze—thankful that most of your discipline with studying had paid off, you and Sarah would graduate in another couple weeks and allow yourself a real break over the summer before deciding how you both wanted to continue. More schooling or not, you would handle that later—for now, you let your mind rest.

And Sarah, well, she escapes the first chance she gets—the first official day free of responsibilities she’s running off for a weekend vacation with her boyfriend, assuring she didn’t mind you tagging along if you wanted to come, but you could see it on her face—she wanted privacy.

So, you had no problem staying back.

A weekend alone—with Joel? Who could barely keep his eyes off of you know that you were around constantly, even in the early mornings when he’d walk through the kitchen shirtless and fumbling with the old coffee pot he refused to get rid of. It was a side to him you hadn’t seen much of and it was slowly etching itself into your memory.

Everything implodes the first night that Sarah is gone, unknowingly yet not unwelcome. But, it’s a turning point neither of you can come back from.

It’s undeniable the amount of boiling sexual tension that has stirred between you both between Joel’s heated gaze and scandalizing comments, stuff that he tries to hold in but fails when he sees how easily of an effect it has on you.

So, as luck would have it, your restless minds meet again.

Joel stops between his open bedroom door and the wall, watching as you approach quietly, smiling kindly as you reach for the door to the guest room, bidding him a soft goodnight.

He could spend his night writhing in bed, hand around his cock as he jerked himself to the thought of you a few feet over, nestled under your sheets—unbeknownst to him, relieving yourself in a similar way and yearning for the stretch of him rather than your measly fingers. It used to relieve the ache and help you sleep, but now it made things impossibly worse.

His fingers encircle your wrist quick, but carefully, silence your ultimate downfall as you stare over at him curiously, his eyes pleading something so desperate it roots itself into your own mind. Like an invisible string tethered to your bodies, it pulls you both together instinctively.

He doesn’t hesitate with touch now, slowly barricading his hands against the side of your neck, gradually working to cradle your head, tipping your head back as he leaned in, not willing himself to cross that line unless you allowed it. He knew the second you stepped over he was done for, similarly, you knew that to be true for yourself.

“Tell me to stop,” Joel begs, “—tell me and I’ll give this up.”

You double down, pressing your face against his own, nose pressing against each other, speaking against his lips in a venomous tone that seeps into his bloodstream.

“No,” You tell him, steadfast and unwavering, “I don’t think I will.”

Joel breathes in sharply before his reverence is breaking, pressing you up against the solidness of the guest room door and crashing his lips against your own, his grip bruising as he palms at your thighs, hooking a leg around his hip as he grinds into you, the feeling dulled out by layers of fabric but you can still feel him. He’s hard and straining against the soft fabric and making no attempt to hide how much you affected him.

“We’re makin’ a big mistake,” Joel says into your mouth, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth to prove his point, pulling a sharp moan from your chest at the slight sting, “you realize that?”

You find your courage and part from him briefly, open palm rubbing against the line of his cock, slowly trailing up and under his shirt, blunt nails clawing into the stomach, the muscle tensing under your skin, “I’m well aware—are you gonna stand here and have a moral dilemma about it or are you going to fuck me, Mr. Miller?”

It ignites a fury behind his eyes, ravenous and wild. He grips your face tightly, tilting your head up at a slightly uncomfortable angle, pussy clenching around absolutely nothing from the show of dominance, the grin spreading across your face all Joel needed to confirm his suspicions about you.

You enjoyed this—him, the little game you’ve allowed him to play over the past few weeks. And just as he’d said before, he wanted to take care of you—in as many ways possible.

“Say it again,” He warns, squeezing your cheeks together between his tight grip on your face, “—fuckin’ say it.”

“Mr. Miller,” You drone sweetly, best you can through his sturdy grip, “—hm, is that what you want to hear? Is that what gets off at night?”

Joel’s eyes squint slightly, attempting to read your expression. How would you know?

“Always want me to call you Joel because Mr. Miller is just too much, right?” You tease, “I guess you could lie to me, but the look on your face says otherwise.”

The back of your head drops softly against the door, nowhere to go as Joel has you crowded, hand tight on the doorknob and unmoving. You’re trapped and you can’t be bothered to care.

His hand trails to your neck gradually and squeezes, eyes rolling into the back of your head briefly as his jaw clenches, teeth gritting together as he bares them and speaks, “Should’ve guessed you’d like it like this, huh?”

You feign cluelessness, eyes half-lidded and staring back defiantly, swallowing against the solid hand he held against your neck.

“Tell me you want it,” Joel presses, feeling how mutely you attempt to press against hold and fail, “need to hear you say it first.”

“What? That I want you cock, Joel?” You say vivaciously, grinning at how his mouth twitches at your words, cooing out a soft, “Because I do.”

And that’s all the confession Joel needs before he’s breaking the barrier and shoving you inside the guest room, slamming the door closed behind him with a foot as he tracks and approaches you, hauling you from the back of your thighs as your ass hits the bed, scooting back slightly and spreading your legs to allow him to slot perfectly between them.

The fabric of your shirt bunches in his hands as pushes it up and away, lips pressing hotly against your stomach, mouthing at the skin greedily, quickly forcing the shirt up your shoulders until you get the idea and rip the shirt over your head, bare breasts bouncing against the jostling of your body. Joel has half the mind to gawk before he’s latching his mouth around your nipple, biting gently at the flesh despite his choice to be more aggressive than you expected. It’s the right amount of too soft and too much, your fingers curling into his hair at the root and pulling, earning a soft groan in response.

His curls fall freely over his eyes from where he’s looking up at you, lips lingering against your breast tantalizingly, “Let me taste you.” He tells you, his fingers dancing along the hem of your bottoms, his body descending as you find yourself nodding absently, helping him in the impatient push and pull until he has you naked and bare before him, his cock straining prominently against the thin material of his pants, rubbing himself through the fabric as he uses his free hand to spread you wide, marveling at the sight of your slick over the lips of your cunt.

Joel settles against the sheets, broad shoulders supporting your thighs as he adjusts them over him and hovers closely of your cunt, waiting for your eyes to connect in a brief moment of confirmation

You wanted this. And so did he.

He remains wide-eyed as his lips connecting with your cunt, straight for your aching clit as he sucks, flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot with a precision that has you falling slack against the sheets, mouth open in a blissful agony as Joel works away at your pussy like he’s had a million years to study it, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you continue to pull and twist at his hair, selfishly grinding yourself against his face.

He never breaks his gaze on your face, even when you find yourself with your head thrown back, staring up at the ceiling mindlessly, admiring the hurried rise and fall of your chest as you moan out something intelligible, slowly beginning to make sense in his hazy mind, “Oh—right—right there, Joel. Fuck, please—” You beg sweetly, feeling weightless as he lowers his mouth to your neglected hole and licks inside, his nose pressing perfectly against your clit.

“C’mon, baby,” He murmurs against your pussy, “keep talkin’, let me hear you.”

You sigh in exasperation, feeling the burgeoning ache of your impending climax, “Faster—” Joel is an astute listener, never missing a beat as he picks up his pace and adds more pressure, “–shit, I’m gonna—”

Joel silences you with his eagerness to make you come, words falling flat as he assales your clit with a determination to have you coming against his mouth, feeling the muscles spasm as you crying out his name in desperation, orgasming over his greedy tongue as he laps you up synonymously, forcing your body into overstimulation until you have to physically force him away.

Joel doesn’t have half the mind to speak, eyes darkened to near black as he rises to remove his shirt, pants and underwear following quickly after, undressing under your hazy gaze as you try to calm your rapidly beating heart before he’s fisting himself tightly, tip of his cock rubbing against the line of your pussy and catching your entrance, using the last bit of restraint he had left.

He should be courteous and ask about protection—but there’s a heat behind your eyes when you see his thoughts wandering, quickly snuffing out any worries. You reach gently for the hand not fisting his cock, cradling your knee gently, “We’re safe.” You assure him, the first moment of deep, unsettling reality as he realizes the weight of his choices before him—he’s already committed a few atrocities he knows he can’t come back from, so, what was a few more?

And he couldn’t say no to you, not with you staring up at him so wantonly, eyes pleading something desperate and meek, curious if this was all just a heat of the moment thing. Partly, it was—but this was months upon months of built up tension finally spilling into reality.

Joel isn’t sweet either, as he presses inside you. It shouldn’t surprise you, his impatient nature as he pulls you in close, hands gripping under your thighs and manhandling you until your folded nearly in half, hips pistoning sharp and rough, his gaze locked on the sight of himself disappearing inside of you, the sheen of your slick over his cock as you suck him in greedily.

“Come on, baby,” He grunts roughly, “keep showin’ me how good I make you feel. Show me how grateful you are.”

As if it wasn’t already obvious, obscene noises, feeling the quiet air as you sob out, feeling the angle change as he shifts his knee by your ass, angling your hips up slightly.

“Thank—thank you,” You say softly, broken as he snaps his hips roughly, hitting something sensitive inside of you, the coiling heat in your stomach rebuilding quickly, “thankyouthankyouthankyou,” You ramble mindlessly.

Mesmerized, you watch his curls bounce freely over his forehead, overgrown hair sticking to his skin from the soft sheen of sweat, the muscles in his broad shoulders straining as he holds your legs prisoner in his grips, hips aching dully from the unusual angle but you ignore it. He’s locked onto your pussy for a long stretch of time, entranced until he hears your soft moans, realizing you’ve been admiring him this whole time, eyes locking on you in a moment of vulnerability as he speaks directly to you, hips slowing to a manageable, but still slightly overwhelming pace.

“Always—know how to appreciate things, isn’t that right?” Joel asks, the redundancy not lost on you, “Take everything I give you and never ask. Never greedy—just lettin’ me spoil you.”

“Joel—” You whine, his hand slowly trailing the path to your joined bodies, thumb circling slowly over your clit briefly, “—harder, fuck me—harder.”

“But, look at you now—so fuckin’ greedy for my cock,” He’s speaking through a slight groan, releasing the straining hold on your thighs as he falls, spreading his legs out and using his arms for support as he holds himself over you, hands fisting into the sheets beside your head, “gonna make me cum, baby.”

You find yourself desperate for touch now, wrapping your arms around his neck until he’s nearly chest to chest, forehead resting against your own as you whimper into his open mouth, “I want it.”

Joel makes a small noise of question, “Want what, baby?”

“Your cum,” You reply softly, watching the way his pupils dilate at your words, “—please?”

Joel groans involuntarily, feeling the dignified squeeze of your walls around his cock.

“Where?” He asks slightly breathless, panting into your mouth.

You reach blindly for his hand, using his pointer and middle finger to breach your lips, pressing flat against your tongue, “Right here.” You mumble around the thick digits.

It’s the first thing you’ve ever explicitly asked for and who was Joel to deny that.

Joel pulls out quickly, rising on his knees as you push up to rest on your palms, his head hung back as he fucks himself into his hand harshly, a few short pumps and he’s pressing the aching tip of his cock over your tongue, spilling into your mouth with a deep growl, forced through clenched teeth, working himself through the aftershock as he squeezes out the last bit of cum he has to offer into your waiting mouth, forcing your mouth closed with his opposite hand and watching as you tilted your neck up and swallowed, tongue peeking out playfully as you show him your empty mouth.

You have half the mind to think he’s finished, but instead he’s swatting your thigh as he maneuvers your hips until you realize he’s silently asking you to turn over, quickly situating your ass in the air with his strong, domineering grip—burying his face into your cunt without a moment of hesitation, a gasp ripping from your throat. Your hips pull away instinctively out of shock, earning a sharp slap by Joel’s hand against your oversensitive cunt.

“Stay still.” Joel demands.

You answer softly, a pathetic acknowledgement and nod, obeying his order.

“Good girl,” He coos, muffled against your cunt, “Come for me, baby—you’re right there, I can feel it.”

There’s little resistance as his tongue swipes over your clit, sending you into a shorter but immensely more consuming second orgasm, feeling yourself lose consciousness for a brief moment as you sob into the sheets.

“Fuck.” Joel sighs as he rests back on his calves, cock softening between his thighs as you roll onto your back gingerly, thighs shaking from strain, feeling Joel’s comforting touch on the aching muscles as you close your eyes, letting the reality of the situation set in.

You laugh giddily, “Yeah, fuck.”

Neither of you address the glaring issue of what just took place and somehow, that feels like the biggest atrocity to be committed.

Secrets weren’t something you used to harbor, but it seemed like that was all you had now.

Sneaking off with Joel, lying to Sarah—it was the last thing you wanted to do. But, you and Joel had each other in an equally debilitating grip that neither of you could loosen up on.

And with secrets came gifts, more and more outrageous as time went on—big ticket items that had you fearing that, at some point, Joel would drop something like a new car on you—and that, for what it was worth, would help you. But, it was nothing you wanted.

Sex started to feel transactional after a few more weeks, graduation creeping on you.

Joel never lacked in care and attentiveness, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, like you were this unattainable prize he was paying for and you were eating right out of the palm of his hand.

But, then graduation day approaches and Joel is acting odd.

So odd that it unsettles you. He’s there, along with his brother and his small family, cheering as loud for you as he does for Sarah, the obvious absence from your own family never lost on you or him. Then, night approaches.

He’d decided that throwing a party for the both of you in celebration was a good idea, just a small party with very few friends and he swore—swore that there was nothing else up his sleeve until he’s pulling you and Sarah off together, away from the party and there is a pair of matching, new cars parked in the driveway.

Sarah, given she already has everything she wants, is still thankful. It’s the one thing she had been trying to save up for herself, without the help of her dad. So, while she could be upset, she isn’t. She knows Joel’s intentions are good and that he’s just trying to be a good father—which is all he’s ever been for her.

But, for you, it stings.

You linger, settled a few feet away against his beater of a truck, staring at the car like it was an eyesore.

She doesn’t like it. She hates it, Joel thinks.

You thanked him regardless, but refused the keys. Joel had stuffed them into his pocket and allowed you the space you wanted, eyes pleading quietly. Sarah had hugged you gently, kind words left in your ear before she departed back inside.

“You’re like family,” She says with genuine love, “and he has more money than he knows what to do with—so honestly, just take it. You deserve it more than anyone.”

And that hurts worse, knowing that you’ve been lying to her for months.

You weren’t family. Not to Joel. You were something much more convoluted and dangerous.

A drug. A trap. Something he couldn’t rid himself of, not that he desired to. But, he knew—once you were embedded into his life, it would be nearly impossible to get you out.

–

Joel finds you a while later, away from the party and beyond eyesight from the house, curled up against the front end of the truck and picking away at some of the ripped denim of your jeans, counting the frayed pieces. He takes a similar position, sitting next to you silently.

“You don’t have to take it,” He tells you, “but, it is paid for—”

“Joel, please—”

“What?” Joel asks suddenly, his own annoyance getting the better of him, “What am I doing wrong?”

“Joel—we have sex, you buy me something ridiculous. Or, you buy me something ridiculous without my knowledge and then we end up having sex, how does that look to you?”

“Now, I’m not doing that because of sex—”

“But, you see how it looks? How it makes me feel?” You argue with him, “Joel, I can’t help how I feel about you, like—it feels physically impossible, but the constant gifts makes this seem transactional. I don’t want that. I’m already a secret, I don’t need to be bought either.”

Joel shakes his head in silent disbelief, “You really think that’s how I view you? That’s it?”

“You haven’t tried very hard to make me think otherwise, Joel.” You tell him honestly, “I don’t need you showering me with cars and clothes and shit that I don’t need—and if that’s what you feel like you need to do, I don’t want to do…whatever this is anymore.”

Fucking him, sneaking around in secret. You weren’t dating, but it sure fucking felt like it. One intimate moment from a love confession that would seal the deal on your perception of him.

Joel kicks at the gravel as he rises to his feet, pulling you up by your forearm, an immediate look of both confusion and frustration crossing your features as he turns you and presses your chest against the front of his truck, shadowed by the cover of night. His belt clanks together loudly as he undoes his jeans behind you, tucking them far down enough he can pull his cock from the confines of his underwear, lifting up the hem of your dress and yanking your own underwear down your legs and off, and you should stop him—but you don’t want to.

This was the problem. You couldn’t get enough of Joel.

He slips inside of you with ease, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest that he stifles with his hand, clasped over your mouth, fucking into you with a reverance that was new.

“Joel—we’refuck—we can’t here,” You try to say, yanking his hand away from your mouth, “we’ll get caught.”

Joel grips the base of your neck roughly, fingers curling around the sides as he tilts your head back and looks into your eyes, other hand coming around the bottom of your chin until you’re forced to look up and back at him, not a single speck of warm brown in sight. He looked angry.

But, it didn’t feel like it was directed toward you. Regardless, he fucked you like he was.

“I’ll return the fuckin’ car,” He starts to ramble, “I’ll return everything if that makes you think differently. God—” He snaps his hips harshly, earning a broken sob from you as you reach behind you blindly for something to anchor yourself on, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, “—never want you to think this is transactional, baby. It never—never was.”

Never would be, you want him to say.

“Whaddya want me to say?” Joel asks before you can speak, “That I care about you—baby, I fuckin’ do. I thought that was obvious. Know—know I shouldn’t, that it’s wrong, but I knew—”

You gasp raggedly, his hand leaving your chin to find your clit, just the right amount of pressure to have your hands clawing at his skin, head resting back against his shoulder as he fucked into you.

“And I’ll keep this a secret if—if it means I can have you but this isn’t transactional,” He continues to speak, despite your inability, tipping over the edge of your orgasm as his hips stutter slightly, “it never will be.”

That—that was what you needed to hear. Pulling him taut against you as he buried his mouth into the junction of your neck and nipped, biting at the skin roughly but not enough to break skin.

“Come inside me,” You gasp, chest rising and falling quickly, “please—Joel, please?”

“You like when I fuck you like this, don’t you?” Joel teases, “Never ask for anything but my cum—greedy girl,” You moan at his words, spurring him even further, “tell me baby, tell me how much you want it.”

“So bad,” You whine, “Joel, please give it to me—fuck—all of it, please?”

Joel snaps his hips a few more times before his hand is releasing your neck, crossing over your chest and squeezing tightly at your breast as he pulses inside of you, pumping his hips and filling you full of his spend.

Joel kisses at the exposed skin of your shoulder, pulling out with a soft grunt, the slow jingle of metal sounding behind you as you reached for the underwear he offered you, slipping it back up your legs and into place, despite how Joel’s cum dripped out of you, something he makes point of as his fingers drag along the material, causing you gasp softy at his touch, swatting his hand away. He chuckles lowly at the annoyed glare you shoot his way.

Joel shifts your hips until you turn in his grip, back pressing against cool metal. He crowds you in again, leaving you feeling breathless as he grips your face, but his touch is surprisingly tender.

“What do we say?” He says softly, lips pressing against your own.

“Thank you,” You retort sarcastically, capturing his lips in a quick, bruising kiss as you card your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck, pulling gently, “this doesn’t change anything—I don’t want the car.”

“You don’t have to take it,” Joel settles, “but it’ll be here if you need it.”

You pull away further, looking at him endearingly, watching as his eyes flick briefly toward the house.

“What do we do–about this?” You ask quietly, afraid someone might be listening in despite being alone, “About…whatever this is.”

“Hey,” Joel assures gently, “don’t worry about that—not tonight.”

“Joel—” You plead, eyes searching desperately into his own.

“I care about you, that’s all you need to worry about.” Joel speaks truthfully, his thumb rubbing along the line of your jaw as you swallow, muscles tense under his touch.

And you’re wondering if he’s just saying what you want to her—that maybe this was still a game to him and he was letting you feed into it, nodding to his confession. Joel is all in, offering you his metaphorical hand.

You sigh shakily, “Okay—I trust you.” So please, don’t let me down.

And you know things will eventually implode, but you intend to hold on the brief moment of hope you have now, safe under his gaze as he leads you back to the house, everyone blissfully unaware of the moments you’ve shared, leaving you resigned to appreciate the greedy looks his shares with you across the room.

It was a dangerous game, but you were willing to take the risks.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #bfd!joel #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #my writing

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inkchwe · 28 days

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dancing with our hands tied ↦ sjy

⋆ pairing: sim (jake) jaeyun x fem!reader ⋆ word count: 7.7k ⋆ genre: semi-angst, fluff, smut (18+/mdni!) ⋆ tags: brothersbsf!jake, minor age difference, college au, friends with benefits, secret relationship, light choking, semi-public sex, oral (f + m receiving), fingering penetration, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex folks). ⋆ synopsis: What began as a simple friends-with-benefits situation with your brother's best friend has turned into something deeper, and you now find that your emotions are more complicated than you initially thought. ➸ bless @temptaetions for giving me so much amazing dialogue to work with and @sweetvenomnet for getting me through finishing this monster!

You did not envision Sunday morning sitting across from your brother, concealing the bottom half of your body with your comforter and Jake next to you in bed. Jay’s face is a jumble of shock and anger, fists balled at his sides. You’re unsure if he’s ready to kick his best friend’s ass or throw him out by his neck, or both.

“How the fuck did this fucking happen,” Jay yells.

Well, you think, the beginning is a lot easier to explain than where we’re at now…

The first night you slept with Jake six months ago was like any other. Jay, your older brother by two years, was home with his best friend for the weekend. They had bonded over their freshman year as dorm buddies and Jay immediately inserted Jake into the family. “He’s like the brother I never had,” Jay would say when people would comment on them being attached at the hip.

It was not unusual for the two of them to stay over at your parents’ house when they were back in town. The university was more than three hours away. If they tried to drive home the same day, it would only end in a headache thanks to the rush-hour traffic.

It was nice to see Jay succeeding though, his footsteps being ones you’d hope to follow in one day. He had it all figured out, while you were anything but decided. Still unsure about what to do now that you had graduated, you chose to stay home and attend community college in the meantime.

But Jay occasionally being back in your presence meant he had to fulfill his annoying brotherly roles, like boring you with tales of campus and admonishing you for risqué outfit choices.

Like that night.

He stopped you short at the door with judgmental eyes scanning up and down your dress. “Absolutely not.”

You scoffed and pushed him out of your way. The dress hugged your curves just right and the color fit your aestethic. You knew when you bought it that the length wasn’t ideal for everyday wear, but it was perfect for a night out. Jay wouldn’t tell you otherwise. “You don’t have to act like Dad, dude.”

“Listen,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We all know you’re a woman. You don’t need to prove it with a little black dress.”

“Unless you’re blind, this dress is blue,” you mocked him.

“You know what I mean, smart-ass! You’re not leaving wearing that!”

“What’s going on,” Jake called from the kitchen.

“My sister’s about to walk out of the house in a napkin,” Jay responded, sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

“You’re such a prick,” you said, crossing your arms.

Jake sauntered into the sitting room, a bag of chips in his hand. He was taken back by the outfit, his eyes slowly trailing down your body. His Adam’s apple bobbed as Jay continued on his tirade about modesty to nobody but the air.

“You look pretty,” Jake said finally. He popped a chip in his mouth.

Your cheeks turned red instantly. Jay’s best friend wasn’t unattractive to look at, not in the slightest, so hearing him say such a thing even in quick passing made your body tense.

Before you could thank him for the compliment, Jay coughed like he swallowed his own spit.

“Did you just say she looks pretty?” Jay asked in his best friend’s direction.

Jake chomped down on another chip. “What,” he said, his mouth full.

“If I heard that right, you just said my sister looks pretty in her dress.”

“Yes?” Jake’s expression morphed into confusion as your brother’s face went pale.

“Do you have a death wish?” Jay asked.

“Bro, c’mon—”

“No, seriously. Do you?”

You backed up towards the door, making sure not to clack your heels too hard on the tile to be noticed.

Jay, however, sensed your escape. “I meant it! You’re not leaving without putting something else on.”

“Seongie, stop being an asshole. I’m gonna be late,” you whined.

“Dude, all I said was that she looked pretty,” Jake butted in.

Jay turned his focus back to him. “You said the girl you fucked at that club on Fifth was pretty.”

“Bro, I’m not gonna fuck—” Jake ran his free hand through his hair, smiling in incredulity at the ridiculous conversation. “Just trust me.”

“Finish that sentence.”

Jake scoffed, mouth agape. “What the hell, man?”

“Finish. The. Sentence. Jaeyun.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weirdly overprotective and Jaeyun’s done taking back his compliment, I have a happy hour to go to.”

Jay was so preoccupied with Jake at that point that he barely registered your words and your exit from the house. Before he could protest again, Jake interrupted him.

“I’m not going to fuck your sister, Jong,” he says.

“Thanks, that’s reassuring,” Jay responded.

As you closed the door, you heard Jake say, “But if she fucks me, that’s a different story.”

Despite walking down the cobblestone pathway, you heard Jake’s cries from your older brother whacking him. Jay screamed, “You sick fuck!”

Your cheeks felt hot when you finally got inside of your friend’s car. You greeted them with a smile when you sat in the back seat, but your mind kept playing back Jake’s words. He must have had enough pickings on campus and in his hometown to keep him satisfied. He didn’t need to put his effort or interest in you. There’s no way that he would, right?

Five hours later, the clock just shy of 1 AM, you stepped quietly inside to not wake your parents. Tiptoeing up the stairs to your room, you didn’t see Jay’s bedroom light on, certain he was fast asleep. That gave you some relief knowing he didn’t stick around to admonish you for not listening to his forceful advice.

What you weren’t expecting was Jake to be sprawled out on your bed, his body akin to a limp starfish. He had been scrolling endlessly through his Instagram feed until you creaked open the door to your room.

A silent scream jolted your pulse. “Jaeyun, what the fuck are you doing here?” you asked.

“Jongseong told me to wait for you. He wanted to make sure you got home safe,” Jake said absentmindedly, like being in your bed is a natural occurrence by now.

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. “Helicopter Himbo couldn’t do that himself?”

“He linked up with some girl he knows…Dahyun I think was her name?”

You sighed. Of course Jay had to hook up with his high school ex when he had no other options to exhaust. You thought Jay had higher standards than that at this point in his life, but he was still Jay.

You nodded. The soles of your feet throbbed from wearing your heels longer than you intended to. You tried to hide the pain on your face, but Jake was quick to walk over to you and feign concern.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah. I’m just slightly buzzed and I’d like to see the inside of my eyelids and forget how bad my feet hurt right now.” You released a breathless laugh. “You can text my doofus of a brother and tell him I’m in one piece.”

You practically motioned your head towards the door, but Jake only smirked in response.

“Well, first things first, let’s take these off.” Before you knew it, Jake leaned down and began unbuckling the clasps of your stilettos for you. The sight made the alcoholic buzz running through your veins mutate into something sensual. You felt the ache between your legs as Jake’s fingers caressed the skin of your ankle as he was taking off your shoes for you, and immediately you remembered who he was.

This was wrong, and in no way going to happen. Not with someone who your brother confided in and loved so dearly. No matter how it felt every time you looked at him, or if he did intimate things like this that made you question everything.

“I meant what I said earlier you know,” Jake whispered. “And I wasn’t trying to take it back when Jongseong was grilling me about it.”

“I get it. He can be intense sometimes,” you mumbled.

“But you did look pretty. Fuck, you still do.” Jake chuckled to himself and positioned your feet out of the shoes and onto the carpet floor. The fabric felt cool against your toes, and instinctively you released a pleasurable sigh.

“So much better,” you moaned, smiling. “Thank you.”

Jake stood up, his grin infectious. “My pleasure.”

Neither of you moved, and admittedly you were glad Jake hadn’t made his exit yet. In the blur between your gratitude and onslaught of confusing feelings, the tether between your head and your body loosened.

Then you were kissing him. You were kissing your brother’s best friend and enjoying it very much, an amalgamation of all the passing glances you threw at him when Jay wasn’t looking and the semi-flirty conversations coming to a head in your lips and tongue.

Jake was kissing you back with the same fervor, his hands roaming to the curve of your ass and groaning in your mouth at the sensation of your bodies touching.

“Fuck,” Jake swore and pulled you in tighter, clutching at the hem of your dress.

In a tangle of fingers and lips, you almost didn’t register the feeling of your mattress against your back and the cool air on your skin when Jake pulled the dress down your body. But you did relish in the feeling of his tongue between your legs and how deliciously he slipped inside of you afterwards. And by that point, there was no time to regret and worry about what would happen next. All that mattered was the present and savoring it.

Three weeks after that first encounter, it was easy to forget it ever happened. The next morning, Jay and Jake had gone back to campus without a word. That was normal for them, seeing as they woke early and didn’t want to disturb anyone in the house.

For you, it was a bit disheartening, but it proved exactly what you knew. It was a mistake and a potential repeat was nonexistent. “Jeong’ll never find out and this can stay buried,” you told yourself.

Jay was too busy with his studies to respond with anything but one-word answers to your texts after that, so you gave up initiating anything. Jake, however, began texting you often to either greet you in the morning or say he hoped you were having a good day. It was sweet, but you didn’t read too deep into it. You replied in kind and left it at that.

Then, the boys came back one Friday afternoon in Jake’s Tahoe, and your nerves were live wires at their impromptu arrival. You had not seen Jake since that night in your bedroom. You felt the heaviness of guilt when you welcomed Jay home with a hug. A secret shouldn’t have had the power to eat you alive, but it did all the same.

And it didn’t help seeing Jake either. His smile took you back to the hours you had spent together in your bed. It was a kaleidoscope of memories. His hands on your hips, his whispers in your ear, his mouth in between your legs—

“Yo!” Jay waved his hand in front of your face. “I asked if you could help us with the last duffel bag.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, walking over to the trunk. Jake’s shoulder brushed yours as you moved past him, and you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched. If you weren’t deluding yourself, you could’ve sworn you heard his throat catch in the same way.

You decided to leave the house that night, meeting up with a classmate to take your mind off of what was waiting at home. The Uber driver was polite, not bothering you as you were lost in your thoughts. Thankfully, the tequila sunrise you gulped down numbed your thought processes long enough that you could unwind and converse without rambling on about the situation you were in.

Then, you heard the ping of your phone and saw Jake’s message light up the screen.

Received at 11:23 PM: I’m picking you up. JS doesn’t want you taking an Uber when you’re not sober.

You sighed and typed back a reply with the hand not holding your drink. The words might have been mistyped, but you knew the message would get across to him.

Sent at 11:27 PM: im find u dont ned to come th last guy w nice.

Received at 11:29 PM: Sure. I’ll be there in 15.

You groaned. Jake could be as stubborn as your brother; it was no surprise the two of them became such good friends.

When Jake’s arrival came closer, you said goodbye and walked out of the bar, kicking your feet on the sidewalk gravel while you waited.

His truck’s lights came into full view a minute later. You got inside without a word, leaning your forehead against the passenger window. Just because he was being stubborn didn’t mean you had to be okay with it.

“Have fun?” Jake kept his focus on the road, but he sounded sincere when he asked about your night. While your heart swelled at the tone of his voice, it made the thoughts you tried so hard to suppress creep back in with full force. You were at a loss as to what to say. Honesty was off the table, but you weren’t capable of pulling your heart from your sleeve.

“I was. Not anymore.” You pouted.

You didn’t let him respond to your comment, instead looking around at his car’s interior and changing the subject. “I didn’t expect you to own a Tahoe.”

“What do you mean?” He asked with a chuckle.

“It’s so much space for one person.”

“Well, it was my dad’s truck. He gave it to me before I left for school. Now, I use it to go hiking and stuff with my dog, Layla.”

You smiled and leaned into the seat, looking at him. “That’s hard to believe.”

“That I have a dog or that I actually do physical activity? You’ve seen my body.”

You giggled and turned away. “I guess both. I’ve always wanted a dog, but Jungseong’s allergic. My parents thought plushies were a good compromise. And it all makes sense now. You can’t be that handsome naturally.”

Jake laughed harder. Without warning, he put his hand on your thigh, the feeling foreign yet incredibly welcome. You hummed in pleasure at the sensation. While you would’ve loved to enjoy the moment, your logic kicked in at the scene playing out in front of you.

“Jaeyun, you can’t just do that.”

“Why not? I wanted to,” he confessed, squeezing the curve of your knee. He moved his hand slowly across your skin.

You bit your lip and shook your head. “Just because you want to doesn’t mean you should.”

“Are we still talking about my hand or something else?” You gave him a stern but cutting look, the Are you kidding me evident in your eyes. It made Jake curse into the open air. “Fuck this.”

Jake pulled off into a vacant parking lot of a convenience store, one lamppost barely lighting the surrounding area. He put the car in park with an aggressive fist on the stick shift.

“Okay,” he started. “You want to talk about that night? Let’s talk about it.”

He inhaled a breath. You were terrified of what was unsaid and what he planned on saying, but you knew it was better to put it to rest sooner rather than later.

“I’m not sorry for what happened that night. I liked it and I liked you.” He looked directly into your eyes, his pupils dilating with extreme vulnerability. “I like you. And I’d like to repeat that night as many times as you want, but you’re my best friend’s sister and I don’t know how to accept those two things being true at once.”

You were taken back, his words the ones you wish you could have said to him before he left that morning. You tried to stamp down the truth many times since then, but Jake feeling the exact same way made you realize it wasn’t wrong to want what you wanted.

And Jay didn’t have to know everything.

“I do too,” you responded. “I like you too, and that night is all I’ve been thinking about.” You felt the knot in your stomach loosen, smiling in surprise from his confession. “And I would like to have more of those nights, for sure. In more than just my bed.”

Jake smirked and leaned in closer to you, lips ghosting over yours. “So if I said I wanted to fuck you in my car, you’d let me?”

You didn’t respond to that question with words, both of you knowing the question itself was rhetorical. You pressed your mouth to his hard.

The kiss was a clash of teeth and tongue, the act a desperate plea to pull each other closer after weeks of not being together. Now that you had Jake where you wanted him, you weren’t letting him go.

Jake palmed one of your breasts over your shirt, and you partially broke away from his mouth to moan. He swallowed it, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

“You like that?” Jake asked, his voice husky.

“Fuck yes,” you said, knowing it was the truth. Nothing felt better than his touch on your skin.

He grabbed the side of your throat with his free palm. The other was hovering over the waistband of your shorts, his thumbs deftly unbuttoning them and dragging the zipper down.

“Tell me now if you don’t want this,” he panted. “And I swear I’ll stop.”

You shook your head vigorously. “If you stop right now, Jaeyun, I might just have to kill you.”

Jake gave you a crooked smile and kissed you again, harder than the first time but just as pleasurable.

His fingers dipped into your underwear, and you both groaned when he found your clit. He was surprised that the little amount of foreplay already made you this wet. You were just glad to have his fingers where you needed them the most.

You moved your hips in rhythm with his digits, the figure-eight patterns he was drawing into your skin creating stars behind your eyes. You released numerous whimpers and gasps into Jake’s mouth as he kept rubbing up and down your pussy, your clit receiving the most attention.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Jaeyun, I need you inside of me, please,” you begged. You gripped onto his shirt tightly to emphasize how bad the desire was to feel him stretch you open.

He nipped your lips again. “Climb in the back seat, baby.”

Jake followed in suit as soon as you moved from the passenger seat to the back. Once he sat down, you had his pants around his ankles and the head of his dick lined up with your entrance, your panties moved to the side to make room for him.

The fullness of his cock filling you to the hilt made your eyelids flutter. Jake knocked the back of his head into one of the headrests, the groan that left his mouth so beautiful you wished you could’ve replayed the sound on loop.

“God, you’re so tight.” He pushed his hips up further into you, the tip kissing your cervix. “It’s fucking incredible.”

You moaned in agreement. Beginning to grind his hips into yours, you licked and sucked the spot behind Jaeyun’s ear. You remembered how much he loved it the first night you had sex, and he loved it even more now that you were partially in control riding him.

He bucked up into you here and there, but for the most part, you were setting the pace. The sounds of your skin slapping against each other as well as both of your moan-laced expletives filled the back seat.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Bounce on this cock. Show me how much you want me.” He trapped your hips with his hands, holding on tight as you continued to grind against him.

“I want to come so bad, Jae,” you gasped. “Please make me come.”

Jake took his index and middle finger and found your clit again. He circled the nub with tenderness as you continued to ride him without mercy. He knew he could come at anytime with how well you were touching him and taking all of him inside of you, but he had no problem waiting until you found your pleasure first.

You felt the orgasm creeping up on you, starting in the pit of your stomach and ready to come to the surface. You begin to grow sloppy with your rhythm, and Jake took extra effort with his fingers to push you over the edge.

“Let go for me, love. Come all over me.”

You cried out, clutching onto Jake’s hair hard as you rode out your orgasm to its full capacity. Jake let go in that same moment, painting your insides white and cursing the entire time at how good it felt.

When you sat down next to him in the back seat, both of you sated and breathless, you knew the path forward was uncertain. And sure, a million questions still lingered in your mind, but you stored them away without a second thought, refusing to let them ruin your current happiness.

This led to where you were with Jake for the past six months, having sex every time he was in town and even sneaking off to visit him when you had the chance. He would pick you up in his truck and hold your hand across the console the entire drive to and from his student apartment. The two of you were skilled at keeping your trysts out of sight from Jay both in your hometown and on campus, the local spots he wanted to take you to and your favorite hometown stores not ones Jay frequented often.

At the same time, Jay had gotten back into a relationship with Dahyun, but you were optimistic for the both of them this time around. He seemed to be really happy, as were you, although he didn’t know the reason why. Dahyun would hang out with the guys and you when she got off work, and the four of you would drink and watch movies together like any other couples would.

The only part that didn’t fit such a picture perfect image was the fact you and Jake were not a couple at all. You slept together and did most things boyfriends and girlfriends did, but there were no labels. It was as if saying it out loud would make it real, and then you’d have to confront the biggest hurdle of all: telling your brother. And you were determined to put that off for as long as possible.

One morning, as you made breakfast in the kitchen for all three of you, Jake slid in behind you without you noticing. You gasped, feeling his chest against your back. “Jae, you can’t do that!”

“Couldn’t help it. Smelled pretty good in here,” Jake responded, kissing the spot that joined your neck and shoulder together, his hair tickling your ear in the process.

“I know, I can’t wait to eat it.”

“I was gonna say the same thing.” Jake smirked.

“Jae,” you reprimanded him, grinning. “Jongseong could come down at any second.”

“But he’s not. Last time I checked, he was still asleep.” The curve of his lips touched your collarbone, making you shiver.

“And when was that?”

In that moment, you both heard Jay yelling “I did it!” in tandem with his quick steps down the staircase. You both split apart in record time. Jake pretended he was searching for a drink in the fridge while you flipped the fried egg in the pan.

“I finally did it,” Jay exclaimed, a wide smile on his face directed at Jake.

“Did what?” Jake asked.

“I got you a date with Dahyun’s cousin Jihyo tonight. Dahyun’s been dying to go out to this new restaurant downtown, and I know you’ve been lacking in the pussy department lately.” You felt the saliva in the back of your mouth hit the wrong pipe, and you coughed.

“You okay, sis?” Jay asked, grabbing you by the shoulder.

“Yeah. Just choked for a second, sorry.” There was nothing wrong with Jake going out; he had no obligations to you. Yet, at the same time, the thought of him finding someone new felt like acid on your tongue.

Jay turned back to Jake, excitement filling his features again. “Come on man, you haven’t picked anyone up in what? Five months? Either your game got terrible or you’ve been holding out on me about some new chick.”

You plopped the fried egg on the plate next to you and motioned for Jake to pick it up. “Over medium, how you like it.”

“How do you know his egg order, freak?” Jay questioned you with a chuckle.

“I asked him this morning, dingbat. While you were snoring in your room and told me to leave so you could get your beauty rest.” Jay gave you the middle finger but you didn’t pay attention to him. You looked back at Jake with shy eyes. “You want toast?”

“No thank you,” Jake said with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. You could tell when Jake was uncomfortable. His entire body grew stiff at the thought of being roped into a double date with a stranger.

But, avoiding suspicion, Jake said, “Sure man. Can’t promise I’ll be into her, though.”

Jay smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

When Jay ran back upstairs to call Dahyun with the news, Jake dropped his plate back on the counter. He suddenly pinned you against it with his hands on your waist, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t have to go on this date if you don’t want me to.”

You shook your head, the faintest frown on your face, hoping it looked more like an expression of indifference. “If you don’t, Seongie’s going to ask more questions. Besides, we’re not together. You don’t have to ask for my permission.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” He furrowed his eyebrows. If there was one emotion you didn’t show him often, it was ice. But if the alternative was being emotionally exposed in that moment, you would choose the former.

“You know what I mean.” You broke free from his grasp, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth. You turned off the stove and threw the sizzling pan into the sink. “Hope you have fun.”

Jake waited for you to elaborate, but after a minute of silence, he admitted his defeat and walked out of the kitchen. It cracked a piece of your heart to be so cold, but what other choices were on the table?

Once he was gone, you grabbed your phone from your pocket. Typing out the number in your mind and pressing the call button, you hoped the man you were looking for answered.

“Sunghoon?” You spoke, relieved he picked up. “I need a huge favor.”

“Do I have to?” Sunghoon groaned, straightening the collar of his polo shirt. “This is so ridiculous.”

“Hold my fucking hand, Hoon, or I swear to god I will tell Professor Choi you used my essay on Machiavelli for your paper.”

He released a low, agitated sound and put his hand in yours, squeezing your palm in retaliation. You smiled and walked into the restaurant.

You didn’t go all out with your outfit. A simple dress and denim jacket fit with the atmosphere of the Brazilian barbecue joint Dahyun wanted to check out. Sunghoon also followed your instructions to the letter, looking presentable without trying too hard.

The hostess made you both wait fifteen minutes or so for a table. Even at 9 PM on a Saturday, past normal dinner time for most folks, the business was still bustling due to the word of mouth from their grand opening a week ago. It didn’t take long though for you to find Jay and Jake sitting at a table in a corner booth. It was like Jake’s presence in any tiny or expansive space was a magnet, pulling you in without giving you space to put up a fight.

“So that’s the guy,” Sunghoon stated, staring at Jake next to your brother. “He’s cute. I see why you’re in love with him.”

“Shut up!” You laughed and smacked him in the chest. He pretended to act hurt, smiling the entire time.

Your Humanities classmate might have been too sarcastic and vain for his own good, but you knew he was a good friend and would always come if you called. And while it was purely platonic, he didn’t mind playing the part of the arm candy for another free essay.

In the midst of your shared laughter, neither of you saw both Jay and Jake walking over to you. Jay’s cough pulled you out of your trance, and you stood stock still at the sight of Jake’s clenched jaw and crossed arms, immediately dropping Sunghoon’s hand in the process.

Jay said your name in annoyance. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hoon and I have class together, but we decided to have dinner after studying,” you say with a smile. “Funny we’d be at the same place as you guys!”

“You have my location, dipshit,” Jay said with a stone face.

“Just because I have it doesn’t mean I look at it,” you said in your defense.

Hoon held his hand out to both men, but you knew it was bait specifically meant for Jake. “Nice to meet you.”

Jake clenched his jaw even tighter. You thought he would break the bottom half of his face if he kept it up. To your surprise, he grabbed Sunghoon’s hand like a pure gentleman. Jay did the same.

You immediately felt so small. It didn’t have to be this way, trying to pull a front for this guy that wasn’t even yours. If it took this much effort to be exclusive, a title you didn’t fight for to begin with, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

When Sunghoon let go of Jay’s hand, you grabbed him by the bicep. “We can just go somewhere else. We’ll probably wait another hour before getting a table if we stay, anyway.”

Jay agreed. “I had to book this in advance, so she’s probably right.”

Jake looked directly in your eyes when he said, “Hope you have fun.” Mirroring your words from earlier, Jake’s were laced with spiteful sarcasm.

Sunghoon put a hand on the small of your back and guided the two of you out of the restaurant. It took everything in you to not turn back and reveal it all in that stupid restaurant, but you circled back to your initial thoughts. What would it do attempting to claim him now? It was already pointless.

You didn’t make it home until midnight, spending the night scarfing down Chinese with Sunghoon in his apartment and watching old seasons of New Girl together. It was a bitch thinking about what it would be like when you got home. Jay would quiz you on Sunghoon and his motives or Jake would get defensive on what you were doing with the guy to begin with. Or both.

The last piece of advice Sunghoon left you with as he drove off was to “be honest” with Jake, if that was any bit as simple as it sounded coming out of his mouth.

You stepped inside your house without a care for your noise level, knowing your parents were off on an overseas conference for four days. And what were the chances the guys had gotten home by now?

But, like the first night you had spent together, Jake was waiting up for you in your room, sitting stock straight with his hands in his lap.

You didn’t freak out or feel shocked by his presence. You were glad to see him actually, but greeting him with anything but a hello would have been inappropriate given the last few hours.

“Hi,” you began.

“Why have you been gone so long?” His voice was clipped, matter-of-fact but laced with authority. The mixture of sadness and anger in his face surprised you. Jake was always fun, silly, casual…never like this.

“I lost track of time.” It was the easiest answer to give him, even if it wasn’t enough to assuage his concerns. “We just ate takeout and watched sitcoms.”

He nodded and stood up. Walking closer to you, the emotions on his face registered to you so clearly now. The anger was simply misplaced pain, unsure where to go but in front of you for an answer. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m asking you what this is, what are we doing here?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Seeing you tonight with that dickhead was all I thought about while eating that churrasco and listening to Jay’s dumb jokes. And if that’s against some unspoken rule, I need to know.”

You gulped down a heavy bubble of air. It was now or never. Choose to either lose the guy you had spent so much time with by keeping your feelings to yourself or risk him breaking your heart by being vulnerable.

“I don’t want you going on dates with anyone else.” You beginning with that wasn’t perfect, but you were out of ideas.

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Sunghoon’s a friend, but you’re my best friend. And you make me feel like nobody else ever has.” Your lip quivered. “I feel like an idiot for not saying it before, but I’ve liked you since the second Jay introduced all of us to you. And maybe all you want out of this is exclusive sex and I’m even more of an idiot for saying all of this but—”

Jake caught your mouth in a perfect kiss, effectively shutting you up. A tear passed between your lips, but he was all you tasted. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes bright and expression full of mirth. “You’re a beautiful idiot, but still an idiot for not realizing I feel the same..”

You gasped. Grabbing his shirt, you pulled him back in hungrily.

The subsequent kisses and touches were ripe with the things you didn’t know how to say in words but could easily express with your body. Every kiss on his jaw told him how enraptured he made you feel. Each pass of your hands exploring his naked skin expressed why you saw nobody but him in the most crowded room. And when you took him into your mouth, you hoped Jake knew why it was so easy to fall for him and want nobody else.

“Just like that,” he said, tenderly grabbing your hair as you stroked what you couldn’t fit past your lips.

It didn’t last long. Jake pulled you in his arms and said, “I want to be inside you.”

Jake held you as you sunk down onto him. Your legs were wrapped around his waist as he sat on the edge of the bed, rocking his hips up into you. No matter how many times you had sex, it still felt incredible feeling all of him fitting around the spaces inside of you. You wished he could occupy them forever.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed, clutching the hair at the nape of his neck. Your bodies were slick, foreheads touching but slippery from perspiration.

But it didn’t matter how loud you were being or how sweaty your skin became. All you could focus on was the words that came out of Jake’s mouth. “God, I love you so much.”

It didn’t make you slow down, instead riding him faster and kissing him fervently in response. You mewled into his mouth, feeling yourself coming undone quickly.

“I’m gonna come,” you announced.

“Right there with you, sweetheart. Come with me,” he said, and so you did. You felt the warmth of him inside of you in tandem with the downfall of your orgasm, siphoning every drop until you were spent.

When you were lying next to each other, however, you remembered those three little words that slipped from his mouth.

“You said you loved me,” you stated in post-coitus bliss, covering half of your face with your comforter.

“So what if I did?” He was glowing, and it only made you smile harder. “So what if I do?”

You smirked and pecked his lips sweetly, nipping his bottom lip. “I love you too, you goof.”

You woke up next to each other that morning, both in a euphoric daze despite your fatigue. You also took into account how you now held the title of Jake’s girlfriend, a majority of the reason why you were a thousand leagues above cloud nine. Jake showed his joy in the form of his tongue pressed to your clit.

But it didn’t last for long.

You weren’t fast enough to cover yourself when Jay barged in asking whether or not you had seen Jake at all. Little did he know he would find his best friend in the last place he ever expected.

Which led to now, your brother interrogating the two of you like you committed the worst crime humanly possible. In a way, you could see why he would think such a thing.

“So you kiss my sister—” Jay starts.

You cut him off, grabbing Jake’s hand. “I kissed him first.”

“Then you decide to hook up in my car.”

“It was actually my car.” Jake counters, squeezing your fingers with his own.

“And now I find you guys here in your room”—Jay looks directly at you—“just doing whatever the fuck you were doing before I came in.” His face is red from the shock. “How long has this been going on?”

“Six months,” Jake says.

Jay takes a deep breath of air into his lungs, his body rising and falling at a rapid rate. He’s probably grateful your parents can’t hear him yelling. Otherwise they’d come in and ask more invasive questions while you’re not in the position to answer them, half naked and all.

“And where was I while you guys were fucking behind my back?” Jay asks, darting his eyes between the both of you.

“Hanging out between Dahyun’s legs?” You hypothesize, throwing your other hand in the air. “How the hell are we supposed to remember?”

“And you expect me to believe you kissed his scrawny ass first?” Jay asks you.

“Dude, you’ve seen me shirtless,” Jake remarks, rolling his eyes.

“True, but it’s not much of a show, bro.”

“Seriously, this is not the point!” You yell, placing your face in your hands.

“Yes it is! You’re my sister!”

“And she’s my girlfriend,” Jake interrupts, “so you need to get your head out of your ass and stop acting like she’s not capable of taking care of herself.”

Jake stands up to Jay, the two of them face to face with each other in a way you expected when your relationship came out of the shadows. You don’t want Jay to feel betrayed, but at the same time, it will kill you if Jake gets hurt trying to stick up for you.

“My priority will always be looking out for my family.” Jay turns to you, disappointment clear as day in his eyes. “No matter how I’ve shown it, I didn’t expect to be branded the bad guy for wanting to protect you.”

Jay slams the door on his way out. Tears prick your eyes, silence permeating the bedroom.

Jake sits back down next to you and places a few kisses on the curve of your shoulder. “Believe it or not, but I think he took it better than I thought he would.”

“He hates me,” you sob.

“He doesn’t hate you. Maybe me, but never you.” Jake takes your hand and kisses the inside of your palm, tucking it gingerly between his fingers. “Nobody could ever hate you.”

“I need to fix this, though.” You swiftly kiss Jake’s lips before standing up to get dressed, throwing on a pair of gym shorts and one of his shirts you stole. When you go to Jay’s room, it’s empty. But you hear the faint notes of a guitar from somewhere on the first floor of the house.

You walk down the stairs to find Jay strumming his favorite Yamaha in the living room, the one your father brought home from a trip to Japan for Jay as his graduation present. You step towards his spot on the couch quietly, but he’s already too adept at sensing your presence. He stops playing but says nothing.

“Hey,” you say.

“Don’t.” Jay’s voice is gruff. “Don’t ‘hey’ me right now.”

“Well, if you’re looking for an apology, I’m not going to give you one.”

The two of you are silent, unsure where to take the conversation next. What was there to say? Yes, you felt guilty for keeping Jay in the dark, but either way, the situation would hurt him. His best friend and his younger sister falling in love is not ideal, but feelings couldn’t be fought. All the same, the deceit sat in your stomach like a stone, begging to be thrown away.

You sigh and sit down on the love-seat, adjacent to Jay’s spot on the couch. “I really like him, Seongie,” you confess. “No. I, actually—I love him.”

Jay looks directly at you for the first time, his eyes a bit puffy. “Are you happy?”

“What?”

“Are you happy? Does he treat you well?”

You laugh. “I mean we’ve only been a couple for about 12 hours, so—”

“You know what I mean, asshat.” The two of you share a laugh together, the mood much lighter than before. “Do you see a future with him?”

You nod. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then I can’t get in between that. I just wish one of you would’ve fucking said something.”

“And I would’ve, but you know Jaeyun.”

Jay nods. “He’s a wimp.”

“No,” you shake your head, smiling. “He just didn’t want to hurt you either. He loves you, and I love you, too.” You run a hand through your hair, contemplating your next words. “I’m just not a baby anymore, Jongseong. I know how to handle things.”

Jay nods, sniffling. “I know. It’s just…hard.”

“What is?”

He puts his guitar by his side. Clapping his hands together, he tries to brush off whatever emotion is surfacing. “It’s nothing, I don’t know. Stupid, probably.”

You move positions to sit closer to your brother, placing a hand on his knee. “Nothing you say to me could ever be stupid.”

He knocks you in the shoulder with his fist lightly. “It’s just—when did you get so grown up? You gotta stop doing that.”

“If I did, I’d be dead.”

“True.” Jay chuckles. “I’m sorry for freaking out.”

“I’m sorry for keeping it from you. And I hope you and Jaeyun can talk, too.”

“We will. For now, I’m just glad we did.”

Nodding, you open your arms for a hug, a hug that Jay gladly accepts. It’s a tight one that encompasses both a white flag of retreat and a sincere love for you that you forget to remember sometimes in the midst of his teasing and admonishment. You now know, more than ever, it’s his way of protecting you and proving he cares.

And you’re grateful to have both him and now Jake by your side through all your successes and slip-ups.

“You don’t seriously think I’m okay with you wearing that dress again now that you have a boyfriend, right,” Jay asks. “I’m even more against it because Jake will have a heart attack.”

You chuckle and twirl in the mirror, checking the back of your dress to make sure it’s sitting right on you. “He thought I looked pretty in it the first time.”

“Well now, he’s not worried about you looking pretty. He’s worried about other douchebags checking you out.” Jay flips the page of his book, trying to feign a nonchalant expression. “I’m just saying, he’s still my best friend. I know things.”

You poke your tongue out at your brother. The doorbell rings and you rush to answer, your heart beating at a vigorous pace in your chest.

Once you open the door, Jake’s standing there with a bouquet of flowers and a lopsided grin on his face. When he sees your dress, however, his smile falters a fraction.

“Oh my god, Jay was right!”

“I usually am,” Jay yells from his space in the sitting room armchair.

Jake looks confused, but the realization dawns on him in a flash. “No, you look beautiful. It’s just…a bit short, don’t you think?”

You pout, crossing your arms. “I spent so much time getting ready, Jae.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He takes his free hand and rests it on your hip. “And everyone will be able to see that. I just don’t want to have to fight anyone off at the restaurant.”

You giggle. Going in for an impromptu kiss, you smell the traces of his cologne. The scent could make your knees buckle, but you try to stay confident and lull your boyfriend into submission. “I’ll only be looking at you. And I can defend myself just fine, baby.”

Jake’s bottom lip juts out. “So, I can’t convince you to change?”

You shake your head, grinning.

Jay sneaks up behind you, making you gasp. “If she isn’t gonna listen to her brother, she’s definitely not gonna listen to you, man.”

Jay and Jake exchange a handshake. You’re relieved their relationship has recovered from the reveal of your relationship, but you know that means they have the potential to gang up on you more out of their misguided sense of protection.

“I have the advantage though. She’s in love with me,” Jake sing-songs, kissing you on the cheek after doing so.

“Regardless,” you say, “I’m wearing the dress.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Just change, for fuck’s sake.”

Jake nods. “Pretty please?”

“Not a chance in hell, boys.”

#jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #enhypen x reader #jake sim fic #sim jaeyun fic #enhypen fic #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen smut #jake sim smut

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 9 months

Note

Hello! I love your writing. Can I request an actress y/n story of her doing the Vogue 73 questions interview and some of the questions being cute stuff about her relationship with Tom and the interviewer going viral on social media.

73 Questions with Vogue || Tom Blyth x actress!reader

A/n: this was so fun to write, thank u for the request anon :)

Warnings: none

Wc: 606

Tom Blyth x actress!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

You step into the grand foyer of your opulent home, adorned with exquisite art and gleaming chandeliers. Vogue’s cameras follow your every move as you prepare to answer their 73 questions. The air is charged with anticipation as fans worldwide await a glimpse into your glamorous life.

"Mind your step," you caution the interviewer, noting the subtle elevation that often catches people off guard. "Oh, thanks," he chuckles in response to your warning, and a reciprocal grin plays on your lips. The interviewer then dives in, initiating the conversation with, "What's your morning routine like?"

You flash a radiant smile, “I start my day with a strong cup of coffee and a walk with Tchai.” As you speak, you gently caress your spoodle, cozily curled up on the sofa.

"Tchai is so adorable! How long have you had him?" The interviewer questions, giving your dog an affectionate pat. "I've had Tchai since I started dating my partner Tom, it was actually his gift to me for our one year," you share with a smile, recalling the moment Tom surprised you with the dog of your dreams.

As you stroll through the expansive living room, the camera captures the elegance that surrounds you. A question about your career follows, and you share anecdotes from your latest film.

“I actually took this from the set of tbosas, it’s a photograph of my character and Coriolanus that was on Coryo’s bedside table during the first scenes,” You show the camera the photo, your grin reflecting the fond memories associated with it.

“Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?” The interviewer probes further. “FaceTiming for sure! I’m too slack most of the time to text, so I'd rather FaceTime people because then I can see their reactions,” you share, casting a glance over your shoulder as you navigate through your hallway, adorned with captivating artworks.

The interviewer then delves into a more personal inquiry, asking, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?” You take a contemplative pause, “I’ve learned to prioritize my well-being and maintain a grounded perspective. Surrounding myself with genuine people helps.”

Entering your plush home office, you take pride in showcasing the awards adorning the shelves. The conversation seamlessly transitions to your personal life, and a subtle smile graces your lips.

“Congratulations on reaching your three-year anniversary with Tom!” The interviewer beams, and you reciprocate, “Thank you!” “Could you share a bit more about your relationship with Tom?” the interviewer inquires.

Your eyes light up, “Tom is incredible. We support each other’s dreams and share a deep connection. He’s my biggest cheerleader. And I'm genuinely grateful to have someone like him in my life.”

The camera follows you into the stylish kitchen, where you casually pour a glass of water. “What’s the key to a successful relationship?” He asks. “Communication, trust, and a lot of laughter,” you reply, your tone sincere.

The resonant creak of the front door interrupts the air, and a familiar voice follows, causing an immediate and infectious smile to light up your face. “Oh, there’s Tom right now,” You chuckle setting the glass down before you make your way to the foyer, the camera effortlessly trailing your every move.

“Hi sweetheart,” Tom removes his sunglasses, drawing you close for a tender kiss before casting a warm smile at the camera. “Go, continue your interview,” He encourages, his eyes filled with affection, as you return the grin and redirect your attention to the ongoing interview.

Moving towards the sunlit terrace, you reveal breathtaking views. The interviewer probes further, "How do you maintain a work-life balance?" You chuckle, turning your gaze towards the camera, "It's a juggling act, but quality time with loved ones is non-negotiable," You point out.

As you ascend the staircase, your eyes meet Tom, engrossed in play with Tchai on the couch. A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection.

"What's something people don't know about you?" You ponder on the question before replying, "I'm allergic to most flowers," You reveal as a soft chuckle leaves your lips. "Really? I wouldn't have known," The interviewer comments, surprised at you revelation.

"Oh, absolutely! During the filming of tbosas, I couldn't escape the constant sneezing, and my eyes were continuously watery, especially when shooting scenes outdoors in the district. We had to take a lot of takes with those scenes" you confess with a sheepish smile, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through a luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. "Favorite fashion trend right now?" You gesture to your chic outfit, "Effortless elegance. Comfort meets style."

"What are your top artists that you listen to?" You walk over to your vinyl player, hands flickering through the vinyl records. "That's a tough once since I listen to a wide range of music. But I think I'd have to say my top three would be Olivia Rodrigo, The Neighbourhood, and the Smiths," You smile, picking out the 'Louder than bombs' vinyl and playing 'back to the old house'

"This is actually Tom and I's favourite song from the Smiths," You reveal with a grin. "You seem to have quite a collection of hats, care to share some light about the meaning behind your huge collection?" The interviewer points to a wall where about 20 cowboy hats were hung up.

"Funny story actually, these are hats that Tom and I have either taken, or were given from the set of Billy the Kid." You pick up Tom's cowboy hat, "Those who have watched the series, which you definitely should, would recognise this hat to be Billy's," You showcase the hat to the camera.

"This one I was gifted to by the director," You point to a white hat, "And these ones are from other cast members like Daniel, Alex, Ryan, and a few others," You gesture to the others.

A sudden knock at the door causes you to look at the door where Tom peaks his head around, the camera zooming onto him as he grins. "I made some iced chai's, your with oat milk" He walks in, handing you yours and one for the interviewer, "Awe, thanks babe," You gratefully smile at him.

"Yeah, thank you Tom!" The guy smiles at Tom who smiles warmly before leaving. You take a sip and let out a satisfied sigh from the cold beverage. "Mhm, this iced chai is delicious! Is this something you drink often?"

"Oh I love everything and anything chai. That's why I named my dog tchai cause I love it so much," You chuckle, "Do you usually have it with oat milk?" The interviewer asks as you hum, "I'm lactose intolerant so I drink oat milk,"

“Oh I see, I can tell Tom is very thoughtful, what’s your favourite trait that he has?” He asks a difficult question, “You can’t make me choose, I love everything about him!” You giggle.

“Okay, okay, sorry just say one that comes to mind then,” He chuckles, “hmm, I love the little things he does like putting medicine and a cup of water on my bedside table when I’m sick, buying chocolate for me when he knows I’m not having the best day, braiding my hair when I’m in my office doing work because it de-stresses me.”

“He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for,” You smile like a schoolgirl thinking about him. As the interview concludes, you step into the sunlight, the epitome of success and poise.

The Vogue 73 questions interview becomes an internet sensation, captivating audiences worldwide. Your fans celebrate not just the actress but the genuine, relatable person behind the glamour.

In the days that follow, headlines laud your openness and authenticity. Your relationship with Tom Blyth becomes a the talk of the internet once again. The internet buzzes with admiration, turning the Vogue interview into a timeless moment in your career.

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adragonprinceswhore · 3 months

Text

The Commune

Cult Leader!Aemond x Niece!Reader

Summary: A modern AU where Aemond, power-hungry and high on hubris, is the leader of a commune with a peculiar affection for the Seven.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), AFAB reader, depictions of depression, manipulation, coercion, dubcon/noncon, targcest (no description of appearance), fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), facefucking, humiliation, (noncon) spanking, semi-public sex, P in V, breeding kink

Word Count: 19k

A/N: I've wanted to edit this for a while and finally got around to it! It took all week 🫠 I definitely feel like the fic got a face-lift! Enjoy ✨

Leaving

Your heart is beating fast and hard when you wake up.

The shrill sound of your alarm clock does little to ease your tense state, abruptly ruining the quiet calm that had previously occupied your bedroom. Without fully opening your eyes, you reach for its usual spot on the nightstand and press snooze, hoping for a little more serenity before you have to get up and face yet another insufferable day at work.

How could such a dull job cause you so much stress?

Why did it make you wake up each night with a heavy swirl of dread and anxiety tightening in your chest, rendering you unable to fall back asleep?

You’ve never been this tired before, yet you’ve never found sleep harder to obtain.

With a sigh you push yourself out of the warm comfort of your bed. It is so soft and smells like home; laundry detergent and the scented candle you keep on the nightstand.

The forced separation almost makes you cry as your body shivers in your chill bedroom.

Each day as heavy to bear as the next.

You grab the robe you have hanging on the back of the bedroom door and head for the kitchen with slow, heavy steps; dragging your feet behind you.

When had life turned so monotone?

When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself without thinking about work?

Why did you find yourself in an existential crisis before you’d even had your morning coffee?

You load the small coffee maker, pull out a carton of yoghurt and dump some into a bowl before reaching for the packet of granola standing on top of your fridge.

You grab a mug, pour some coffee into it, and shake up your oat milk before adding a splash.

Same fucking breakfast each day.

Moving to the living room, you curl into yourself on your sofa, turning on the same morning show you always watch as you sip your coffee and feel a tiny bit of relief at the comfort that the warm liquid offers as it slides down your throat.

The unnaturally cheery hosts on TV are in the middle of some segment about reusing egg cartons when your phone vibrates. You already know who it is, tapping on the screen to see “mum” and her usual morning text, asking you how you're feeling and what you have planned for the day.

It's harder to pretend like everything's fine when it's her asking. She can always tell that you're faking it; that whatever you say is just an empty, repetitive attempt at assuring her that you are fine.

You don't really mean any of it.

And she knows.

You shoot her a quick reply, trying to ease her worries but not really having the energy to fully commit,

“I’m good, going to work and meeting up with Sara after”

A small lie, though you are planning on sending a text to see if Sara's available later. Regrettably, your weekly dinners had been reduced to monthly ones, but still.

Do it for mum.

“Have you finished checking the reports I asked you to look over?”

Gwayne does not even spare you a glance as he comes up to your desk in the office, eyes glued to his phone and thumbs violently tapping the screen. He wasn’t the worst boss to have, but he certainly wasn’t nice or understanding either, promptly ignoring any signs of distress you were showing. You know you have been looking worse and worse as the stress of the job has settled in; skin going duller and bags under your eyes becoming more prominent. Yet, he stubbornly says nothing, relying on you to finish work swiftly without ever talking back or asking for some guidance.

“Yes, I just have to glance them over one last time before I forward them to you”, you answer, noticing how tedious your voice has become.

He hums, eyes still on his phone,

“And then I’ll need you to double-check that you’ve replied to any urgent emails before going home today. Would really fuck up my schedule next week if I’d have to keep track of your inbox as well”

“Yes, sure”, you reply before even taking in what Gwayne had told you,

“Wait, what do you mean? Next week?”, you question, seeing him briefly scrunch his eyebrows together before finally looking up from his phone, locking eyes with you,

“Yes, you have next week off, remember? Last chance to use up those paid days off you’ve accumulated, and the union has made it quite clear that we cannot give you a bonus instead”, he rolls his eyes at the last part.

“Week off? But I have meetings lined up next week, deadlines closing in”

Despite knowing that you probably need the break, you feel the familiar tightening in your chest as you consider all tasks you were planning on doing next week.

Gwayne, seeming to be done with the conversation, turns and walks away from your desk, eyes again locked on his phone as he replies, “Then you’ll just have to get it sorted today”

“Well that’s lovely, sweetheart!”

Rhaenyra’s voice sounds relieved when you tell her the news of your unplanned week off. You had been forced to stay at the office for two additional hours just to make sure that you finished up any urgent business, resulting in you cancelling the dinner plans you'd made with Sara and consequently spending another evening by yourself at home.

“Why don’t you get away for a bit? You might enjoy a change of scenery?”, she asks.

You were too exhausted to even think about planning and booking a trip, replying “Yeah, sure” dispassionately as you stir the pot of pasta cooking on the stove.

All you want to do is lay in bed, listen to music and try as best as you can to turn your brain off; to not think about anything.

Contently brainless.

You don't want to think about how you’d gotten your dream job, just to realise that you despise it.

You don't want to think about how every day felt like a repetition of the one before, nothing exciting ever happening.

You don't want to think about the strong suspicion you have that every fucking choice you’ve ever made has lead you to a life that you detest.

“Why don’t you go visit Helaena? I know she’s misses you”, your mothers voice pulls you away from the negative thoughts spiralling in your head,

“I think the place is about two hours by train from Oldtown, out in the country. Maybe some fresh air would do you good?”

You knew Helaena had moved out to the country about a year ago, exhausted and overstimulated from the suffocating drain of the fast-paced city that King’s Landing is. She’d sent you a letter, not a text or a call, some time ago to let you know that she was okay and she’d love it if you came by to visit her.

“Mm, I do miss her…”, you mumble into your phone, thinking of the last time you’d seen her. It was Aegon’s birthday almost one and a half years ago. She’d seemed lost and sad. Like she often did.

Like you often did, nowadays.

“Yeah, maybe that’d do me some good”, you finally agree, hearing Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief at your words. You know she's worried you’d stay home all week, doing nothing but dwelling in sadness.

“That’s lovely, dear! I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to see you. You know Aemond lives there too, right?"

You’d heard that Aemond had left King’s Landing shortly after finishing his PhD as well. You’d been with your mum when Alicent called her, filled to the brim with worry over her overachieving son turning down a position at Oldtown University in order to move out to the middle of nowhere, claiming that he’d be "conducting private research".

You had actually been excited for him to move to Oldtown. Having some family close by would’ve been a nice escape from the loneliness of the city.

Besides, you and Aemond had drifted apart as you both grew older, despite being thick as thieves in your childhood.

Maybe it’d be nice to see him too.

You lean your head against the train window, watching the city landscape make way for the lush greenery of the Reach in late summer.

Being trapped in the city you’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was here; a stark difference from Dragonstone, where you’d spent most of your upbringing.

It's not that you don't miss the sea. As a child, you'd loved the way the harsh, salty winds whipped at your face, leaving you wet and impossibly refreshed as you stared out towards the horizon, thinking of everything awaiting you there.

The potential of what your life could've become felt a lot more comforting than the reality of it.

You hadn't been able to call Helaena to inform her that you’d like to visit. Apparently, she didn’t have a mobile phone anymore, but after sending a text to Alicent you’d gotten a hold of her new number; a landline.

You didn’t know how she managed without a smartphone, but figured that the stress of constant notifications might have made her decide to ditch it.

Grabbing your bag from between your legs, your hand rummages through it in blind search for your pocket mirror.

You pull it out, open it and check your reflection.

Still the same tired face, with dark bags permanently residing under your eyes. You hadn’t slept well last night either, despite having some much needed rest from work.

Why was your body seemingly incapable of relaxing?

You feel around for some concealer, dotting a bit on your finger and patting it under your eye; a useless attempt at hiding the fatigue prevalent on your face.

Defeated, you lean back in your seat.

The train ride's nice. You spend the entire 2 hours and 12 minutes listening to music, watching the scenery flash by.

Thoroughly zoned out, you nearly miss the conductor announcing your station.

You hastily grab your bag and rush out of the door. The station, if you could even call it that, is small; just two tracks going opposite directions.

It's closer to a bus stop, a place where people get off and quickly make way to their final destination.

You spot Helaena immediately. She's standing on the platform in a lilac summer dress, her silver hair shining in the sunlight.

Although you can only really make out her silhouette, she seems different. As you come closer, the wide smile that she sports comes into view.

Gosh, she looks radiant!

So different from her gloomy, distant self back in King’s Landing.

“I’m so happy you’re here!”, she squeals, wrapping you in her arms.

She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, burying your nose in her hair. It feels good to hug someone you care for.

When was the last time you did that?

“Thank you for having me”, you respond as Helaena pulls away, still holding you in her arms, eyes flickering over your face.

Her smile falters for a second before it returns and she starts talking excitedly about her new home, telling you that it’s only a 20 minute walk from the station and you could catch up on the way.

You follow her down the steps from the platform, answering a few questions about work and your life in Oldtown.

She leads you away from the small station, down a path where a few houses lay scattered sporadically.

You can hardly call this a town; far too minuscule. Still, you notice what seems to be a little supermarket, a pharmacy, a gas station and what looks like an elementary school, facing the tiny town square.

“I’ve been hoping you’d come visit ever since I sent you that letter”, Helaena gushes, taking your hand in hers as she led you down a small path going off the main road,

“I just know you’ll love our commune. Aemond thinks so too!”, she continues while squeezing your hand in hers.

“Commune?”, you ask and turn to face her.

She met your eyes and nods, face breaking out into a wide grin once again,

“Yes, Aemond’s research project! You know he specialised in philosophy when he did his PhD in Political Science, right? Well, he got really into the idea of having people live in smaller communities instead of the impersonal and detached lifestyles people pursue in modern cities”, she explains, eyes once again inspecting your face, only to land on the bags under your eyes.

You hum in response, seeing if she’ll continue.

“So, he used some of the money he had stored away in funds and created our commune; a small community where everyone knows each other and we get away from the stresses of city life. We grow our own crops, spend time outside and work together to keep the place running”, she explains, eyes gleaming with adoration,

“He said he did it for me, since he saw how bad my depression had gotten back in King’s Landing”, she adds, and you squeeze her hand affectionately. Aemond had always cared for Helaena, no one else seemed to truly understand her like he did.

“So, you feeling better now? Out here?”, you inquire, gesturing towards the green field you walk through, hand in hand.

You're not really paying attention to where you're going as Helaena guides you. Looking up, you find yourself surrounded by nature; not a building in sight.

The sun shines brightly, illuminating the beech trees towering over you, creating a roof of light green luminance.

“Yes, much better”, she replies with a smile. She seems so at peace here, encapsulating a kind of beauty that comes from within and hypnotises anyone laying eyes on her.

“And this, ehm, commune. How many people live there now?”, you ask, not knowing you’d be spending your time with a bunch of strangers.

Truth be told, you really didn’t feel up for it.

You barely have energy to hang out with Helaena and Aemond. Entertaining and getting to know new people would be especially draining.

“We’re already about 50 people. Most of them met Aemond when he was still in school”, she replies.

As if she could sense your uneasiness, her eyes search yours as she adds, “You’ll love them, I swear! Everyone’s super nice”

Together, you continue your path, walking up a small hill. As you look down, the commune comes into view.

You see small, cottage-looking houses, with large flowerbeds between them, filled with everything from herbs to vegetables.

There's a large building the middle of the field with walls much taller than the cottages. The building's made out of wood; a dark tone that contrasts against the light trees and green fields you’d passed on the way over.

Above the large entrance of the building is a large carving, resembling the seven-pointed star of the Faith.

Helaena, still excitedly chatting next to you about how lovely life is out in the country, pulls you towards the large building in quick steps,

“Aemond's dying to meet you! It’s been so long. I bet he’s in the Sept”, she explains, leading you through the tall, open door.

Your parents aren't particularly religious, which means you hadn’t spent much time in Septs and the like. Alicent’s family, however, were rather devoted; an integral part of the many faith's many fractions in Oldtown.

When you were younger, both Helaena and Aemond had spent a lot of time studying The Seven-Pointed Star. Still, the fact that they'd chosen to construct a Sept in such a small community shocks you.

Maybe they're more dedicated than you’d thought?

Entering the Sept, you recognise the back of a tall man with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, silvery hair, tied in a low bun.

Helaena calls his name and he turns around, finding your gaze in an instant. His lone, purple eye crinkles slightly as he smiles at you, calling out your name in greeting.

Just like Helaena, he looks radiant; pale skin glowing, dress shirt and dark slacks perfectly ironed, and not a hair out of place.

As a child he was always so moody; volatile and sensitive.

Now, he seems so calm.

Too calm.

Like he was faking it.

“Welcome to our home. I hope the trip here wasn’t too draining?”, he asks, inspecting your fatigued face.

Seven hells, did everyone think you looked like the walking dead?

“It was a lovely ride out here. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the country is” you answer, trying your best to sound cheerier than you look.

He hums at your answer, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. You can't make out if it's supposed to be an attempt at a greeting, or a way to comfort you.

His eye bores into yours,

“We’re so happy to finally have you here. Helaena will help you get sorted in one of our rooms and then I’ll introduce you to everyone”

His hand swiftly leaves your shoulder before he turns around, striding out of the large wooden doors of the Sept.

Reconnecting

After a few hasty greetings, you retreat to the room Helaena and Aemond have assigned to you.

You're exhausted from being bombarded with impressions, and collapse on your bed, finding uninterrupted sleep for the first time in months.

Hours later, you wake up to the sun illuminating your room, a low knocking sound by your door.

As your groggy mind slowly realises where you are, you hear Helaena call you from the outside, informing you that breakfast will be served in a few minutes.

You get up and move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, splashing some water on your face, checking your sleepy reflection.

You instantly notice that the heavy bags that had seemed to be a permanent feature under your eyes have faded slightly, and you look better and brighter than you had in a long time.

Mood elevated, you move to throw on a flowy, knee-length skirt and a linen blouse, reasoning that something loose-fitting would match the sunny, late-summer climate.

Stepping outside, the air is crisp.

The sun provides warmth as it makes contact with your skin, a welcomed relief to the slight chill still lingering.

You notice that the residents of the small community have gathered by a long, wooden table placed in the middle of a field not far away from where you stand. You quickly make your way there, spotting Helaena. Her eyes light up as she sees you approach, greeting you with a wide smile,

“We always have breakfast together”, she explains as people move around you swiftly, placing plates of bread, yoghurt, pastries, fresh fruit and vegetables on the massive table.

You spot Aemond, hands behind his back and posture straigh as he observes the people scurrying around him. He glances at you, giving you a small smile and a nod before he returns to his previously stoic state, observing the residents while they prepare for breakfast.

Helaena reappears next to you, arms wrapped around 5 glass vases filled with wildflowers. You help her place them on the table, admiring how utterly beautiful the set up looks.

The commune, as you'd heard one resident call it, has a simplistic aesthetic. Most rooms are only occupied by whatever furniture’s necessary to maximise functionality; tables, chairs and beds made out of wood, decorated with nature-toned linens.

Yet, there is a beauty to it you’d hardly seen before; an appreciation for a simple charm that's often lost in the hectic mess of cities like Oldtown or King’s Landing.

You take a seat next to Helaena, eager to devour the delicious-looking food in front of you.

Though most residents are seated by now, no one moves to touch the various plates filled to the brim with mouth-watering food.

You look over at the end of the long table and notice Aemond standing, hands still clasped behind his back. He softly clears his throat, and the cheery chatter dissolves in an instance, all eyes shifting to watch the tall, silver-haired man standing before them,

“Good morning. I hope you all slept well and feel ready for a day of prosperity”, Aemond starts, eye moving across the table to acknowledge everyone present.

Most of the residents are older than both you and Aemond. You even heard that a handful of them used to be his professors back in King’s Landing.

You're still not sure how he’d managed to get them all to move out here, but as he speaks, you notice how intensely everyone observes him, taking in every word that leaves his lips,

“Let us pray”, he orders, and each one of your tablemates bring their hands up to clasp over their empty plates before closing their eyes.

Aemond sends you a look you can’t really decipher. You assume he wants you to partake in the prayer, so you lower your head and clasp your hands together as well.

Aemond pays tribute to all seven faces of the new God before thanking all residents for attending, voice calm and steady.

As the prayers end, everyone shifts their focus to the food. You feel unsure of what to try; everything looks so good.

Helaena makes the decision for you, grabbing your plate, loading it with bread and various spreads and toppings for you to try.

“You’ll love this”, she urges as she places the plate in front of you, lilac eyes eagerly awaiting your reaction.

She's right. Everything tastes divine and you eat until you feel like your stomach is about to burst.

Meanwhile, you try to engage in some small-talk with the people sitting closest to you around the massive table.

To your right sits Jayne, a woman you’d guess to be in her early fifties, with sun-kissed skin and kind, brown eyes. She tells you about her tasks at here, mainly growing herbs and flowers.

She shoots a quick glance at a dark-haired woman sitting by Aemond further down the table, explaining that she grows and tends to various plants which are grown at the request of the woman she’s observing; Alys.

After breakfast you offer to help collect and wash up the dishes, feeling a strong need to be useful as you see all residents retreat to their respective tasks for the day.

As you circle the outside table with an already overfilled tray in your hands, you spot a tall figure appear beside you.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

You look to the side and see Aemond standing there. He's wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks today as well, though his hair is left untied, cascading down his shoulders and reflecting the light of the sun.

He offers you a timid smile as he asks, mimicking the way he used to look when he was younger. It's a stark contrast to how he appeared during breakfast; authoritative and intimidating.

You return his smile and nod. Perhaps a walk would do you good.

He instructs one of the residents to take over your work and they do so without protest. You send them an apologetic look and mumble a "thank you" as you follow Aemond, who’s already set sight on the small path leading away from the settlement and towards the compact trees of the surrounding forest.

The two of you walk in silence, basking in the lovely scenery surrounding you. The light green trees seem to shimmer in the sun, and as you make your way into the forest, you spot a small river; surface reflecting the lush greenery of the leaves.

“How is life in Oldtown? Has my uncle been giving you a hard time?”, Aemond asks, eye looking forward as he breaks the silence.

You swallow and mentally prepare yourself before answering, not wanting to let him in on how miserable you’ve been.

“Yeah it’s been interesting. A lot of new challenges but I’m hanging in there”, you answer, and despite your attempt at sounding casual, the sadness residing within you drips through and stains your voice.

Aemond abruptly halts and turns to you, eye boring into yours as he contemplatively licks his lips.

“There's no need for that here”, he states, voice suddenly sterner than before.

“What do you mean?”

Your cheeks grow hot and your palms feel clammy as you grow embarrassed over how easily he sees through your fake cheeriness.

“You don’t need to lie to me. It’s only us here, I won’t judge you”, he replies, maintaining the intense eye contact between the two of you.

It feels like a dam bursts within you; a force so strong you're helpless to it, and your sight turns blurry.

Any attempts you’ve made to appear strong have failed and all that is left is the truth; that you'r stuck in a permanent state of misery.

Broken.

You feel your throat close up and you desperately try to swallow before answering,

“I ha-, have been feeling a bit, ehm, lost”, you admit, and as you finally utter the words, admitting to yourself and confiding in him that you feel disoriented, tears spill out of the corners of your eyes.

You try to take deep breaths to soothe yourself and regain some control over your emotions, but it's too hard.

Why can’t you pull yourself together?

Aemond regards you for a moment, allowing you time to process the sudden crash of emotions overcoming you, before he places a hand on your upper arm, gently dragging his fingers over the fabric of your blouse.

“You’re allowed to feel lost”, he looks into your eyes and there is something there; a tenderness you haven’t seen since you were both much younger.

You can’t stop the tears from flowing anymore as you weakly nod at his words, the lump in your throat leaving you unable to properly answer him. His seeing eye is so gentle as it gazes into yours,

“Many of us here felt lost, hopeless even. But the community we’ve built allowed us to reconnect with our inner selves; helped us feel happier”

He moves the hand that had been on your arm to your face, experimentally stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch by reflex, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on your wet cheek.

“You don’t have to pretend here, not with me”

As he speaks you move closer to him, pressing your body against his and wrapping your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly, just like you did so many times in your childhood.

He understands what you need and hugs you back, holding you against his chest, softly stroking your hair. And despite the agony in your chest and the lump in your throat, you feel okay; escaping into his warm embrace to momentarily forget all your sorrows.

You stay like that for a while, bodies interlocked with each other as Aemond lets you cry. He doesn't say anything, continuously stroking your hair. It feels emancipating; crying your heart out in the arms of your uncle.

As your tears dry, you gently push yourself away from Aemond’s embrace and run the back of your hand over your cheeks in an attempt to remove some of the wetness. Aemond’s eye still looks gentle as he regards you,

“I know that life's not always what you thought it’d be, and leaving home is scary. But you’re with family now. Me and Hel are so pleased that you’re here with us”

You smile at him, saying a quiet "thank you" as he motions for you to carry on with your walk.

You continue to talk and catch up on what’s been going on in your lives since you last met.

Aemond tells you about his research project; how he believes that modern capitalism renders people mere objects utilised for profit by companies, consequently leaving them lacking agency and without a belief in higher powers, generating a generation of depressed, lost souls.

You take in everything he says. He speaks with such confidence that you feel yourself agreeing instantaneously.

In truth, you also felt like an object at work; a machine there to execute tasks, without any possibility to change your condition.

You listen to him talk so intensively you don't even realise you’re back at the residence.

What sounds like a fight in hushed voices pulls you away from your conversation with Aemond as you look up to search for where the voices are coming from.

You see one of the residents you had breakfast with, Jayne, kneel down in front of Alys, grasping at her apron and pleading to her in a quiet, desperate voice,

“I didn't mean to, please believe me!”

Shocked, you look over at Aemond who suddenly looks stern, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. His eye's set on the scene in front of you, yet he does not intervene.

As you open your mouth to ask him what's going on, he grabs your arm and promptly leads you into the Sept, closing the door behind you.

“Helaena will meet you here, she wanted to show you her insect farm. Do not leave until she collects you”, he commands, voice stoic but intimidating, leaving no room for argument.

Before you have a chance to reply he quickly opens the door, and leaves.

You spend the afternoon with Helaena, exploring her insect farm and listening to her tell you of all the benefits the farm provides.

Afterwards, you still feel the unease from earlier vibrate within you, causing you to feel restless. In an attempt to be useful, you offer to help some of the residents as they prepare the large outdoor dining space for supper.

You chat with one of the younger people there, a man who appears to be in his early 20’s called Jon.

He tells you about how he met Aemond. As part of his PhD programme, Aemond held some lectures for first-year students, and Jon had attended his class on international conflict and crisis.

They’d started talking outside of Aemond’s lectures and found that they had much in common, especially in regards to their view of the world, and what was wrong with it. Aemond had mentioned his wish to move out of the city with his sister, and Jon was intrigued in an instance.

You continue your conversation with Jon, finding him easy to chat with. He's surprisingly funny too, joking and making you laugh, easing your anxiety. Feeling yourself relax and grow more comfortable, you decide to pry a bit, confiding in Jon,

“I wasn’t brought up with the faith, so I have to ask. Why did you decide to build a large Sept in a small settlement like this?”, you ask as you help Jon place cutlery by the plates on the table.

His relaxed and cheerful demeanour stiffens at your question. His eyes leave the silverware on the table to meet yours,

“You don’t know?”

His face appears genuinely surprised, and his eyes are wide in question. Before you get a chance to answer, a raspy voice interrupts your conversation,

“Jon! How lovely of you to entertain our guest”

The woman who you’ve learned goes by Alys appears, emerald eyes locking with yours as you turn to meet her.

“I’m Alys, it is so nice to meet you”

She stretches out a hand and gives you a practised smile. Her features looks pleasant; far from how harsh they'd appeared when Jayne had been kneeling before her.

You try to smile back at her and tell her your name, though you suspect she already knows exactly who you are. You look over at Jon who appears nervous, hands fidgeting with a fork.

“I believe Aemond wants to see you, in his office”, Alys sight does not leave Jon, eyes boring into him, but you both know she is addressing you.

You can’t come up with anything to say or do; anxious to find out what it is that Aemond wants from you and desperate to get away from the intense, silent fight between Jon and Alys taking place before your eyes.

You shoot Jon a quick apologetic glance before moving toward the Sept, leaving him with Alys.

Aemonds office is located behind the large altar in the Sept. As you approach, you feel yourself grow tenser; stiffer.

You quickly try to run your sweaty palms over your skirt before raising one hand and softly tapping your knuckles against the heavy wood.

Aemond calls for you to come in and you enter, standing awkwardly by the door.

What does he want with you?

Had you overstepped when you spoke with Jon?

Or will he let you in on what had happened between Alys and Jayne when you came back from your walk?

Something about this place and Aemond makes you unexplainably uneasy, but you're unable to pin-point what it is that reduces you to a mess of nerves.

Your eyes keep flicking up at Aemond and down at the floor. You can't maintain eye contact with him, his stare too intense.

Fiery.

“I heard you offered to help Jon prepare supper?”, he inquires. His voice is completely devoid of any emotions, making your uneasiness grow.

He had an eerie calmness to him that did little to soothe you; rather, it made you grow even more restless.

“Y-, yes, well, I only helped him with bringing out plates and such”, you rushedly explain, words pouring out of your mouth, “I'm so sorry if I overstepped or made a mistake, that wasn’t my intention”

Aemond beckons you over, pushing his chair from where it’s placed by the desk, holding out his hand. You grab it without a second thought and he begins stroking his thumb over the back of your palm, looking up at you, a sliver of sympathy evident in his dark gaze,

“Why did you assist him?”, he asks softly and you answer that you just wanted to be helpful; that it feels strange seeing everyone else work hard and not contribute.

Aemond hums and leans back in his chair, hand still holding yours.

“You shouldn’t do other peoples chores for them. Everyone here has responsibilities that they should conduct in solitude”, he explains and you nod, though you can’t understand the harm in helping someone with a menial task like setting the table for supper.

“Don’t worry, no one is upset with you”, he adds to reassure you that you haven’t wronged anyone. You feel yourself relax somewhat, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

Aemond looks you over and his gaze stops at your shoulders, noticing the strain there,

“You are still so tense”, he notes and you hum.

Stress, working at a desk for over 40 hours per week and lack of sleep had left your body in a constant, rigid state.

“Come here”, he commands and tugs at your arm unexpectedly, making you stumble forward. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, placing you on his thigh.

He looks into your eyes and the close proximity makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“You’ve always been so nervous; anxious since we were young”, he says as the hand that had been holding yours travels down to rest on your clothed thigh. The arm he has around you midriff tightens as if he’s expecting you to move away,

“Let me help you relax”, he offers, voice soft.

With gentle fingers, he slowly traces patterns on your leg. You do not know what he means by helping you, but you trust him.

He managed to makes you feel better before.

You stay put on his lap and he takes that as permission to continue, letting his hand travel down to where your skirt ends, fingers caressing your knee.

A breath gets caught in your throat as his hand moves upwards, slinking in under the fabric of your skirt; warm palm softly touching the smooth skin of your thigh. Aemond lets out a sigh at the contact and you suddenly feel uneasy, squirming in his grip.

“Aemond, what are you doing?”, you ask, voice slightly panicked.

His arm tightens around your waist as you try to move, hand continuing its path up your skirt.

“Didn’t it feel liberating to ease the pressure within when you cried in my arms earlier?”, he inquires and you look at him puzzled.

He still appears stoic but the pupil of his eye is blown wide; enveloping his iris.

“Let me take care of you. Just relax”, he commands as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs, index finger coming up to touch your bundle of nerves over your underwear experimentally.

You gasp and try to squirm out of his hold again, but he is much stronger; body rigid as he holds you.

He moves his head down to rest in the crock of your neck, shushing your protests. His fingers continue their slow massage over your underwear, and you feel yourself grow wetter from his attention.

Both your mind and your body have frozen.

Although you know it’s wrong, you let yourself lean into the pleasure Aemond is providing you, feeling yourself drift away; mind letting go of your senses as Aemond's touch consumes you.

When his fingers travel to the edge of your underwear, sliding inside, it’s like a bucket of cold water is poured over you.

You regain consciousness, bringing your hand up to try and push his away,

“Aemond we can’t do this, don’t-”, you plea, embarrassed by the fact that you can feel the evidential stickiness of your arousal between your legs.

Aemond tuts at you and pushes his fingers to make contact with the skin of your cunt, delighted at the wetness that greets him,

“You want this", he speaks quietly into your neck, "You need this. Be a good girl for me and let it happen”

You sit in his lap stiffly and as you're about to protest once more, his fingers circle your clit, causing a startled moan to slip out of your disobliging mouth.

Aemond chuckles against your skin and presses a light kiss to your neck,

“I knew you’d like it”

His words feel taunting, and your cheeks sear with shame.

The conflicting feelings storming inside you do little to hinder the arousal you're experiencing.

As his fingers travel down to your entrance, you again feel your common sense slip away and pleasure overtaking you.

He gathers some of the wetness from your entrance and brings it back up to your clit, making you sigh in involuntary pleasure again.

He positions his hand so that the heel of his palm is right by your bundle of nerves, leaving his fingers free to tease your entrance. He stays like that for a while, teasing you while pressing his palm against your clit.

The pleasure builds inside of you at a rapid pace.

He slowly sinks two fingers inside and you cannot contain the loud moan that escapes you, grabbing his arm with both hands. You grip him tightly, but cannot bring yourself to pry his hand away like you’d tried before, the pleasure too overpowering.

He sets a steady pace, palm pushing against your clit and fingers continuously finding that spot within you that causes your thighs to shake.

Your breath grows heavy, pleasure tightening inside you rapidly, and suddenly you don't want him to stop.

You hear Aemond’s breath growing laboured against your neck as well, giving it his all as he holds you in place and pleasures you.

You bite your lip to not let more moans slip out as pleasure begins to consume you.

Why did it feel so good?

Your walls began to contract against Aemond’s fingers as your peak approaches, and distantly, you hear him encourage you to let go.

As you do, you let out a pleasured cry, soaking his fingers. Your body stiffens while pleasure shoots through you; traveling from your lower stomach to your chest and down your limbs.

Your body slumps against Aemond, who moves his face out from the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers,

“Good girl”

Assimilating

You can’t take in anything Helaena is saying.

You watch her lips move, try your hardest to take in her words, but nothing sticks. You hum and nod in reply, but haven’t got a clue to what you just agreed.

Should you tell her about what happened in Aemond’s office?

What if she tells him?

What if she tells mum?

Bile rises in the back of your throat at the thought.

What if your mum found out what her brother had done with her daughter?

What if she found out how good he’d made you feel?

That you liked it.

The only consolation to your misery is the fact that Aemond is sitting where he’d sat before, at the end of the long, beautifully decorated wooden table, looking out at everyone as if nothing was wrong. Like this was any other supper.

Maybe nothing was wrong?

Maybe you'd just imagined the entire thing?

Still, you can't bear to meet his gaze. You continue to channel all of your energy into the conversation you were having with Helaena. Or rather, that she was having with you.

“So when the queen bee dies, her workers will select a new queen from the larva and feed her this special thing called ‘royal jelly’ to make her fertile”, she cheerily says, smiling from ear to ear,

“Everyone here in our community gets to focus their attention on their chosen topic of interest, mine being insects and biology. I’ve learned so much, nature is truly fascinating”

Again, you notice how elated Helaena seems to be here. Her eyes shine as she continues to tell you about her life in the country, tending to insect farms.

It's hard to imagine that this is the same girl who’d been a shell of a person before.

As children, she had developed a tendency to pull away from others, choosing to fold into herself and push the world around her away.

Seeing her this animated and filled with life should make you happy for her.

But it feels off.

The following days go by quickly.

Sensing your need to feel useful, the members of Aemond's commune assign you daily tasks, like helping out with harvesting plants, preparing meals and cleaning up the Sept.

The building doesn’t seem to be used for ceremonies or communal prayer. Instead, the residents utilise it privately throughout the day; though you're not let in on their purpose.

Although not being too familiar with the Seven, you swear you could remember Aemond and Helaena attending services at the Sept when you were younger, not merely going there in solitude. Maybe they prayed together as well sometimes?

Another benefit of focusing on productivity was the distraction it gave you from thinking about what had occurred between you and your uncle three days prior.

Despite the initial disgust you'd felt, you had now decided that if you acted like it never happened, maybe it never did.

You’d sworn to never bring it up with Aemond, or ever tell anyone else for that matter.

He was still the Aemond you’d grown up with; the sensitive boy with a strong will, always on a mission to prove himself.

He’d always been a bit too ‘by the book’. Maybe he sincerely thought that you would enjoy it?

He might've read something about Freud’s theory on female hysteria and the power of orgasmic release, seeing the act as more of a medical procedure than a sexual encounter?

A weak theory, but still.

---

Despite helping out at every corner of the residence, you hadn’t seen Alys since leaving her with Jon.

But this morning, after Aemond had asked you to help the residents clean up the leftovers from breakfast, you spot her standing next to your uncle, talking about something in hushed voices while watching the residents tidy up.

Although you'd only spent a few days here, Aemond and Alys' position at the top of the hierarchy of the small community was evident.

They both had an air of authority about them that was hard to overlook, making the pair appear intimidating in a way that only a strict superior could.

Yet, they both choose to be soft spoken whenever they address the residents, often complimenting them on their diligent work.

Observing the duo, you notice Aemond nod towards you, which prompts Alys to approach, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder,

“I’d like for you to help me today”, she states, and although her voice is soft, as if asking a question, there seems to be no room for disagreement.

She ushers you to follow her as she makes way towards one of the almost overflowing flower beds; copious plants fighting for space.

Like every day since your arrival, the weather is practically perfect; sunny but with a comforting breeze passing through the fields. Alys reaches for two weaved baskets resting against the small cottage wall close by and hands you one before kneeling down by the flower bed. You follow her, admiring the abundance of herbs in front of you.

You’d never witnessed such a variety of plants grow so vigorously together. You’d hardly thought it to be possible. Maybe the weather and temperature conditions here were optimal? Or maybe they’d genetically modified the crops?

Alys' gentle, low voice breaks the silence,

“How has the stay here been for you so far?”

Even though you’d told yourself; decided that you’d never think about what had happened between you and Aemond in his office again, her questions forces your mind back there.

Sitting on his lap. His fingers inside you; stretching you out.

You shake your head slightly in an attempt to erase the thought.

You’re never going to think about that again.

You can’t.

“It’s been great. Everyone’s so welcoming and I’ve been able to spend a lot of time with Helaena”, you reply, focusing on the positive aspects of your visit.

It was all true; during your time here you’d felt welcomed and comforted. Cared for, even.

“That’s lovely”, Alys replies with a smile as she begins to pick basil leaves off the thin stem of the plant. “We’ve worked hard to create an environment where our residents can thrive, just like you seem to be doing”, she explains and your forehead wrinkles in contemplative confusion.

Are you thriving here?

You certainly look a lot better.

Your skin has almost started to glow. You wake up in the mornings feeling refreshed and rested.

But that could just be down to the fact that you’d found uninterrupted sleep. Plus, the appetising food served here seems healthy, consisting of ingredients the residents grew and prepared themselves.

“Well, the fresh air and delicious meals certainly help one thrive”, you reply with an unconvinced chuckle.

Alys’ eyes light up as they sweep over your face,

“You enjoy the food? I’m happy to hear that. I’ve put all of the past year's energy into curating the plants, grains and menu here”, she tells you, pride causing her to straighten up, sitting a bit taller.

“You truly have a gift, Alys. Any tips for an amateur like me?”, you inquire, relaxing a bit now that the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

She smiles at you and pulls out a small, green tin from the large pocket in the middle of the apron she’s wearing. She opens the lid and pulls out brass spoon. It’s filled with what looks like dirt, or clay, and smells similar to a compost.

Your nose wrinkles as she scoops some of the brown mush inside the tin onto her spoon, placing it by the plant's roots before firmly patting it down with the back of the utensil.

“I was doing my PhD at King’s Landing University before moving here. I was researching phytotherapy”, she explains as she scoops out another spoonful of brown mush from the tin and moves to add it to the next plant's roots.

“I was in my final year, fully consumed by my dissertation. Despite loving the topic, I was so stressed by my academic career that I seriously considered dropping everything and moving back to Harrentown. Then, I heard my professor tell me about this brilliant young man in the Political Science department”

Speaking about Aemond, her eyes almost look dreamy,

“His ideas were so radical, yet so natural, you know? He wanted to create a community where people were allowed to pursue their passions without the stressors of modern society. Where the Seven provide enough guidance”

You feel uneasiness creep up your spine. Her facial expression is almost trance-like as she talks about Aemond; as if he's a deity, ready to be worshipped.

“Well, modern society provides us with plenty of comforts as well, don’t you think?”, you counter with a strained laugh, trying to ease the mood a bit,

“What would you do if, like, one of the members got sick?”

Alys huffs a laugh as well and smiles to herself as she eyes the tin in her hand,

“We always get by”

After a quick lunch break, you continue to help Alys with various tasks around the residence; picking flowers, vegetables and herbs for her, plucking out weeds and organising seeds for future harvests.

You’d never seen seeds like the ones she showed you before; pitch-black in colour and almost supernaturally round.

When she saw your expression, she snorted a laugh and explained that they were from Yi Ti, used by herbalists for centuries.

She did not, however, answer you when you asked what they were going to be used for.

Although her presence had felt intimidating at first, you'd now grown calm around Alys. Something about her was almost bewitching.

Like the way her emerald eyes would lock with yours whenever you spoke, or how graciously she moved about the commune, greeting each resident in a gentle voice.

You also noticed that they never met her gaze, eyes cast down as she approached, only uttering a few polite phrases before rushing away.

Feeling more at ease spurred your confidence, and so you ask her what you’ve been aching to know for the past days,

“The other day…-", you begin with a wavering voice,

"-What happened between you and Jayne?”

You try to sound as casual as possible, but it only makes you sound strange.

Alys, who’s been picking some wildflowers from one of the fields close to the residence, doesn’t slow her pace for even the briefest of moments as she answers you, eyes still on the stem of the flower in front of her,

“Nothing for you to worry about”

She plucks the flower and gently places it in her weaved basket before moving to the next one.

“Okay”, you reply with uncertainty, “She seemed very upset though”

Alys finally looks up from the flowers she’s plucking and meets your gaze,

“Actions have consequences. I’m sure you know that. But with the justice of the father and the grace of the mother, mistakes can be forgiven”

Her face is much sterner than before. The comfort of familiarity that had blossomed between the two of you disappears in an instance, and you feel uneasy as her eyes narrow.

“Jayne has been forgiven and we will move forward. Just like how Aemond forgave you”

Alys turns around and quickly makes way towards the Sept, disappearing inside and closing the door behind her.

Forgave you for what?

For what happened in Aemond's office?

Did she know about that?

As the members of the commune prepare for supper, you go back to your room to have some time to yourself, mindlessly scrolling your phone while lying in bed.

The reception out here's not great, and now that you think about it, you hadn't seen any mobile phones during your stay, only a land-line hanging on the wall in Aemond's office.

After what happened with him, your mind had been too preoccupied to put any focus on replying to messages. You see a few from your mum and send her a quick reply to let her know that you’re doing well.

Seeing her name appear, you feel uneasy; like she knows of the secret you harbour. You feel guilty. And disgusted.

A sudden commotion outside throws you back into reality; back into the commune.

You hear raised voices, some sounding familiar, and you swiftly place your phone in your pocket before heading out.

You see Jon, eyes wide and face pale, on his knees in front of Aemond, mimicking how Jayne and Alys had looked a few days ago.

Aemond’s face is hard to read.

He looks stoic, yet his eye is furious; dark gaze glaring down at Jon.

Unlike Jayne, Jon doesn’t say anything. He raises his hands in surrender and locks eyes with Aemond; wordlessly pleading.

But for what?

By now, many of the residents have gathered around the two young men. Some look scared, others intrigued.

“Do you believe the Father to be just?”, Aemond’s soft voice asks, contrasting his utterly frightening appearance. Jon nods eagerly, eyes wide in panic.

“Then you’ll accept a punishment befitting the sin you’ve committed?”

Jon stiffens slightly, but eventually lowers his head in a slow nod. His eyes cast down to the ground; head hanging in surrender.

Aemond hums and pulls out a knife from the inside of the jacket he’s wearing over his usual white shirt and dark slacks.

It’s one you recognise. It had been gifted to Aemond on his 12th birthday by your grandfather, who’d declared that he was now a young man; a young Targaryen man, and therefore needed his own reminder of his Valyrian heritage.

Aemond flips the dagger in his hand as he regards the man before him, holding his hand out in an invitation to Jon. He wordlessly places his hand in Aemond’s, and you can now clearly see that he is shaking.

Aemond turns his hand so that he’s holding the back of it, Jon’s palm turned upwards,

“Mistakes can be forgiven, but justice must prevail”, Aemond speaks. His voice is louder than before to address the crowd gathering around him and Jon. It reminds you of a lecture.

Perhaps this is how he'd conduct classes at university?

The residents around you murmur in agreement. Aemond raises the dagger in his hand, eye cast down to make contact with Jon’s. He’s trembling out of fright and Aemond almost looks pleased at the display in front of him,

“We all need reminders of our wrongdoings, to prevent us from repeating them. Whenever you lose sight of the light, Jon, this will remind you to seek out the guidance of the Seven”, Aemond’s calm voice rings out as he suddenly presses the dagger into Jon’s palm.

He grunts in pain as the blade breaks his skin and blood flows freely from his hand. Aemond’s knuckles are white from the force in which he’s holding onto Jon’s hand, refusing to let the younger man go, staring into his eyes with a look so intimidating it demands submission.

You can’t take in the scene in front of you; can’t comprehend what’s happening.

As reality slowly comes back to you, you try to speak up, try to tell Aemond to stop, but your body doesn’t obey you; frozen in shock.

The other residents watch quietly, not making a sound as Aemond and Jon stay still, blade still penetrating Jon’s palm as his mouth winces in pain.

Your uncle finally pulls away from Jon, gesturing for Alys to move forward. She quickly pulls out some gauze from one of the pockets of her apron and kneels down next to Jon, gently wrapping it around his palm; blood pulsing out furiously.

Aemond’s stoic facade seems to falter slightly as his breathing turn laboured; jaw shut tight. He appears agitated, giving Jon and Alys one final look before stalking away towards the nearby path leading to the forest where he’d taken you for a walk a few days prior.

Your body finally obeys you as you call out his name in an urgent voice,

"Aemond!"

What the fuck had you just witness?

Aemond doesn’t turn around. He walk away in quick, angry steps, silhouette growing smaller and smaller. You throw a quick glance at Jon, whose face is even whiter than before, gauze around his palm already dark red with blood seeping through it.

You cannot bear to take in the gory sight, a thousand questions going through your head. You need answers, so you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared.

The path into the forest grows blurrier as a thick fog settles over the commune. Still, you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared, determined to confront him about what you’d just witnessed.

You spot a form in the white mist, sitting on a stump with his head in his hands. You approach quickly, thoughts still spinning in your head.

What was that all about?

Why did you cut Jon?

Why did he agree?

If he did agree, that is.

The fear that was etched on Jon’s face as he knelt before Aemond made you shiver. He’d seemed so scared of him; scared of what he might do to him.

Still, no one had interfered as your uncle cut the hand of one of the members of their community.

Is this the norm?

Aemond looks up as he hears your footsteps approach, face as unreadable as always.

“What the fuck was that, Aemond?!”

Your voice is shrill and accusing. Your eyes seek out his as you stop before him; expression furious and chest heaving.

“You need to call a medic or something, Jon’s bleeding heavily!”

Your cheeks feel hot as fury rolls through your body, setting it alight.

It’s amplified by the seemingly unrepentant state of the man before you.

“Don’t question how we do things here”, he warns, eye just as furious as it had been before,

“Jon knew the consequences of stepping out of line. We all do”.

“What could he have done to make you mutilate his hand?!”, you counter. You still can’t fully comprehend what had happened mere moments ago.

Had you just witnessed bodily mutilation in the name of religion?

Aemond clicks his tongue, displeased with your accusations. He tries to school his face into a calmer demeanour as he looks you over,

“Sit down and I’ll explain”, he offers, gesturing for you to take a seat on the damp grass in front of him.

Despite your initial desire to defy him, purely out of spite, your curiosity wins as you take a seat in front of the stump where he sits.

“Everyone living here has consented to our communal agreement”, he begins. You can’t help the scoff that slips out. He continues,

“One of the reasons why people feel so depressed and out of place is due to the secularisation of the modern world. They’ve lost their connection to the Seven; lost sight of the light. A belief in the divine brings us closer together. Closer to the seven faces of the God”

“You all need help if you believe that physical violence will bring you closer to the gods”

It's hard to hide the disgust in your voice. Aemond’s jaw shuts tightly and the calmness on his face looks forced,

“Help me then”, he bites back, irritation penetrating his serene facade. “Pray with me”.

He grabs both your hands suddenly and traps them in his, lowering his head as he recites a prayer you haven’t heard before.

You try to pull your hands away but his grip is iron-like as he continues to mumble the prayer under his breath.

After a while, he grows quiet, yet keeps the grip around your hands. You look up at him. He's already awaiting your gaze.

Aemond looks like he’s contemplating something; different from his usual, determined state.

“Maybe you should help me like I help you; easing the pressure from within”

His hands pull yours towards the zipper of his slacks. Your body freezes in shock for a brief moment, then quickly pull away from him in reflex.

His grip on your hands is tight. He'd anticipated you'd fight back.

He brings your hands towards his crotch, now in such a tight grasp that your fingers ache. There's a hardness there, and your mouth goes dry, a rush of anxiety go through your body,

"Aemond, no, not aga-", you begin but he cuts you off.

“Would you prefer it if I told Helaena what you let me do to you in my office?"

His voice is foreign; cold and uncaring.

This is not the Aemond you know. The one who let you cry out in his embrace.

This is the Aemond they know.

"Or should I tell my other sister?”

You feel cold all over, shivering at his words.

A threat.

He lets one of his hands leave yours and undoes his zipper. He pulls out his length; already hard and furiously red.

You’re once again consumed by feelings of unreality.

This can’t actually be happening, right?

Aemond grips one of your hands, grasping it painfully hard as he pulls it towards his cock.

He presses into the sides and bends your fingers so they circle around him; much larger hand enveloping yours as he forces you to cool his desire.

He sets a fast pace; letting you know exactly how he likes it. His other hand moves towards your mouth, stunning you yet again as he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to pull your head away, he brings his spit-covered fingers down to your hand - the one he's using to pleasure himself with - and smears your saliva over the palm before guiding it back to his length again.

As your slick hand makes contact with his burning flesh once more, he grunts and closes his eyes; brows knit together in bliss. He lets you continue the motion by yourself, hands falling to the sides of his lap.

In the middle of this surreal experience, you can’t help but look up at him, admiring his beauty.

Such an intimidating man, instilling fear in so many around him, currently at your mercy.

You almost feel a headrush at the thought; having Aemond in the palm of your hand. Literally.

The continuous friction of your hand against his flesh removes some of the stickiness, and you hear him let out something similar to a whine as your hand grows drier.

His previously intimidating features suddenly look pleading as he gazes down at you, asking you to just comply.

Just give him this.

Without much thought of the consequences, instead of licking your palm, you move your head toward his length, darting your tongue out and licking a stripe over his tip. He lets out a surprise moan, and the unexpected feeling of pride rushing through your body makes your stomach turn.

You are not enjoying this!

Still, the praise travels down and settles in your core, causing a dull throb to pound between your thighs.

Then why does it feel so good to be praised by him?

You continue to pleasure him with your hand, though Aemond’s eye has traveled down to observe your mouth. His gaze occasionally flickers down to your clothed chest, peeking at the sliver of cleavage visible from above. One of his hands grasp your chin,

“Do that again”, he commands, and the disgust you'd felt towards yourself swirls in your belly again.

You shake your head, “No”

He lets out a grunt, hand still on your jaw as he slowly and firmly brings your head closer to his manhood.

Like before, you try to push away from him, to gain some sense of control, but he is far stronger than you,

“You do as I say”, he counters, and in one swift motion, he pulls your head towards his cock with such force that you nearly knock your forehead against his stomach.

As you part your lips to protest, he pushes himself inside of your hot, wet mouth, sighing in relief.

You feel panic come over you as you try to pull away, but he quickly places both hands on your head; keeping you in place.

“Breath through your nose. Be the good girl I know you are”

He grunts and begins to buck into your mouth.

You place your hands on his thighs in another feeble attempt at escaping his assault on your mouth, but to no avail. He drags your face over his length, palms moving to grab each side of your head as his movements grow quicker. You gag slightly.

“You feel so fucking good”, he breaths out, voice drunk on lust,

“You look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth, you know that?”

It feels like he's mocking you. It sounds like he adores you.

His thumb gently brushes away some of the strands that has fallen over your face.

The want in between your legs throb. The disgust in your stomach rumbles. You know that his words of praise shouldn’t make your underwear sticky.

But they do.

Your eyes water as he continues to fuck your mouth, not giving you any rest. You try to whine against him to make him stop; to at least let you come up for air, but he takes your sounds as moans and groans, moving in your mouth faster and harsher.

Finally sensing your need for a break, he manoeuvres your head off of his cock. You pant heavily as you gulp for air; lungs hurting from the sudden, sharp inhale.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his length, and his eye seems to be even more lust-filled as he moves his hand to caress your flushed cheek.

Even in this selfish, pleasure-driven madness, he regard you with fondness.

“Aemond, please, we can’t do this”, you plea.

His gaze flickers from your spit-soaked, swollen lips to your cleavage, and then back.

He doesn’t grant you a reply as he stands up abruptly, taking advantage of your startled state and shoves his length back into your mouth.

Your hands instinctively come up to his legs to have something to hold onto as he fucks your face with even more vigour than before, swearing under his breath.

You feel disgusted at the vicious arousal pooling in your stomach, seeping out of your core.

How could something so degrading feel so sensual?

How could you feel aroused by your uncle using you like this?

Aemond moves his hands to the back of your head, pushing you so that your nose makes contact with the hairs at the bottom of his stomach. He pushes his hips against you harshly and lets out a prolonged grunt.

You gag and stifle a cough, feeling his hot liquid fill your throat, then your mouth.

He slowly pulls away, hands still gripping your head as his eyes return to their wholly intimidating appearance,

“Swallow”, he demands, placing a large palm over your mouth, blocking your nose as well.

You know that you have no choice but to oblige him and force the sticky, salty fluid down your throat with a wince.

Aemond gives your kneeling form one last once-over before letting out a hum, swiftly putting his cock back into his trousers.

Without another word, he leaves, and you're left on your knees by the stump, fog now so thick that you can hardly see the path leading back to the residence.

You wipe away the spit trailing from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand before standing on shaky legs.

Could you pretend like this never happen either?

As if in a trance, you make your way back to the commune; head filled with thoughts, yet too exhausted to comprehend anything.

You move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, reaching for your toothbrush without looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

You brush your teeth three times, reapplying tooth paste as the lather in your mouth disappears.

You want to get the taste of him out of your mouth.

It doesn’t go away.

Realising that you’ve been carrying your phone in your pocket this whole time, you tap the screen. A few new message from your mother and brother.

You hadn't even noticed.

Without checking, you turn your phone off, tossing it in your bag as you make your way to the bed.

You feel exhausted. Disgusted. Aroused.

This can’t be real.

Forgiving

The sheets of the bed are soft against your skin.

The rays of the morning sun shine through your window, and in the glow of the day’s early hours, you feel rested; comforted by the cosiness of your bed.

As you turn to the side, snuggling into the duvet, you wonder why this comforting place ever caused you to feel unease.

And then you're reminded of last night.

The memory makes a shiver go down your spine and your body trembles; trying to shake the chill away. Still, the feeling crawling under your skin doesn’t quite disappear.

Usually, you wouldn’t be able to sleep in the anxious state you’d been in last night.

Yet, for some reason, as soon as your head touched the cool pillow, you’d fallen into uninterrupted slumber.

Though your mind was spinning from all the conflicting thoughts you were having, your body was surprisingly relaxed; well-rested and freed from tension.

You’re hungry too, you notice. The rumble in your stomach vibrates, prompted by the clatter of the residents preparing for breakfast outside.

Without much thought, you get up, get ready and head outside. The warm rays of the sun greet you and you have to squint in order to see who’s already seated at the long table.

To your surprise, you’re met by the same scene as the last couple of days.

Aemond is standing by the edge of the wooden table, speaking with Alys. Jon is carrying bread in a large basket, carefully placing a few buns in each empty bowl placed on the table. Helaena is fussing over the wildflowers adorning the table, laughing as Jayne tells her something you can’t make out.

The scenery is still perfect, despite what had occurred the day before between Aemond and Jon.

Between Aemond and you.

You walk towards the table and take your usual spot next to Helaena, offering her a strained smile as she greets you. You’d thought keeping up appearance would prove to be a true challenge, but right now you feel oddly at peace; calm even. And hungry.

As soon as Aemond finishes thanking the Seven in his morning prayer, you begin to pile food on your plate.

Everything looks mouthwatering, the freshly baked bread still warm in your hand as you tear it apart and smother it in butter. You usually weren’t the type to have an appetite when you feel anxious or stressed, but today your uneasy state only works to amplify your hunger.

As you eat, the stress that had been causing nervous waves to ebb through your body stills, and you feel more at ease. Your mind is calmer, less crowded with thoughts.

Numb.

As you finish your meal, you look up from your plate to watch the scenery surrounding you, appreciating the lush greenery of the commune that had been lost on you before.

The rays of the sun shine through the gaps between the leaves of the bright green beech trees encircling you, casting a gorgeous glow over the residence.

Gods, it's beautiful here.

You look over at Helaena, whose hair seems to shimmer in the sun. Her smile only highlights her beauty; lilac eyes kind with a glint of something playful.

“Do you want to help me with my insect farm today? I’m going to go check on the crickets now after breakfast”, she asks, tone as pleasant and upbeat as it always is here.

“Sure”, you reply, standing up to follow her.

She walks behind one of the small cottages, and an array of insect farms come into view.

They resemble little houses made of wood, and even standing a good few metres away, you can see insects crawling all over the wood.

Helaena moves between them swiftly, peeking inside to see how her favourite creatures are faring. You’d never understand her obsession with such creepy beings, but watching her now, you feel warmth in your chest. She looks so happy; so at peace.

This really is the perfect place for her.

She beckons you over to one of the miniature houses and you approach her wearily, unable to hide the aversion you felt for the bugs.

Helaena giggles as she sits down on the ground to gain better access to the farm, nodding her head in a silent instruction for you to do the same. You join her, though you sit down slightly behind where she is, hoping she can provide you some distance from the insects littering each piece of wood of the farm.

“Are you sure you have to leave by the end of the week? I’d love for you to stay here longer”, she sighs, eyes fixed on the insects in front of her. She’s brought a small pouch with her which she opens, fingers digging inside for some seeds to feed her six-legged friends.

“I have to get back to work”, you answer, already dreading the inevitable.

The constant stress, the sleepless nights, Gwayne's endless nagging.

Would you be able to sleep as well as you did out here back home?

Would sleep feel as serene?

Despite all the uneasy situations you’d found yourself in, an unfamiliar sense of calm settles on your chest, pushing down your anxiety.

Maybe things would be easier if you stayed out here? Just for a while longer?

You're pulled out of your thoughts as Helaena speaks up again, eyes still on the farm, hand now buried deep within its walls, placing seeds inside for the insects to fight over.

“I think you’d be better off here. I saw you in a dream, you know. You were smiling, wearing a beautiful crown of flowers, holding hands with Aemond”

You feel yourself stiffen.

“He told me you’d come when he invited me to live with him here”, she continues, eyes finally straying away from the crickets; meeting yours.

You want to tell her about what happened, but the words seem stuck in your throat.

Would she believe you?

Would she be disgusted with you?

“Hel, I-”, you begin, choking as tears well up in your eyes. You try to clear your throat so that the lump of sadness suffocating you goes away,

“I-, I don’t think Aemond likes me”, is all you are able to get out as unexpected tears spill out from the corners of your eyes.

You wish you could tell her more, but your body doesn’t obey you; mind feeling foggy and throat closing up.

You can't sort your thoughts, or feelings, out.

“Oh, don’t cry, love”, she says as she wipes away a fat tear sliding down your cheek,

“There's no reason to feel bad. Aemond likes you. He would never do anything to harm you. He cares for you so much”

Though her voice sounds genuine, her gaze seems to drift away as she talks about her brother.

“He’s cared for you ever since we were small, you know. Do you remember that summer when we were all together on Driftmark? Before Aemond lost his eye?”

You swallow thickly at the memory.

“You remember when you two asked me to wed you out on the beach because you wanted to stay together forever?”, she asks, voice gentle and a knowing smile playing on her lips.

The memory causes you to spill more tears. Everything was so much easier back then.

“Don’t you miss how close you two used to be?”, she asks, compassionate and caring.

Yes, you do.

“Yeah”, you let out, voice thick from sadness. “But everything changed after Aemond lost his eye. He-, he didn’t want to spend time with me anymore”

You sound so small; your own words make you feel like a child again, abandoned by your best friend.

“Well, we’re here now, together. So that we can all reconnect. We’ve missed you”

Helaena moves closer to you, throwing her arms around you and hugs you tightly.

You slump against her, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Despite all the weird interactions with Aemond during your visit, Helaena had been a constant; brightening your days and making you feel seen.

She was always so happy to see you.

She was always so genuine.

You pull away once your sobbing ceases, giving Helaena one last squeeze before mumbling a quiet “thank you”.

She smiles, wipes her thumbs over your wet cheeks and locks eyes with you,

“You’ll feel better once you’ve settled in properly”, she says with a smile.

You don’t really understand what she means but nod anyway.

Agreeing feels good.

Agreeing feels comforting.

As you make your way back to your cottage, you spot Jon by one of the flower beds, watering the abundant plants fighting for space in their wooden confinement.

He doesn’t look much different from a few days ago, but when he spots you approaching, his slouching shoulders go rigid.

“Hi”, you say, trying to keep your voice light as you draw near him.

“Hey”, he replies, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Your eyes instantly move to inspect his hand.

The gauze has been changed recently, clinically white and neatly wrapped around his palm,

“How’s your hand?”, you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Fine”, is all he replies as he walks towards the next flower bed, away from you.

He tilts the watering can, letting the water rains down on the flourishing plants.

“What Aemond did to you-, I-, it’s completely unacceptable”, you say as you trail after him,

“You could press charges you know”

Not that you actually think Jon would, for some unexplainable reason he had seemingly agreed to getting his hand slashed. But you wanted him to understand that this kind of behaviour was inexcusable, even if he'd consented.

Jon’s eyes darken as he turns his head from watching the droplets fall on the flowers to observe you.

“Aemond knows what’s best. No point in me going against him”, he says in resignation, eyes shifting again, looking out at the endless fields surrounding the commune.

“Aemond acted like a fucking psycho yesterday, you don’t have to excuse his behaviour”, you try to assure Jon, shifting your body to move a little closer to where he’s standing.

His eyes go wide in panic, quickly looking around to make sure no one is nearby.

“Do not say things like that”, he warns, voice barely above a whisper.

“Aemond and Alys hear everything. They have eyes and ears everywhere, especially Alys. She sees much and more”

His eyes have grown impossibly large, resembling those of an animal pestered by a predator,

“They say the Father is all-seeing; knowledgeable on all topics. Almighty. There are people here who-”, he pauses as his eyes again dart around in a stressed frenzy, making sure no one is listening in on your conversation,

“- who believe Aemond is the human embodiment of the Father”

Jon’s confession catches you off guard and you let out a snort at his utterance. His panicked eyes narrow in anger at you.

“You haven’t been here long enough to have seen what I have”, he tells you with a sneer,

“You do not understand the power that he holds”.

Though you'd initially thought Jon was someone you could become friendly with, you now find yourself backing away from him and his evident madness.

Aemond might be smart, but he is no deity.

You’re slouching in the rocking chair in the corner of your room, trying to read the book Helaena had lent you.

This is the third time you feel like giving up; mind too fuzzy to fully take in anything you're reading.

Why is it so hard to concentrate?

To distract yourself?

You’d planned on giving your mum a call when you retreated to your cottage, but couldn’t even bear to pick up your phone.

She had a way of knowing what you were thinking, without you even telling her. She knows you so well.

Too well.

She would sense that something's off.

That there's something you're not telling her.

What if she figures out what you and Aemond had done?

You’re startled by a sudden knock on your door.

Quickly standing, you rush to the door, nerves on high alert.

Aemond’s ducks his tall frame as you pull the door open, face level with yours. You feel that familiar shiver run down your spine, making your body shudder slightly.

He looks as impeccable as always; hair half up so that the silver strands stay out of his face, button-down shirt and slacks perfectly form-fitted and ironed to eliminate any trace of a wrinkle; any indication of a flaw. His eyepatch is securely placed over his damaged eye, long scar poking through the sides.

“Can we talk?”, he asks, voice low and gentle.

You’re not sure what to say, and move to the side to allow him inside. For some reason denying him feels out of the question.

You go back to the wooden rocking chair, sitting down and pulling one leg up to wrap your arms around yourself, a meek attempt at shield yourself from whatever Aemond has in mind.

He sits down on the bed, back stiff and gaze darting around the room before settling on you.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday”, he starts, face stoic.

“Thank me?”, you reply by reflex, not entirely sure of what he’s referring to.

He can’t be referring to what happened in the forest?

“Yes. I really appreciate you helping me out”, he continues matter-of-factly. You’re stunned, mouth half-open in disbelief.

“And I wanted to apologise for leaving you after. That won’t happen again”

His eye never leave yours. He sounds so sincere it is hard not to take his gratitude and apology to heart.

Still, the memory of what you’d done causes bile to rise in the back of your throat.

Forgiving him and moving on would be so simple.

“It’s okay, Aemond, we don’t have to talk about it anymore”, you mumble, eyes looking down to pick at the sleeve of the linen blouse you’re wearing.

You’d rather just forget.

Move on.

Never speak or think about it again.

It never happened.

“Alright”

He’s silent for a moment before he speaks up again,

“I also wanted to thank you for coming out here to visit us. It’s been so nice to reconnect over these past few days”

There he is again.

The boy who’d been your best friend all those years ago.

Fierce and attentive at once; contradicting in every way. His timid smile is still the same, just as inviting to mischief as it had been when you were little.

You still can’t quite find the words to engage in conversation with him. Half of you wants to run away from his unpredictability, yet the other half wants to stay and bask in it.

“I’ve missed you”, he continues. You know he is genuine when you look up to meet his gaze.

You’ve missed him too.

“I’ve missed you too”, you confess quietly. You can’t seem to look away from his eye. It's almost hypnotising.

“Wouldn’t you like to stay here for a while longer? I can talk to Gwayne”, he offers.

“Oh that’s not necessary, I have to go back. I already know I have a full mailbox waiting for me”, you quip, trying to sound witty. Aemond’s face remains impassive.

“I always wondered why you decided to work with my uncle. Such a waste of potential”, he muses as he regards you,

“I think you could achieve much more if you chose another path in life”

His expression is serious, still his voice is gentle.

Like he’s telling you, not advising you.

Before you have a chance to reply he speaks up again,

“I’d like you to join a sermon we’re having tonight. You could benefit from some guidance”

You can’t come up with a reason to decline his invitation fast enough, and Aemond lets out a pleased hum at your silence.

“Six o’clock in the Sept”

He stands and reaches his hand towards you, squeezing it in goodbye.

He leaves your cottage and you watch him retreat to the Sept through your window.

The tall building truly holds an imposing aura; the seven pointed star sinister in its daunting simplicity.

Unsettling.

You enter the Sept right before six.

To your surprise, all residents of the commune are already seated, sitting in rows leading up to the unadorned wooden altar; carvings of the Seven decorating all sides of it.

The only one standing is Aemond, right next to the altar.

Next to him is a chair, and as you walk towards where the residents are seated, Aemond clears his throat and gestures for you to take a seat on the chair next to him, facing everyone.

“Please, join me”, he says and beckons you over.

Everyone present is watching you expectantly, leaving you no choice but to join Aemond and take a seat next to where he’s standing.

“Our guest of honour, everyone”

His voice is soft, yet you notice a hint of amusement hiding behind his stoic façade.

He says a short prayer, welcoming everyone to the sermon and expressing gratitude to all faces of the Seven.

“Today, I’d like to talk about forgiveness”, Aemond explains, and you watch as all residents observe him diligently, eyes rarely blinking.

He seems to hold such power within these seven walls.

Such authority.

“Granting someone forgiveness takes strength, given to us by the Warrior”

The residents are silent, but you see a few of them nodding along to Aemond’s words.

Helaena and Alys sit closest to where you and Aemond are, watching you attentively.

“All actions have consequences, and we must be reminded of this to prevent us from repeatedly committing wrongdoings. When I was 10, I was taught the consequences of my actions as my nephew brought a knife to my face, taking my eye”

His tone grows colder as he speaks, and you feel that all too familiar shiver run down your spine.

Only this time, you cannot shudder to make it go away. It stays at the base of your back; taking hold of you and keeping you in a state of acute uneasiness.

“Though I was consumed by hatred after being robbed of my sight, the Seven provided me with guidance, showing me the light in the darkest of times”

Aemond moves to stand in front of you, one hand coming up to pull the eyepatch that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face away.

You hadn’t seen him without it since the accident, and you have to stifle a gasp as you take in the entirety of his face.

The scar that your brother had branded him with is still red, still angry as you follow it with your eyes; starting at his forehead and ending on his cheek.

The socket where his eye had previously been is surrounded by scarred tissue; healed but still furious.

In the empty socket lays a sparkling sapphire, almost appearing alive as the light from the candles in the Sept reflects upon its surface.

The contrast of the beautiful gem nuzzled in the red, vexed scar reminds you of Aemond himself; full of rage and beauty.

“I’ll tell you the story behind this scar”

He moves to stand behind you as his hands rest on the backrest of the wooden chair,

“I was enjoying a day at the beach with my dearest childhood companion-”

His voice is borderline mocking. In your peripheral vision you see his knuckles go white from to the tight grip he has on the backrest of your chair,

“- though she adored me as well, she never defended me against the nasty remarks her brothers would throw my way”

His icy voice heats with anger,

“Having had enough of their torment, I defended myself, much like the Warrior would have. Like the Father, I demanded justice for their unbecoming behaviour. Yet, when I gained the strength to defend myself against my tormentors, the one who was supposed to be by my side abandoned me”

Although you can’t see him standing behind you, you can feel the infuriated energy radiating from his body. You desperately seek the resident's eyes for some sympathy, yet find none.

“That-, That’s not what happened Aemond”, you try to protest, but your voice comes out too weak to truly make an impact.

“Is it not? Then enlighten me. Did you not leave me to defend myself?”

One of the hands he has placed on the back of the chair moves to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it harshly.

“I didn’t-, you were fighting and I didn’t-, I was going to get an adult!”

You sound as desperate as you feel. The gazes of the residents feels burning as they regard you with disapproval.

You still remember how an innocent fight between children had escalated as soon as Aemond picked up a rock, refusing to take in your pleas to just let it go. Not knowing what to do, you’d sprinted towards the family’s summer house to get your mum or Alicent; anyone who could help you de-escalate the madness on the beach.

When you came back, Aemond was on the ground, screaming as he clutched his blood-covered face.

The memory makes you grow cold all over. That had been the worst day of your childhood; amplified by the fact that Aemond had refused to speak to you afterwards. Though your families had managed to mend the broken bond somewhat, Aemond had never looked at you the same.

“The Seven tell us that sins can be forgiven, and though I have forgiven you for this”, he gestures towards his eye, “you were never made to apologise for your transgression. I’d like to offer you forgiveness”

“Apologise to me”

He pushes at your shoulder, gesturing for you to stand in front of the onlooking residents. You heed his instruction, turning so that you're facing him.

"Kneel"

You get down on your knees, looking up at Aemond’s imposing stature. He is frightening, the clearly satisfied state of his face haunting you.

“I’m sorry”, you say meekly; low and defeated.

“Come on, you can do better than that”, he encourages.

His voice is loud and with a hint of poorly concealed amusement.

“I’m sorry”, you repeat, this time louder.

“You’re not going to address me when you’re on your knees, asking for my forgiveness?”, he asks, tilting his head.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your face grow hot from the feelings rumbling in your chest; rage, sadness, betrayal.

Why is he so intent on humiliating you?

“I’m sorry, Aemond”, you bite out.

He approaches you, hand stretched out to touch your head, gently stroking your hair. He brings his hand down to cup your chin, tilting your head so that you look up at him; meeting his purple and blue gaze.

“I forgive you”, he says, and despite sincerity being evident in his voice, you cannot help but feel like this is all just a farce.

The onlooking residents stay silent, but you feel their eyes observe you like flames against your skin.

The only sound coming from the audience is from Helaena, who lets out a quiet “lovely” as her smiles at you and Aemond. You eye her in disbelief.

Does she not see how fucked up this is?

As soon as the sermon finishes you dart out the door, speedily walking the short distance to the cottage you’re staying at.

You cannot bear to stay in this madness for even a second longer.

You slam the door open, grab your belongings and stuff them down your bag with force.

The sun is setting and you know that there are no streetlights out here, only open fields and forest. You'll need to find your way back to the station alone, Helaena’s clearly as mad as the rest of them.

You peek out through the door. No one seems to be nearby and you know this is your chance to sneak away without being forced to face Aemond, Alys or Helaena.

The sun is hanging low on the horizon as you quickly move towards where you and Helaena had emerged a few days prior.

You walk briskly, the commune growing smaller as you move further away.

The forest that had mesmerised you with its beauty slowly turns terrifyingly imposing as darkness chases the comforts of daylight away.

Though you're sure you’ve been following the way you and Helena came, you soon find yourself at a crossroads in the middle of two paths, not knowing which will lead you back to the small village where the train station was.

As you briefly stop to contemplate your options, a dark figure appear on your side.

Jayne’s eyes are kind as she offers you a curt smile, reaching out to take your hand.

“Come with me”, is all she says before moving in quick steps, pulling you along the path to the right. You follow without protests; you wouldn’t know the way without guidance anyway.

You spot what looks like a street light ahead and you feel your body relax at the thought of being close to the train station, soon on the way back home.

Finally you’ll be able to leave this week behind.

As you come closer however, you start to recognise the small, wooden houses. In the middle stands a large, looming building with lights illuminating the seven pointed star in the middle.

You try to jerk your hand away from Jayne, but her hold on you is iron-like as she pulls you towards the Sept.

“Don’t worry”, she tries to reassure you.

“Soon you’ll realise that this is where you’re meant to be”

Prospering

Jayne forcefully drags you into Aemond's office, quickly exiting to lock the door from the outside. You’re still in shock, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself enough to assess the situation.

Everyone here’s deranged.

You’re outnumbered.

You could fight as hard as you like, and you’d still lose.

You start to nervously pace back and forth in front of Aemond’s large wooden desk, attempting to expel some of the nervous energy within you.

They wouldn't hurt you, right?

That’d be mad.

You think back to the true crime documentaries you used to be obsessed with. The best thing to do was play along with the madness and strike when they least expect it.

Make them believe you’re not a threat so they’ll trust you.

You just needed to keep your head cool and play along a little while longer. Then they’d take you back to the train station and you could go back home.

A sharp rap on the door pulls you away from your thoughts.

You hear someone fiddle with the lock before the door opens slightly and Alys slips through the small crack. You can hear voices outside, but they quickly fade away as Alys shuts the door promptly.

She gives you a nod, expression as calculated as it always is. She’s carrying two wine glasses in one hand and holding an opened bottle of wine in the other.

“Oh relax”, she tells you with a smile,

“Have some wine, it’ll calm your nerves”

She places the glasses on the desk, pouring you both a serving each before putting down the bottle and handing you one of the glasses.

“Here’s to a prosperous future”, she says, raising her glass and giving you a nod. You match her gesture, bringing the glass to your lips as you watch her take a sip.

The wine tastes like the ones your mum usually orders when you go out to eat; rich and with some lingering spiciness.

“Dornish red. Aemond’s favourite”, Alys states. Her delicate fingers are wrapped around the stem as she holds the glass elegantly.

She seems to do everything with grace, never faltering. Never appearing clumsy or out of place.

It's hard not to admire her.

“You know he’s only trying to help you, right?”, she asks.

"I-", you’re quiet for a while as you rack your brain for something to say that won’t upset her, “I appreciate that, but I need to get back home and-“

“Just let him help you, okay?”

Though her voice rises slightly at the end, it doesn’t feel like a question.

You know that there is no room for argument. Alys has maintained her calm appearance, yet her eyes are so expressive; the only part of her face that she can’t force into submission.

Their intensity make the hairs at the back of your neck rise, demanding you obey her.

She downs her glass before placing it on the desk, leaving you alone yet again in Aemond’s office.

It’s gotten dark now, the sole window in the room not providing much light anymore.

You continue to sip the wine in your glass as you lean against the desk next to you. The alcohol might provide you with some comfort; sooth your anxiety.

A soft knock on the door announces the presence of your next visitor.

Helaenas’ silver hair brightens up the dark room as she enters. She’s holding a flower crown in one hand, beautifully crafted with wildflowers you recognise from the bouquets always adorning the table outside.

“Hi”, she greets with a smile.

You nod back at her, still not quite sure how to appraise her.

She’s been one of the people you’ve felt closest to your entire life, yet she seems to approve of the mad things happening here.

How can she not see how humiliating Aemond’s actions during the sermon had been?

“I made this for you”, she says and hands you the flower crown.

As your hands touch, her fingers linger on yours, tips dragging over your knuckles with a feather-light touch.

“Thanks”, you reply curtly, not sure of what to say.

You want to ask Helaena for the way back to the train station.

Ask her to come back with you to Oldtown.

But she’s so different here. She overlooks so much, agrees to so much.

Always with a smile.

“Put it on”, she urges, hands moving to the flower crown to help you place it on your head. You want to protest but you’re so tired of it.

Tired of asking questions.

Tired of going against everyone.

“There”, she says with a smile as she regards you, face even brighter than before,

“You look so beautiful”

“Hel..”, you try, tongue coming out to lick your lips as you choose your words carefully.

She’s still your dear aunt; still Helaena.

“I want to go back home, Hel. We could go together, if you like?”

Despite trying to keep your voice even, you sound a little frantic.

“No you can’t leave now”, is all she replies, dismissing you. She doesn’t appear to be upset by your words though, lips still forming a warm smile.

“Hel, listen. What you’re doing here is not okay. Aemond maimed a man! And he humiliated me in front of everyone. Something’s wrong with him”

Your eyes dart all over her face and stature to assess her reaction to your words. You’re astonished by her indifference, almost like she’s not taking your words in.

She places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly as her eyes lock with yours,

“All actions have consequences. We’re all made aware of that here. Aemond only wants what’s best for us. He’s worked so hard to provide us with this. You should be thankful”

She leaves you alone in the room once more, and as she exits, you hear her secure the lock on the door from the outside.

By the time you hear someone unlock the door next, you’ve finished the glass of wine Alys gave you.

The room is now illuminated by nothing but the light of the moon shining through the window, casting a silver glow over the office.

Matching the man entering.

Aemond’s tall silhouette appears, instantly making you straighten up, dread washing over you.

He has been so volatile during your stay here, making you feel unease by the mere sight of him.

You can still hear chatter and what sounds like furniture being shuffled around outside as the door is left ajar by Aemond, who moves towards you.

He stands so close to you that his feet are touching yours.

His face is stern, looking at you down his nose. Fighting the fright within you, you meet his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of backing down too easily.

Still, you know that you’ll need to play your cards right, go along with the madness here momentarily, so that they’ll eventually let you go home.

“Why did you leave?”, he asks, eyes never leaving yours.

His voice is that unique mixture of being gentle and stern, demanding you obey him and tell him the truth.

“I tried to leave because of what you did to me during the sermon. What you did to Jon!”

You’re unable to hide the fear-laced irritation you feel at his audacity.

How could he expect you to stay? Wasn’t it obvious why you left?

“I might have been selfish for needing that apology, but it was necessary. Now we can move forward together”

He moves one of the hands he’s had clasped behind his back towards you, gently placing his it in yours.

Your gaze flickers down to where he’s holding you. Your hand looks so small and delicate in his large one. His touch is warm.

You scoff at his attempt to reconcile,

“Who said I’ve forgiven you for what you did?”

“You know you owed me an apology after leaving me alone with your vicious brothers that night”, Aemond says and he shuffles even closer to you,

“Do you think that what happened during the sermon can match the pain I felt when your brother took my eye?”

“N- no, but Aemond-"

“No. You’ll never understand the pain I’ve been through. But I’ve chosen to forgive you, and now we can move forward together”

His voice is slightly strained as he lectures you. His purple eye is piercing, and though you’d wanted to match his strength, you can’t help it when your eyes look down in shame.

“However”, he speaks in a lower tone, thumb moving to stroke the back of your hand,

“I am disappointed in your attempt to leave me and Helaena here without even granting us a proper goodbye”

“You’ll prosper here with us, but you’ll have to follow our rules. Dishonesty is not allowed, and your actions show that you attempted to act deceitfully".

His hand drops yours as he grabs your arms on both sides, swiftly turning you around and pushing on you back with a firm hand so that you're bent over his desk.

You’re too startled to fight back, letting out a yelp as you feel him tower over you from behind. He leans down over your body, hand still firmly on your back, pushing down,

“You have probably heard stories of whipping those who refuse to see the light. But I am no monster, so I will spare you from the whip”, he murmurs next to your ear, hand on your back trailing downwards,

“My hand will serve”

Before you’re able to reply, or even fully take in what he’s telling you, you feel his large palm make swift contact with your backside, the gesture causing a loud smack to echo through the quiet room.

You let out a startled cry in pain as you turn your head to face Aemond, confused betrayal reflected in how your mouth fall open and eyebrows rise.

His hand smooths over the material of your skirt where he’s just slapped you, somewhat soothing the painful sting on your skin.

“For being deceitful, I’ll give you five smacks. That’ll teach you to behave”,

The stoic gentleness of his voice borders on sounding amused as he takes in your shocked face.

Can you still play along?

What will happen if you resist?

While you’re trying to calculate your next move, Aemond’s hand land another harsh hit on your ass.

You sqeel from the pain, but quickly try to stifle the sounds coming out of your mouth.

Your painfully aware of the fact that he left the door ajar.

The residents outside might hear what’s happening. You feel tears well up in your eyes from the humiliation; from the stinging pain on your backside.

Aemond shushes you as he once again smooths his hand over your abused flesh in a comforting manner,

“You’re doing so well, my love” he tells you, eyes meeting yours once again.

You don’t understand why his words stifle the anxiety you feel, but they do.

“Only three more”, he states as he lands another stinging hit on your ass, even harsher then before.

You can’t hinder the tears that escape down your cheeks anymore.

“Good girl”, Aemond coos as he soothes your pain with his palm. Though the fabric of your skirt separates your skin from his, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

Hearing him praise you shouldn’t sooth your pain, or make you feel better in the slightest, but it does.

You notice the soft look of satisfaction in his eye and you feel proud.

His hand lands on you quickly and you bite your lip desperately to not cry out. More tears slide down your cheek as you give Aemond a pleading look.

“Just one more, and then you’ve served your punishment”, he reassures you as he caresses your stinging flesh.

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the last smack to land and when it does, you flinch before letting out a sigh of relief because you’d done it, you’d taken the punishment and now Aemond would be pleased with you.

The thought makes a warm sensation spread in your chest and when you open your tear-filled eyes, Aemond is already watching you with an expression that feels nothing less than loving.

While one hand stays on your backside to gently caress you, the other travels to you face, cupping your cheek. His thumb runs over your cheek, wiping away some of the wetness.

“You took your punishment so well. You make me proud”, he tells you, and his soft voice sounds so sincere. You lean into his touch on instinct, his palm providing comforting warmth to your cheek.

Being praised by him makes you feel happier than you’ve been in a long time.

It feels so good to be appreciated; to know you did something well. You can’t help but smile as your eyes lock with his. He smiles back at you.

“Now, I’ve got a surprise for you”, he tells you as he straightens up, grabbing your arm to link it with his. You know that there is more you need to talk about; more that’s unsaid. Yet, your mind feels fuzzy and you’re finding it hard to properly sort your thoughts out.

Aemond snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him and you lean into his warmth; it’s so comforting.

“Aemond, I-, I still need to know…”, your voice dies as you mentally search for a question.

What was it that made you leave?

Oh! Jon!

“Why did you cut Jons hand?”, you ask, hoping that the softness of your voice will prevent his impending irritation. You don’t think you could handle another punishment.

Aemond is quiet for some time, possibly pondering his response, before he speaks,

“Jon spoke out of turn, questioning my roles as the leader of this community. He now understands that everything I do is for the good of the commune and its residents”, he explains, arm still holding you by the side as his palm rests out on your stomach.

“Here in the commune, we know that scars tell a story; they remind us of our wrongdoings and guide us when we stray from the light of the Seven”

He stops in front of the door, turning slightly to look at you,

“You should be grateful I didn’t scar you, like I’ve done to others. Soon you’ll appreciate all that I've done for you”

He pushes the door to his office open, revealing the large hall where you’d been humiliated during Aemond’s sermon.

The residents of the commune are all facing you, watching you expectantly as you emerge from the office.

They’re all sitting on the exact same seats as before. The Sept is dark, illuminated only by the scarce moonlight shining through the seven-pointed star carved in the upper part of the buildings large walls, and by the candles lit across the room.

You see one of the residents standing by the altar where Aemond had stood during the sermon.

You recognise him as one of Aemond’s former professors in King’s Landing. The man is probably in his early to mid-sixties with grey specks clear in his brown locks. He offers you a smile as you approach with Aemond, his brown eyes warm and inviting,

“Welcome”

Aemond leads you to stand in front of the altar, arm still anchoring you to him.

“Is everything ready?”, your uncle inquires as his grip around you tightens.

“Yes. Let’s begin with the seven vows”, the elderly man says before reciting what sounds like a long prayer.

Having Aemond hold you makes you feel secure, and it takes you a while to really comprehend what is going on.

Why are the two of you standing here, instead of sitting with the other residents?

“Do you accept the seven vows, the seven blessings and the seven promises?”, he asks, warm eyes meeting yours.

“I do”, Aemond replies next to you, squeezing your waist in a silent command for you to do the same.

You turn to face him, brows furrowed in confusion.

What is it you’re agreeing to?

Aemond’s patience seems to run thin as you remain silent.

You notice his jaw twitch as he gives the resident in front of you a pointed look, prompting the man to respond in a quick nod before moving to join the onlookers.

Aemond turns to fully face you, yet he doesn’t move his arm, tugging you towards him so that your soft chest knocks against his.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my wife”, he says before he surges forward, crashing his lips against yours.

You stiffen in his grip, trying to back away from him but unable to move in his hold. You hear applause echo through the hall as Aemond retreats, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

You open your mouth to protest, but your voice is drowned out by the loud chanting of the onlooking residents,

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

They abruptly stand, chanting over and over as they move towards the large wooden doors of the entrance, going outside to leave you and Aemond alone in the Sept.

Even after the last person has left and closed the door, you can hear them chanting outside.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

The slight tranquillity you’d previously found comfort in vanishes as you search Aemond’s face for an explanation; an answer as to what is going on.

His hand cups your cheek again, the loving look he’d offered you before you left his office still present,

“Your decision to leave tells me that you are lost. I’ll help you. I’ll help you see the light again”

You’re lost for words.

“I’m doing this for you. I know how much you crave to be loved. I’ll give you that. Just trust me”

His reassurance does little to calm your nerves as you feel dread pool in your gut.

“But Aemond, not like this, we can’t-”, you protest weakly. Despite the uneasiness taking root inside of you, your body betrays you as it still leans into the touch of his hand.

“I know how to fix you, just like I fixed Helaena”, he comforts you. His seeing eye seeks yours, silently inciting you to trust him,

“You were made for me, and I for you. I know you’ve been feeling lost for a long time. My uncle told me how depressed you were in Oldtown”

“The mother blessed women with wombs to heal their inner sadness. Becoming a mother will heal you”,

He pushes your body against the altar,

“We need to consummate our marriage, or it won’t be recognised by the Seven”

You feel dread settle in your bones as you take in his word.

“No, Aemond, please-, this is wrong! What would our mothers say?”, you desperately try to reason, panic making your breath quicker as he places his hands on either side of you on the altar; caging you in.

He lowers his head so closely that your noses touch, eye never straying away from yours,

“They’ll understand”

His lips find yours again. You know kissing him is wrong, yet your body melts into his touch as his soft lips press against yours.

Maybe they would understand?

Aemond’s tongue gently swipes over your lower lip, pushing to gain access. As he deepens the kiss, his hands travel down to your skirt, gathering the fabric in his grip before breaking away from you.

You’re both breathing heavily as you stay frozen, taking in each other's expressions. A thin line of translucent spit connects your lips and you notice Aemond’s eye flicker down to watch your kiss-swollen lips.

The conflicting emotions within you rage like the worst of storms, making your head spin. Aemond’s gentle prodding had successfully made you into putty in his hands, yet the uneasy feeling from before remains, steering you away from his control.

“No, no. We can’t, this has already gone too fa-”, you’re abruptly startled to silence as Aemond swiftly sinks down to his knees, pushing up the fabric of your skirt to expose your underwear.

You try to push your legs together but one of his hands quickly dart out to pull down the small piece of fabric separating your skin from his.

You place your hands on both sides of his head in an attempt to push him away, but his face moves towards your exposed centre with determination.

He grabs ahold of the outside of your thighs as he pushes your body towards his face, tongue immediately finding your bundle of nerves, swiping over it in rhythmic circles. Your grip on his head tightens as you push with all your strength for him to back away, but to no avail. He buries his face further into the apex of your thighs as he grips your tights painfully, fingertips leaving colourful marks of ownership.

You whine from the pain; from the pleasure building inside of you as Aemond forces your body into submission. He manhandles your right leg so that it rests on his shoulder, giving him further access to assault you with his mouth.

He sucks on your clit as he brings two fingers up to slide through your folds; the ease of which they glide lets him know the effect his touch has on you.

His fingers find your entrance, pushing inside to instantaneously curl forward, finding that spot inside you that always brings you waves of pleasure. You let out a startled moan as your hands go limp around Aemond’s head, simply resting there.

You close your eyes, violent pleasure making it hard for you to think clearly, just like how you’d felt in his office a few days ago.

Why does he have this effect on you? Why is he so good at this?

Why does it feel so good?

Another pathetic moan leaves your lips as he picks up the speed of his actions, purple and sapphire gaze watching you intently. You close your eyes once again, internally surrendering to his touch.

You want it. You need it.

You feel something ignite within you just as your peak crashes over you. The intensity makes your walls clench around Aemond’s fingers as you gasp in pleasure. Your legs shake from the force and you grab onto his hair for some stability.

He withdraws from you, slightly out of breath, and stands, large frame looming over you.

“No one else makes you feel as good as I do, no one else sees you like I do. We have found each other through the guidance of the seven, can’t you see that? We were meant to be”, he says and grabs your waist to hoists your slack body up on the altar.

He pushes your thighs apart, reaching down to undo his slacks and pulls them down just enough to free his length. It is just as intimidating as it had been yesterday; thick, veiny and ragingly red.

“You want this, I know you do”, he says before pushing inside you, causing you to whine at the stretch. You feel so full, and the impact of your orgasm makes your head feel fuzzy; like you’re floating away. Your walls contract around Aemond and he moans as he lowers his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

“You feel just as perfect as I knew you would”, he whispers in your ear. He draws his hips back, pushing them into yours with such force that your body jolts on the altar. You try to hold on to him with every harsh thrust, but your limbs feel too weak. It all feels so overwhelming, so good, that you can’t bite your lip hard enough to hinder the moans that bounce around the seven walls of the Sept.

One of Aemonds hands come down to draw circles on your clit once more. He pulls back slightly to watch you; to take in your pleasure-drunk expression.

“Let them hear you”, He presses down on your bundle of nerves harsher, still dragging his cock in strong, calculated movements along your walls.

The precision of his touch pushes you towards another peak, but when you feel it nearing, he withdraws completely, eyes flickering down to briefly admire the coat of your slickness adorning his manhood.

He grabs your hips, pulls you down from the altar and turns you around so that you’re facing away from him. Like in his office mere moments ago, he pushes on your back so that your chest makes contact with the wooden surface. He lets his cock glide through your folds before he leans down to mumble in your ear,

“Tell me what you want”

Robbing you of release has left you confused. Resigned and desperate, you let the throbbing between your thighs guide you,

“You, Aemond. I want you”

He pushes inside you again with a pleased grunt, picking up the pace quickly as he fucks you against the holy pedestal. Your hands grab both sides as it rocks in tandem with Aemond’s thrusts. His hand finds you clit again and this time you peak within seconds, pleasure washing over you as your legs turn into jelly.

You feel your legs give in, causing you to slide down on the floor. Aemond doesn’t let you go as he keeps fucking you, following you down to the floor. Your upper body jolts from the force of his movements, slowly slipping down to make contact with the cold stone floor.

He leans over you, pounding into you with force. One of his hands comes to rest above you on the altar, allowing him to fuck you harder, and you whine on the floor beneath him,

“Fucking take it”, he grunts as he goes harder, the contact of his hip bone against your abused backside sending stings of pain through your body.

His fingers find your clit again and you moan in pain-filled pleasure at the overstimulation, one hand reaching for his to push it away.

Aemond tuts behind you, “One more. Be good and give me one more”

You try to turn your head so that you can face him, but you’re unable to move, trapped under his body as he takes his pleasure from you. All you can do is take it; give in.

You cry out as you cum for the third time. Your walls clench down on Aemond’s length vigorously as they coax his release from him. You hear him sigh in pleasure as he fills you.

After a few moments, he pulls away from you, fingers moving to stuff whatever spend has trickled down your thigh back inside. You hiss at the pain. He whispers a gentle apology in your ear, helping you pull your underwear back up.

He stands and reaches down under the altar, picking up the flower crown that had fallen from your head sometime during the consummation. His fingers grasp it gently, placing it back on your head.

He looks so beautiful standing in front of you, the soft light from the candles and the silvery glimmer from the moonlight illuminating his features. He gives you another quick kiss before leading you out of the Sept to greet the residents still gathered outside.

As the two of you emerge from the building, beaming smiles, loud congratulations and well wishes for a prosperous future greet you and your husband.

Aemond never lets go of you, keeping you close to him as he chats with the residents; explaining his vision for the commune moving forward and the new role you’ll play as a permanent resident.

Somewhere inside, you know that you should feel ashamed over what just occurred; over the fact that the residents probably heard the entire ordeal as they patiently waited for you outside.

But all you can feel is bliss; a pleasant calm spreading from your chest. Heating up your insides.

Your life before now had been a long struggle, where you were forced to suffer. Forced to part from your closest childhood friend, forced to pursue a career to feel adequate, forced to live a mundane life in isolation.

Aemond pulls you away from the crowd, leaning down to whisper in your ear,

“Look up”

You see bright, green streaks of light decorate the dark night sky, accompanied by thousands of stars. It is the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Aemond tugs you even closer to his side, resting his chin on your head as you silently admire the northern lights together. All you can feel is his warmth, the safety of being in someone’s embrace. Of being in Aemond’s embrace.

It’s warm.

Comforting.

Freeing.

Thank you for reading! 🩵

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanart #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader

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777heavengirl · 6 days

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bags

sirius black x reader (no longer just a one shot :3 ) ! warnings: the good kind of yearning.., friends to roommates to ?lovers?, bittersweetie, no war!au words count: 2,549 masterlist

a/n: might make a series of little blurbs as a continuation... undecided so lmk what u think!!!

Being friends with Sirius Black was the worst idea you could've ever had. It was hell. He was charming, awfully so. Flirty and caring with his friends in a way that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat. He was the type of friend with no physical boundaries, his legs often thrown over yours, his arms often over your shoulders, lips whispering jokes into your ear.

It was an even worse idea to agree to move in with him after you graduated. James had gone off with Lily and Remus and Peter decided to split an apartment. Sirius, naturally, found one in the same building and dropped the twin key in your hand on graduation day, a wicked smile on his face. He hadn't even properly asked you. He had assumed, well he hoped, that you'd accept no matter what. He knew you had no other plans, no other place to go. He knew you'd love to because he knew you. Because he was your best friend.

So he didn't ask. The small silver dog keychain attached to the key was enough for you.

The answer was always going to be yes.

Living with Sirius meant a lot of things. It meant an abnormal amount of blankets and cushions thrown about, it meant the ever-growing collection of pictures framed on your walls or merely pasted on if Sirius had his way. Ever since Lily gifted him a muggle camera for graduation, he hadn't stopped taking pictures. Of your friends, of you in the kitchen or on your couch, your first night in the apartment he took pictures of your every move. He titled them all, in the back or on the bottom of it.

Darling brushing her teeth, 1st night in #717. You smiled through your toothbrush, shirt askew, with pajama pants that did not match in the slightest.

Doll’s first tea in #717 You couldn't see your face in this one, it was a closer shot of your hands around the teacup Lily bought you fifth year, the delicate flower pattern on the hard porcelain contrasting against the soft of your skin.

He titled them all, with his cursive loops and cloying nicknames. He’d even owl copies of them to your mom— why they even communicated was beyond you— you’d then have to repeatedly remind her, when your parents phoned, that 717 was your apartment number, and no mom I am not dating Sirius, yes I know he’s a wonderful guy, yes I’ll tell him you said hello. His photography habit had gotten so bad he even took pictures of the ladybug that seemed to live in the leaves of the small English Lavander that sat on your windowsill.

Living with Sirius meant putting up with his tendency to ignore the fact that you needed to get a job, in fact, he'd drag you everywhere with him to avoid you even applying, his hand intertwined with yours, warm palms pressed against one another. He did it all the time, holding your hand, pressing a kiss against your temple when he insisted on getting into the crowded muggle metro more often than not, your bodies pressed together as he held you when the tube moved. Every time you complained, that he was holding you hostage, that at this pace you'd never find a job, he'd ask, with his head cocked to the side "Why do you have to get a job anyway? It's not like we need it"

"Sirius I need to make money," the tube shook the two of you, his arm instinctively wrapping around you to pull you closer as the other one maintained a white-knuckled grip on the bar above. "How am I going to afford anything? It’s been two years my savings are gone-"

"You don't need it though," his words were low on your ear, and carefree as if they didn't hold any importance. "I have more than enough to maintain us— for anything you might want" Your face heated, and you looked down hiding the surprise that you prayed he wouldn't see.

"I can't just bum off of you," your words were a timid mumble, and he barely heard you over the intercom announcing the station, if it wasn't because he had been tilted down close to your face, he might've not heard you at all.

"You're not bumming off of me love, I want to take care of you, yea?" he pressed a kiss to the side of your hair, and you didn't refute. Not for now. Because in moments like these, when he acted like it was the most obvious answer in the world and didn't seem to give it a second thought, you could feel the words claw at your throat from the inside. A confession poisoning you from the inside out.

But then he'd look at you.

With his gray eyes, the steel cool of them making your lungs expand wider than you thought possible and your heart beat out of your chest. So you'd decide, every time, that it wasn't the right moment. There was never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you were in love with him though. And through his piercing gaze, you thought he could see you using everything within you to hold back.

You guessed it could be worse.

Being in love with Sirius Black was actually the worst thing to ever happen to you. It got even worse when you moved in together. Waking up to his shirtless self making you coffee the way you liked it, his head disheveled and unruly from bed but somehow just as gorgeous as when he had it fresh and styled, his long dark locks looking nothing short of heavenly in either form. It was the intimacy really— the domesticity of it all— that screwed you. Eating your eggs and toast over the soft tunes of his music, going to the market together, his fingers eventually finding yours as his other hand carried the shopping. His laundry mixed in with yours, falling asleep on the couch together, old muggle movies playing on the TV he bought four months after moving in. You still didn't have a stand for it, it sat on two boxes full of books. Neither of you minded, there was no rush after all. But then you thought of his unpacked bags and the singular box of belongings, it had been a bit more than two years since you moved in. Two years since you started the routine of getting dragged everywhere he went, spending your days lounging around with Sirius like nothing else mattered. But his trunk still housed half his belongings. His walls had a couple of pictures he had sellotaped on, and the large David Bowie poster he had bought the summer after sixth year, yet his clothes would go in and out of his trunk, and his closet sat mostly empty save the lone leather jacket he insisted on hanging.

The thought of his lack of settling made your tummy twist in discomfort.

But, again, you guessed it could be worse. Godric forbid you ever confess.

He'd be walking out the door with his bags.

You decided you'd be okay with letting it all rot inside of you. You didn't want to be too forward or rush into things when you, practically, knew he didn't feel the same. So you savored it, with everything you had in you. The stolen touches and even more stolen glances. The kiss he pressed against your cheek when he'd say goodbye, apparating away to go drink the night away with the rest of the marauders, James escaping from his soon-to-be father duties for a few hours. Sirius would press a kiss to your flushed cheeks when you'd go out with Lily as well, a small stay safe love, escaping his lips right before you slipped out the door.

"Tell him how I feel? Is pregnancy melting your brain, Lily?" You almost spit out your sweet cocktail. Lily flicked your forehead.

"My brain is perfectly fine thank you very much," She huffed, the corners of her lips aching to break into a smile as she rubbed a hand over her pregnant belly.

"You two are practically together, you live together for Godric's sake" Marlene scoffed over her beer,

"Not to mention the shared bank account-" you slapped your forehead as Dorcas let the fact that he'd been basically spoiling you for a year slip, "And I've seen the way he looks at you sweets-" Dorcas's words were slurred by the alcohol in her system, and her head resting against Marlene's shoulder. "You don't look at someone that way unless you're in love with them"

Lily almost spit out her juice as she turned to you with wide eyes. "You got a shared vault now? James and I didn't even do that yet-"

You shook your head, "No no, crap Cas-" you took a shaky breath, as Marlene shook her head in disappointment and groaned out a small You're impossible. "He just keeps paying for things, and he won't let me get a job- honest, I've tried but he keeps planning things and I just never have any time-"

"So is he holding you captive or- I just don't see why you can't get a job" The three girls looked at you, incredulous looks on their faces as you struggled to explain.

"He just keeps saying to not worry-" You hid behind your hands now, embarrassment crawling up your neck. "I don't know- It's complete rubbish, he's insistent on the fact that he wants to take care of me" The girls let out a collective 'aww', all screaming eagerly over each other

"I should've kept it all to myself" you mumbled as you raised your now-empty glass at your waitress, the older woman shooting you a nod as she went to bring you another one. The girls booed at you,

"Now that'd be no fun would it?" Lily shoved your shoulder playfully, Marlene and Dorcas giggling in agreement.

Tell him how you feel.

The thought bounced in your head as you trudged up to your apartment. Fumbling with the keys as you tried to steady yourself. But you didn't need to, as Sirius opened the door. His shirt missing and his burgundy red pajama pants sat loosely at his hips, but you knew he hadn't slept yet. Otherwise, you would've been able to tell— his hair would be a mess, as he tended to bury his head between his pillows, blocking the world away while he slept.

"I could hear you fumbling your keys from down the hall doll" you giggled as you entered, your body instinctively falling into his for a hug. He couldn't help but laugh either, your cheek pressed against his chest as you mumbled out a thank you. The couple of drinks you had made you feel more than loose, giggly and you couldn't help but let the words slip from your lips.

"I love you, terribly so" you'd probably regret such a statement in the morning.

"I love you too darling" you groaned out a no as you peeled yourself off, it poured out of you instinctively. You threw yourself on the soft couch James's parents had given the two of you. We're throwing it out anyway lovies you keep it. You were sure, by Euphemia's playful glint, that this wasn't quite the case. But you appreciated it, the plush sofa softening your intentional fall. Sirius laughed as he approached the couch, crouching next to where your face was smushed into the smooth material of the sofa. His fingers moved the hair away from your face, his eyes locking in with yours as his lips split into a lazy smile.

"Knew you'd make fun of me," You mumbled and his lips twisted into an exaggerated pout now, repressing the need to laugh and you buried your face into the cushions with another groan.

He would've been lying if he said his heart hadn't skipped a beat, a flicker of hope that maybe, you felt as he did. Maybe your heart ran quicker when he held your hand, maybe the goodnight kisses you pressed against his cheek, against his forehead meant more, maybe the smile you had given him when he presented you with the key to your shared apartment, the smile that made him feel as if he was staring straight into the sun, meant something more.

But for now, that would have to wait.

As he got you up and into the bathroom, wiping your makeup off with a damp cloth, you gave a mumbled slurred summary of your night. He made you close your eyes as he wiped away the mascara, and you listed the vague number of drinks you'd had— plus the drinks you had to make up for Lily’s inability to drink right now, Marlene’s idea of course. His fingers curled around your chin as he moved your face, and at any other moment, you would've been positively frazzled. But as you spoke of the shaky walk home after Marlene dropped you off down the street, you could only revel in his touch as he hummed along and got you ready for bed. The stubborn lipstick made his cheeks flush as he wiped at your lips repeatedly, making them look plump and if he hadn't had the ounce of self-control he still vaguely maintained he would've kissed you right there and then. But it just wasn't the time for it, there's never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate you're in love with them, is there?

Stumbling around the room with you, the pajamas he managed to get over your form as he tried not to look at you in your underwear— not that you cared at the minute— it all made his heart swell. A stolen moment for him to think on later, the small giggles that escaped your face, or the innocent clutch you had on his hand. You ran your fingers down the features of his face as he helped you lay down. He tucked you into your bed with a kiss on your cheek and a giggle erupting from your chest.

His heart ached with longing but he guessed it could be worse.

You could've said no to living with him.

You gave him a faux pout, and he mirrored it.

"What is it lovely?"

"Missed you tonight-" he could feel the crimson intensify in his cheeks at your words, but he ignored the flush and moved a stray hair away from your face.

"I missed you too love, next time let's go together yeah?" You hummed in agreement, a small love you slipping past right as your eyes fluttered shut, sleep covering you like a blanket.

"I fear I might be in love with you doll," he sighed, yet you didn't answer to his whispered confession. Your chest rose and fell steadily. Part of him was glad, the thought of your reaction to his feelings chilling him to the core. It could be worse, he thought.

Yes, he'd rather have this than nothing at all. Godric forbid he ever confesses.

You'd be walking out the door with your bags.

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navybrat817 · 7 months

Text

Wish, Hope, Dream

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You thought a night would be long enough to clear your head, but a bit of doubt lingers in your mind. Word Count: Over 2.6k Warnings: Slight angst, insecurities, longing, Natasha and Sharon being both good friends and devil's advocates, ongoing AU, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) Previous Part of AU: We Don't Talk Anymore A/N: More Dreamboat and Butterfly from my Reconnect AU! Sorry again in advance, lovelies. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought having answers would give you peace and allow you to rest before facing Bucky in the morning. Oh, how wrong you were. The tussle between your mind and heart didn’t stop, giving you one of the worst nights of sleep that you could remember in a long time. At least your pillow had dried from your tears.

And what was it that you were crying for? Relief that Bucky had feelings for you or were you mourning the lost time you could’ve had together had you two talked sooner? Perhaps both.

“Just get up,” you mumbled, willing yourself to get out of bed and lay out a random sundress to wear.

You wondered if anyone else was awake as you showered and brushed your teeth. Guilt crept in for skipping out on game night. Whatever transpired between you and Bucky, you couldn't let any of those feelings bleed into the rest of the time with your friends. You had to suck it up no matter the outcome.

Glancing down the hall as you left your room, your gaze lingered on Bucky’s door before your footsteps moved in that direction. You raised your hand to knock, wanting to check on him and make sure he got enough sleep. Part of you was tempted to sneak in and crawl into bed with him. Not even completely for sex, which you did not need to think about, but to have him hold you close and assure you that everything would be okay.

And to stop torturing yourself.

But you let your hand fall. You didn't want to assume that he wanted to see you first thing upon waking up. Assumptions and not communicating were what led you on this path to begin with. But you didn't want to smother him.

We can still figure it out together.

You crept downstairs, spotting a few empty bottles from the night before. The main floor was dark, minus the sunlight coming in through the windows and the kitchen. You stayed quiet when you saw Natasha and Sharon huddled together in a hushed conversation by the counter.

Which stopped the moment you walked into the room.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were talking about you. Not with the concerned look in Sharon’s eyes. Natasha, on the other hand, stared back at you in contemplation. At least it wasn't pity. You couldn't take that.

Did Bucky tell them? Or did they figure it out?

“Hey. Sorry for skipping game night,” you said, shifting on your feet as your gaze flickered between them. “Guess Steve and Sam aren't up yet?” You asked, purposely not mentioning Bucky.

“Don’t need to apologize,” Sharon said, concern continuing to show in her eyes. “I think they’re getting a run in.”

“Oh. Gotcha,” you said. Looking between them again, you hoped things wouldn't be this awkward for the rest of the week. “Am I interrupting? I can just grab breakfast when you two are done.”

“Not interrupting. Go sit in the living room,” Natasha urged, nodding toward the direction of the couch. “Look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“Smoothie?” You guessed, glancing around at the array of fruit ready for blending.

“Oh, yeah. Better than coffee,” the redhead teased as she threw a few pieces into the blender with some ice, bringing a small smile to your face as you went back to the living room. She was a good friend.

All of them were.

“You okay?” Sharon asked, sitting beside you on the couch.

You hesitated for a moment. You adored them and always would. But when it came to Bucky, you feared everyone would always side with him over you. Your chest tightened at the thought that if things went south you’d get left behind.

And hadn't you been left behind once before?

“Yes and no,” you answered, not wanting to expand completely yet as Natasha walked in and handed you a glass, your hands gripping it tight. They didn't need to deal with your issues, did they? “Did Bucky talk to everyone? I’m guessing he said something since you two are looking at me like I'm going to break.”

“We don’t think you’re going to break, but you look on edge,” Natasha answered, taking a seat when you didn't disagree. “The guys talked to him a little bit. He wouldn't give them all the details, but we know you two had a long overdue chat.”

“And the way you bolted upstairs last night and how he looked like a kicked puppy, we guessed it didn't go well,” Sharon added, raising an eyebrow. “I think Nat wanted to kick his ass.”

“He looked like he kicked his own ass. Would've just been rubbing salt in an open wound if I did anything else,” she said with no trace of humor. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It may help,” Sharon said.

Maybe.

With a deep breath, you told the girls what had happened. How you and Bucky admitted that you had feelings for each other, which neither of them appeared surprised by in the least, but that you walked away from him once the talk was over. How you wished you would’ve given him a chance then and there, but didn’t. It helped and hurt to tell them about it.

You hung your head by the time you finished, your throat tight. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, swallowing a little. “This is supposed to be a fun trip and I’m messing it up with my issues.”

Sharon rubbed your back as you took a sip of your smoothie. “Hey. You’re our friend. You didn't do anything wrong or mess anything up, okay? We all love Bucky, but he's an idiot.”

“Huge idiot. Don't know what you see in him,” Natasha winked as you scoffed. You would always try to see the good in him, even when you were upset. “But I have to say, I’m glad you two finally told each other how you feel.”

“Took you long enough,” the blonde teased halfheartedly. “Kind of hoped you would've said something before we showed up.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. The gang ran late to the beach house on purpose. Of course, they did. The girls were perceptive. Always had been. “So, you knew.”

“Everyone knew, except for the two of you. What’s that trope?” Natasha questioned, her gaze directed at Sharon. “Idiots in love?”

“Oh, yeah,” she smiled. “You two are a walking romance novel, torturing yourselves for no good reason.”

“So, I'm an idiot then?” you said, narrowing your eyes when they both opened their mouths. “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

You beat yourself up enough.

“Like I said, I’m glad you told him and now you finally have confirmation that he feels the same way,” Natasha said, cocking an eyebrow. “What's the problem then?”

“What do you mean?” You replied.

“You said you took the night to think, but you don't exactly look like you're ready to move forward.”

“Because I don't know if I am,” you admitted.

You were overthinking the situation. You wanted to be with Bucky, but some of your wall was still up and you didn't know how to tear the rest of it down. Why was it so hard?

“Look, I'm not excusing what Bucky did because he's an idiot for going out with Dot instead of talking to you, but you know how he feels now,” Natasha began, diplomatic and level-headed like always. “Do you plan to keep him at a distance as a way to protect yourself? Or are you maybe punishing him just a little bit for seemingly abandoning you?”

Leave it to her to ask the tough questions.

“I'm not trying to punish him,” you promised. Both of you had punished yourselves enough. “I just don't want him to hurt me. I mean, I spent two years thinking he'd never want me, but he just didn't want to fight for me,” you said, tears brimming your eyes.

“Or maybe he thought he never stood a chance and settled,” Sharon said. “Which, again, he’s an idiot. Most guys are.”

“So, what are you saying? That I should just pretend the last two years didn't happen?” You asked.

“No,” they said in sync.

You huffed. Why were girls both direct and cryptic? “Then what are you saying?”

Natasha grabbed a tissue and handed it over when a tear slid down your cheek. “We’re saying that we think Bucky is genuinely sorry for his stupid assumption and wants you to be his girl. Start slow if you have to and set the ground rules. If it means him apologizing every day with his words and actions, he will. And we know if you gave him your heart, it would be the last thing he'd break. Don’t you owe it to yourself to be happy?”

“Yeah. Maybe just start with a date,” Sharon said, tilting her head when you didn’t say anything. They were only trying to help, but why did it feel like pressure of sorts? Did they fully understand your apprehension? “You really don't see how he looks at you, do you?”

“Why would I when I convinced myself he'd never want me?” You whispered.

Bucky had convinced himself of the same thing. Maybe the two of you were idiots. How long would you continue to torture yourself? They had a point. Why not start with one date and see where it led?

What would be the harm in that, besides risking your whole heart?

“Well, we see how he looks at you,” Sharon said, her eyebrows shooting up. “Wait. I have it.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Have what?” She asked. You wondered the same thing.

The front door opened before you got your answer, your heart skipping a beat when Bucky stopped in the doorway with a beach bag in hand. You realized after a moment that he was still in the same clothes he wore the day before, his eyes bloodshot as he looked your way. His hair was disheveled, too. He didn’t look like he slept well, if at all.

It broke your heart.

“Hey, Butterfly,” he croaked when you got to your feet, clearing his throat with a tired smile. “You look beautiful.”

“It’s just a sundress, Dreamboat,” you said, the compliment making your stomach flip before you took a step toward him. “Are you okay?”

His eyes lit up. “You’re still calling me that?”

“Of course, I am.” you smiled softly. He’d always be your Dreamboat. “Did you get any sleep?” You added, sighing when he confirmed your suspicion with a shake of his head. Had you been on his mind? “Why not?”

He gripped the bag handle like a lifeline. “I needed to find a way to say I’m sorry. Tried writing a letter and it wasn't enough.”

Your heart swelled, glancing back at the girls as they both gave you an encouraging smile. “Look. Before you do anything, why don’t you take a nap?” You suggested. “It’s still early and I’m not going anywhere.”

“A nap sounds like a good idea before volleyball,” Natasha said, leveling Bucky with a look. “In fact, why don’t you get him to bed?”

“Nat,” you hissed. Of course, she’d suggest you take him upstairs.

“Yeah, we’ll catch up with you two in a bit,” Sharon said.

The hopeful look in Bucky’s eyes was irresistible. “Come on,” you said, taking his arm once he kicked his shoes off. You felt his gaze on you as you took him up the stairs. It amazed you that he didn’t trip over his own feet since he kept his eyes on you. “I can tell you’re staring at me.”

“I half expected you to be gone this morning,” he said, opening his door. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Your stomach dropped. “You think I’d bolt after the conversation we had?” You asked. Did he think little of you now?

He chuckled under his breath. “I said half expected,” he teased.

Instead of releasing your arm, he pulled you into his room before you could protest. It wasn’t a good idea to be there, yet there you were. Not fighting it as he pulled you toward the bed.

His large, inviting bed.

“So, what’s in the bag?” You asked curiously to distract yourself as he set it down and stretched out on the bed, pulling you down with him. He gave you plenty of room so you wouldn’t have to cuddle close. He also left the door cracked open.

He was giving you an out.

“I can’t show you yet because I have to put it together,” he yawned, giving you an apologetic smile. “It’ll spoil the surprise otherwise.”

A giddy smile appeared on your face. He was actually going to make you something. “I’ll be patient,” you said, letting him keep your hand in his.

“Haven’t we been patient long enough?” He asked, his hair falling in his eyes as he gazed at you. Even exhausted, he was breathtaking. “I know you needed the night to think it over.”

The smile fell from your face, silence stretching in the room before you squeezed his hand. “Bucky, you need to get some sleep.”

He couldn’t mask the dejected look on his face. It wasn’t an outright rejection, but you hadn’t exactly declared that you should move forward. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said, his voice thick. “All I could see were the tears in your eyes and knowing I caused them.”

“It’s okay,” you told him. It was an assurance for yourself, too. You were okay and he hadn't tried to hurt you.

“It’s not okay,” he argued, the familiar determination back in his eyes. “And I don’t want to sleep. I want to make you smile. I want to win you a stuffed animal at the carnival.”

“You promised me that at dinner yesterday,” you teased.

“I want to take you dancing,” he added, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You could easily picture him smiling as he twirled you around and moved to the beat. Maybe that could be your first actual date. “As long as you don’t step on my feet.”

“I want to take you to bed,” he whispered,

You inhaled, your heart pounding at the implication. “Bucky…”

“I want to hear about your day. The little things, even the details that you think are mundane,” he said, scooting a bit closer. “I want to be the one you talk to and depend on again.”

Each declaration worked its way into your heart. Why couldn’t you just take the leap of faith? “We can’t just-”

“I want you to be my girl,” he said, his face inches from yours. “I want to give you everything.”

Your heart screamed at you to comfort him, kiss him, to tell him the same. “Bucky, you’re not giving me anything until you get some sleep,” you whispered, resting a hand on his cheek. He needed rest. “Please, for me?”

“I’m afraid if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone,” he whispered, fighting to keep his eyes open. “I can't lose you again.”

You didn't want to lose him either. “You won't lose me because I’m not going anywhere. I said we’d figure this out together and I meant that,” you promised, needing to give him hope. “Close your eyes. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He finally shut them as he breathed out, “Butterfly, I lo…”

You gasped as Bucky trailed off, smiling to yourself as your eyes misted over. You weren’t going to run. Not from him. Not when you owed it to yourself to be happy.

You told yourself that as his phone rang.

Even as Dot’s name showed on the screen.

It's fine, lovelies! 😭 Things will look up. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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lucky-bucky-boy · 1 year

Text

Changing Tides

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6790

Summary: You and Bucky get paired together for undercover missions a lot because it works beautifully, despite the fact that you don't really even interact at home.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, limited use of Y/N, LOTS of pet names (pretty girl, baby, i think baby girl, my girl etc), praise kink, oral f. receiving, slight angst, reader is in denial for a good bit of this, angst if you squint, reader is a part of the team, this piece takes place in an AU where everyone lives together and everything is happy

A/N: Oh. My. God. I did NOT intend for this to be this long, at one point I thought I was going to have to make this a two-parter but I got it all in here. I really enjoyed writing this, please let me know what y'all think!! :)))

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Hues of velvety violet and radiant amber mixed, painting the evening sky like a scene out of a museum. The scent of warm sea salt was still palpable in the air, the crystal like water of the wide-expanding ocean reflected the light of the setting sun. Dancing specs of light could be seen in the darker shades of the sky, stars bright and clear against the inky color.

The cold metal of the hotel balcony pressed against your exposed skin, shirt having risen up as you leaned over it slightly. The view was beyond breathtaking, something you would argue belonged on a movie screen. It was serene, offering a moment of reprieve from the typical chaos you endured in a day, and a distraction from the man currently sitting in the hotel room behind you.

Hate didn’t describe the emotions you felt for the brunet. On a daily basis, there was an underlying disinterest but every now and then a seething annoyance would bubble at the mere thought of the former soldier. You couldn’t pin-point why. Bucky himself had never done anything to wrong you after his rehabilitation and reintroduction into society, and you could easily say nothing the Winter Soldier had done counted towards your feelings.

The odd part of it all is the Bucky and you worked well together, great even. More often than not, you found yourself partnered with Bucky on just about every mission the two of you had; from quick in and out missions to undercover operations like the one you were on now. The communication was great, the two of you easily fell into a rhythm and could read each other’s body language like you’ve known each other your whole life. It was easy to slip into a faux-domesticity with him, which was a stark contrast to the daily life you lived.

The day to day with Bucky involved a lack of any form of contact. You’d avoid the gym if he was in it, would eat in silence if the two of you happened to be in the kitchen at the same time, eye-contact was consistently avoided - Really, the only time the two of you were seen together at home was during group training sessions and team-building nights. You were sure to never make it awkward for the rest of the team, never bad mouth or be outwardly annoyed at Bucky’s presence, you just really couldn’t care less if he was there or not.

“Sweetheart,” his voice carried from the room, light and sweet, almost intoxicating with a feeling instantly having your gut turn and catch your skin aflame, “Did you want to go out for dinner tonight or just order room service?” His voice got nearer as he moved to join you on the balcony.The cool metal prosthetic wrapped around your waist as he stood next to you.

A soft hum left your lips, gaze moving from the horizon to the prosthetic then to Bucky’s face. He adorned a slight scruff, long hair pulled back into a low bun; His eyes nearly twinkled as they reflected the setting sky in the distance, he wore soft maroon button down and black chinos that truly made him look like a normal, well-off guy. Tony and Peter had finally managed to perfect the color needed to make Bucky prosthetic look like a normal arm which easily sealed the deal on assuring that there was nothing major that could be easily spotted to dox the two of you as agents.

The flight to Morocco was long and the next 10 days were easily going to be even longer, the last thing you wanted to do was be anywhere but a soft bed. “Room service,” you replied, matching the tone he had asked the question with. You leaned your head against his shoulder, moving your gaze back to the ocean, “Did you do a room check and get our things set up?”

He nodded, “Everything inside is clear and put away,” he squeezed your side softly when he said inside, a subtle emphasis to communicate where it was safe to not be in character. “I’ll go order the room service, you can go shower and get comfortable. I know how much you hate the airport.” He chuckled softly at the end, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before making his way back inside.

You let out a soft sigh, making it inside as well and closing the balcony door behind you as you did. This really was going to be a long 10 days.

The bitter taste of the wine nearly made your mouth water, sitting somewhere between too intense and the perfect thing to take the edge off. The first full day had been smooth, an easy itinerary of walking and exploring the city. From the outside, the two of you easily looked like a love sick couple; matching clothes, a large diamond in your hand, Bucky always opening the door for you and your soft smile that just couldn't seem to leave you face; but in reality you had been mapping the city, learning the back alley ways and locating any ports that may be needed for a quick exit.

The small patio of the restaurant adorned a handful of tables, lanterns lighting the area in a soft romantic glow, lucious plants filling in any space, the open space allowed for ease of blending into the crowd while watching any passerby on the street. Bucky had taken up a game of footsie with you, chattering along about some of the shops you had passed along the way.

“Is there any shop you’d want to make your way back to?” Bucky took a sip of the wine in front of him, eyes fixed on you intently.

A soft hum left your lips, swaying your head back and forth softly as you thought. “Well, I wanna hit up the history and art museum, so maybe we could see if there’s any other cute shops there? If not, I’d definitely like to look at the jewelry store and bookstore we passed on the way here.”

“Mmm, I do think it’s time to get my pretty girl a new necklace,” the words fell off Bucky’s tongue like he sweet talked you on the daily.

There was that feeling again, the uneasiness that laid in the pit of your stomach and your skin heated up. Maybe this was why you couldn’t stand Bucky outside of missions, maybe you just didn’t want to deal with this feeling constantly. “You spoil me enough, ya know,” you offered a soft giggle, “I can assure you I don’t need any more jewelry, my love.”

Bucky smirked softly, cocking his eyebrows up at you with a knowing look on his face, “You may not need it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it anyways.”

You shook your head, about to offer a rebuttal as the waiter set your food down in front of you, all thoughts being lost to the amazing sights and smells. “This is easily my favorite part of our trips,” you stated, the distraction of food keeping you from noticing the way Bucky’s gaze stayed on you and a soft smile lingered.

Six days of being enveloped in Bucky’s presence, and thankfully it was getting easier by the moment. It had been a smooth operation so far, the information being easy to locate and gather without raising suspicions. As a result, Tony had said to take a day to relax, lay low and assure no one was able to realize there was something more to you two.

Bucky had made a home on the balcony of your hotel, a book in hand and a coffee sat on the little table next to him.He been there since the early morning and it was easily almost noon, not that that you were bothering to check the clock. A day off meant a day of sleep and eating, nothing much more than that.

However, sleeping wasn't something your body wanted to do so you found yourself with a forgotten movie playing on the television, your gaze consistently going back to him. You weren't sure why, but you couldn't keep your eyes off him. You'd been sitting for the past God knows how long trying to figure out why you couldn't pull your eyes away from him. His hair was down, something he didn't do quite often, almost always finding it easier to have it pulled away from his face. From the angle he was sitting, you could see his light gray button down was still completely unbuttoned, his jean shorts a little too snug around his thighs. He occasionally sipped the coffee that was most likely cold at this point, turning the page of the thick novel occasionally. His lips would purse, eyebrows scrunch occasionally, or a small chuckle, or even a shake of his head as he reacted to the words on the page.

The wind picked up some, indicating a small rain storm that was destined to his later in the evening was starting to make it's way in. Bucky pulled a hair tie from his pocket, tying his hair into his typical low bun before picking his book back up. And it finally hit you; Fuck he's pretty.

The thought immediately made your body heat up and the instant feeling of something in between shame and excitement sat low in your belly. It was like a well known secret your subconscious kept for years finally made it over the wall of denial in your brain, immediately making your thoughts run wild; Fuck he's so pretty, more than pretty actually. What if this is why we've been weird for some many years? Wait. Why would that make it weird? Wait. Why is it weird? Why do we get along so well on missions and then act so differently at home? Oh My God… Has the team been trying to set us up?

Shaking your head, you jumped up, apparently too suddenly because Bucky broke his concentration on his book to glance over at you. You could feel he was watching you move around, the only thought in your head now was to get out for some fresh air as you deciphered the flood of thoughts. You grabbed some fresh clothes, slipping into the bathroom with a heavy sigh once the door was closed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, attempting to ground yourself. Okay, what the hell is going on? The question kept repeating itself over and over in your head as you slipped into a summer dress, a sage flowy piece that Natasha and you bought for this trip specifically. It was cute, and Nat was right when she said it complimented your skin; definitely different than your normal attire but still comfortable.

Walking out of the bathroom, you were relieved to find Bucky still where he was when you entered. After slipping on some sandals, you moved towards him, immediately aware of every detail of your very being. "Hey," you kept your voice soft, waiting for him to pull him eyes from the book and look up at you. There was something about how brightly his eyes shone with the golden sun beating down on him, there was a sense of both innocence and mystique, and the instant feeling of safety just from holding his gaze. "I'm heading out to get some coffee, do you want a fresh one? You've been sipping at the same cup for hours now."

Bucky glanced down at the cup, then to his watch, eyes going wide for a moment before a soft chuckle left his lips. "I've been out here for 4 hours already, shit. Yeah, I'd love a fresh one, doll. Thank you." He offered you a soft smile, "Just get me a-"

"A latte with three honeys on the side," you said matter-of-factly, "I could order for you at just about anywhere at this point." It was a teasing joke, one Bucky laughed at, but you instantly cursed yourself for even saying it.

"We do spend quite a bit of time together," he hummed out, "Did you want to go out for dinner or get room service tonight?" He asked, picking his book back up as he prepared for your departure.

"Let me see how I feel after I get back. But if we go out, it's your turn to pick. I picked last night." You stated before leaning down to kiss his hairline, still needing to keep up the act just in case someone was managing to spy; or at least that's what you were telling yourself. "I'll see you inna bit."

After returning with the coffee, still finding Bucky to be where he was when he left him, it was an instant decision to find a way to give yourself more time a way from the man that had your mind absolutely scrambled. Grabbing a book of your own, you let him know you'd be down by the pool if he needed you, using a quick excuse about wanting some change in scenery before the rain came as you left.

You weren't entirely sure how long you'd been out there, it couldn't have been too long, but you we're aware you were reading the same page over and over again. The words seemed to mix together, jumbling about and not registering even in the slightest, your brain still attempting to make sense of what you were feeling.

You never denied that Bucky was attractive, that's admittedly part of what made undercover missions easy. You never denied that you two got along well on missions, but you couldn't explain or pinpoint why you didn't get along at home. Sure, you were never hostile or rude, but it was exactly friendly or outgoing either. No matter how much you thought and walked through your early memories of Bucky, you couldn't make sense of anything.

At this point, you knew pride was part of the issue. You knew the team would be able to walk you through, at the very least Nat or Pepper or maybe even Steve, but you could never admit to them what you were currently feeling or going through. The only thing you wanted to do, needed to do was to act normal until you got home. Then you could just hide away and go back to not having to interact with the man that was causing you turmoil.

"There's my pretty girl," Bucky's drawl quickly pulled you out of your thoughts, causing you to jump at the sudden push back to reality. Seeing you jump caused Bucky to chuckle, especially as you turned to glare at him and his bright smile, "It's getting late, baby. We should go get some food."

He moved to the lounge chair you had made home in, kneeling down next to you so he was eye-level. There was that feeling again, low in the pit of your stomach that had your skin warming. "There's apparently food trucks at a park about not too far. Why don't we head there and get some food to bring back and watch a movie?"

Instinctively, you reach to tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, offering a soft nod and a smile, "That sounds perfect."

You wanted nothing more than to kiss him, the thought immediately making your already warm skin heat up more, feeling flustered and like a school girl. It's not like you haven't kissed, it was just agreed upon that it was reserved for dire need situations. All other physical touchs; hand holding, forehead kissing, even smacking each others ass was okay to sell the facade that you were a happy couple.

Bucky picked up on the change, a look of slight worry on his face, "You okay, doll?"

The laugh that left you was slightly anxious, holding the book in your hand up as a quick white lie, "Yeah, you just came down at a particularly… intense scene."

He immediately laughed, kissing your forehead as he stood up. "You're so cute. Let's get going though."

The bustling crowds offered a great distraction - Bucky stood proudly by your side, fingers interlocked together and swinging your joined hands softly like a love sick couple. The both of you scanned the crowd, trying to figure out where to go and what to get.

The lines weren't too long, there were nearly a dozen trucks, and live music playing. The sun was finally setting, more clouds rolling in and bringing in a cooler breeze that allowed for a reprieve from the beach heat. There were benches with umbrellas set up, lantern lights adorning some posts and wires around the lot. It was cute, and if it wasn't for the mission you were still technically on, it would feel so wrong to be here with Bucky.

After a moment of thought, you looked at Bucky, lips slightly pursed in thought, "I have an idea." You stated matter-of-factly.

He cooked an eyebrows at you, intrigued and slightly amused with your tone, "Let's hear it then."

"Let's get a platter or some random menu item from every truck then go back to the room and eat there."

Bucky looked around and nodded, "Ya know what, doll, that sounds fantastic. Do you wanna divide and conquer or go one by one?"

It was then that you realized the clouds were darkening, and the rain was definitely going to happen sooner than later. "Let's divide and conquer before the rain comes."

With a nod of agreement the two of you split, heading to either end of the trucks and working your way to each other. With the lines being shorter, it didn't take too long to get through them all, the both of you holding multiple bags stacked full of food and tied tightly. Quick words were exchanged before you started heading back towards the hotel, hoping to make it back before the rain.

The effort was fruitless though, with just maybe a few hundred feet left before the hotel you were staying at, the cold rain begins to pour down, the dark sky opening up and letting go every ounce of water it was holding on to. With loud gasps from the both of you, and small playful shriek even, you two took off running into the lobby, screeching yourselves to a stop as you entered and stood on the mats in front of the door. You were breathing heavily, attempting to catch your breath; a quick glance to Bucky showed you he was doing the same.

After a few moments, the two of you made eye contact, bursting into immediate laughter. You were both soaked head to toe, the only thing saved was the food. His shoes make a sloshing sound and your feet slid around in your sandals, you clothes clinging to every inch of your bodies. You were easily a sight for sore eyes, but it couldn't have been funnier.

"Why didn't either of us think about the rain?" You managed to get out through your laughter.

"Who knows, but let's get upstairs so we can get dry." He managed to respond.

The elevator ride up felt like an eternity, the cold of the AC feeling more intense from your wet skin. Bucky opened the door for you, letting you in first. He set the foot down, immediately kicking off his shoes. "Go shower, get warm. I'll pull out a change of clothes for you and we can swap when you're done."

Something about the direction made you freeze momentarily, causing him to look up at you, "(Y/N), you're freezing. Go shower. I'm fine to wait." His voice was soft and caring and there was a part of you that wanted to tell him to shower with you.

In the dim light of the room and the soaking wet clothes made him look even more divine, like he was sculpted from the gods themselves. You nodded, handing him the bags before making your way towards the bathroom. You closed the door, then quickly opening it to call out but he cut you off, "You want an oversized shirt and a loose pair of shorts, gets your ass in the shower." His tone was demanding but still playful. You caught the look in his eyes, mischievous, playful, and a hint of something you didn't want to recognize.

You kept your shower quick, ready to be in comfortable clothes and a bed with good food. After quickly drying yourself as much as possible, you wrapped yourself in a towel, and stepped out into the bedroom. Bucky stood in only his boxers, his own clothes in one hand while he scrolled through the television with the other. It wasn't the first time you've seen him with this little clothing, but something about it now made your mouth dry and your skin heat up.

"All yours," you said, grabbing his attention as you moved to the bed where he laid your clothes out for you.

"Thanks, doll. I'll be quick. You can pick the movie," he tossed the remote onto the bed before disappearing into the bathroom himself.

You stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm yourself before slipping into the clean clothes. Bucky had already made work of getting creative. He pulled the ironing board from the closet and set the food up next to the bed, had fluffed the pillows up into a sitting position, and already gotten drinks for the two of you. By the time you had decided on a movie, Bucky was coming out of the bathroom.

Immediarely, you mind started short circuiting again. He looked soft. He had on a light blue shirt and a pair of light gray shorts, his hair was towel dried and brushed against his shoulders, a slight wave to the brown locks. He slid in bed next to you, getting himself situated and comfortable before handing over the massive spread of food for you to start digging into.

After about 20 minutes of eating and watching the movie in a comfortable silence, Bucky turned the volume down some, "Can I ask you a question?" The tone of his voice alone already told you how he was feeling. There was a sense of worry, anxiety almost to him.

"Of course, what's wrong?" You asked, sitting your food to the side so you could turn to look at him.

Bucky followed your lead, moving the food he had off the bed as well before taking a drink, trying to have a moment to articulate how he was going to ask what he wanted. Even though Bucky was sure the room wasn't bugged, he knew that there's was never a 100% chance of assuring that. The fact alone could make talking about things outside of the mission difficult, and this one one of those moments.

"How's the trip been for you? I know we haven't been on one in a while and I just want to make sure everything's okay, that we're okay." He had turned fully to look at you now, the worry in his voice making it to his eyes.

"Oh…" the response was immediate, and you regretted it instantly the second you so that worry on his face grow, "The trips been wonderful, and uh…" You sighed, toying with the blanket around you, "We're fine, yeah. I'm just… not here?" You said, sort of motioning to your head to get the point across.

Bucky cocked his head some, the worry turning to confusion. "Are we going to be okay when we go home?"

That was something you couldn't answer. What was okay. Was okay how you normally act? Was okay something different? Something better? Something worse?

"Uh… maybe?" You offered, immediately wincing at your own words. You sighed deeply, "I don't really know how to explain what I'm feeling."

"Okay," Bucky took a moment, letting you both sit in the uncomfortable silence that was the lull in the conversation. He was doing his best not to become frustrated, he knew there was most likely no easy way for you to communicate what you wanted to say or even what you were feeling, but he's been able to tell for the past couple of days that things, specifically that you, have been off. "What do you know?"

Your gaze met his again, taking a deep breath in to try to gather the courage to say what you needed. "Things feel… different?"

"Different?"

"Different."

Bucky stared at you for a moment, mind calculating and analyzing has he tried to decipher what you meant. In an instant it all clicked, and you didn't miss the way his lips curled into a quick smirk before his features soften. "Do things feel different when I call you my pretty girl?"

He watched as you immediately became flustered, averting your gaze and watching your chest rise and fall quicker. He thought he had sensed your heart rate quickening throughout the past couple of days, but he had honestly assumed it was anxiety from the mission. He had no reason to think it could be something else; Well, until now.

"(Y/N)," your name came as firm and demanding, causing you to look at him. The smirk on his face was more evident now, "We can continue this conversation now, or when we get home. But just remember, you're my favorite book to read."

You were instantly lost for words, mouth opening and closing as you processed what he just said to you. Waiting until you were home was going to be far too long, but talking about whatever this was now? Right now when you were flustered beyond belief, that flippant warm feeling filling every valley and curve of your body?

"Just say the word, doll, and I'll act like everything is normal. I'll go back to watching the movie and eating and ignoring the obivous."

A soft shake of your head was all you could muster as you search desperately for a will to stop the inevitable, or the courage to beg for it.

"Words, (Y/N). Use your words."

"I don't want normal." You swallowed, taking a shaky breath you continued, "I don't want this to go back to normal."

Buckys lips turned to a smile. "You don't want this to stop when we go home?"

You shook you head more feverishly, "No, I - Fuck, what have you done to me?" You groaned out.

"The same thing you've been doing to me for years, I suppose." His tone was matter-of-fact, cool and calm almost.

"What?" Your eyes had gone wide, mouth dry, and that God forsaken feeling low in your stomach was growing.

"You heard me. Obviously, we'll have some talking to do when we get home." He chuckled

Bucky moved as if he was going to grab the food, stopping once he heard, "No," come out of your mouth, "No. I want to talk about it now."

He looked back at you, eyebrows raising as to silently ask how.

"I want to…" You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief at yourself before leaning forward, cupping the back of his neck with your hand and pressing your lips to his.

This kiss was different; It was electricity filled, igniting every nerve in your body. You could feel the heat from your ears to your toes. It was intoxiting and addicting.

Bucky waisted no time in kissing you back, even letting out a small groan at your sudden assertiveness. His prosthetic hand held onto you waist, the other cupping your face as the two of you broke years worth of tension in one swift motion. Bucky pulled away first, taking in the plumpness of your kiss swollen lips, the sluttering of your lashes as your opened your eyes to look at him, and the darkness of your gaze that was stricken with last.

He looked just as enthralled, blue eyes dark as the night sky and hooded with desire, cheeks flushed slightly beneath his scruff. It finally clicked what the feeling you've been having all week was. Lust; pure, unadulterated lust for the man who was currently pretending to be your husband.

"Well damn, doll," he offered you a toothy grin, squeezing your waist, "Wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry-"

"Don't be." He bit his lip, studying your face for a moment, "Whatcha thinking, pretty girl?"

You couldn't help but get flustered, "That I want more. A lot fucking more." You hand moved up from his neck to card through his hair, his breath hitching some as you did. "Please, James, I need more." Your voice had a slight whine to it, something you hoped he wouldn't be able to resist.

"If I knew you sounded so pretty begging this would've happened years ago," he grumbled before kissing you again. This time though, he re-situated himself, helping you move to straddling him and doing his best to let you still have some semblance of control for now. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you from being able to move away from him.

One of your hands cupped his face, the other running down his clothed chest. You lips move in sink, a squeeze on your hips eliciting a small moan from you that he took advantage of, using your open mouth to slip his tongue in. You could feel the tent in his shorts growing, sitting hard against your core.

An experimental grind of your hips pulled a moan form the man beneath you; The sound was music to your ears, and enough encouragement to do it again.

Buckys hands moved, bracing you as he flipped you over to give himself more leverage and take control. Just as he begin to grind himself against you, he moved his lips from your to your neck. He kissed his way down to your pulse point, drinking in the sweet sounds you made. He sucked softly at the skin, moaned himself when you pulled at his hair.

Any rationale thought was gone at this point, any fears or anxieties you had pushed to the back of your mind as pure pleasure and desire took over the forefront of your thoughts. Once Bucky was sure he would be satisfied with the mark he left on you, he pulled back some to look you in the eye.

"Are you sure you want this?" He breathed out, offering you an out.

You nodded so quickly he couldn't help but laugh softly, "God, you look so fucking desperate, doll. You want me to fuck you?" He had a slight tease to his voice.

Another nod is all you could muster, but that wasn't good enough for him. "Uh uh, come on. Use your words. Need to hear you say it if you want me to do it."

You whined at his demand, pouting at him slightly, "Please."

"Please what?" His tone was more stern now, "If you want to continue, I need to know you actually want this."

His insistence to make sure you were consenting pulled at your heart strings. You nodded, "Yes, Bucky," you kept your voice soft before adding a slight whine and plea to it, "Please fuck me."

He smiled, kissing you much softer than had had before, "I'd do anything you asked me to." His words sounded like a promise that had you own emotions bubbling up.

Bucky leaned up for a moment, pulling off his shirt. He motioned for you to sit up and pulled yours off as well, groaning softly when he sat you skin. "Such a beautiful, pretty girl. Look at you," his hands ran up and down your sides and he took in your body before making eye contact with you again, "Most perfect thing I've ever seen, ya know that?"

He could feel your skin heat up at his comments, watching you squirm. "Take your shorts off, doll." Bucky moved off the bed, kneeling on the floor at the edge, "C'mere." He demanded.

You aren't going to deny him at this point, feeling yourself so tightly wrapped around his finger that you'd follow him into hell if it meant he kept talking to you like this. Once you were close enough, Bucky grabbed your thighs and pulled you to be perched on the edge on the bed, legs on his shoulders with his eyes level with your core.

"Look at this sweet little pussy," he squeezed your thighs tight, "You're fucking glistening, doll." He started pressing kisses to your thighs, avoiding the very apace you needed him at. "Smell fucking divine, I just know you're gonna taste even better."

Bucky watched as you already started fishing the sheets, squirming and biting you lip to hold back any noise. He already decided it was his job to make it impossible for you to hold back. Bucky moved his right hand to interlock with yours, taking his left arm and using it to put pressure on your waist, the cold feel of the prosthetic a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. Just as he squeezed your hand, Bucky licked a thick stripe from your core to your clit, genuinely moaning at the taste.

He wasted no time in drowning himself in your essence. Bucky licked and sucked, offering the occasional nibble, until you were grinding yourself in his face. Once soft gasps and moans were falling freely from you lips, he moved his left hand to your core, the cool digits of his forefinger and ringer figuring prodding your sopping hole. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly as he pushed two fingers in, relishing in the fact that your moans got loud.

Bucky pulled him mouth away, moving to you thighs and sucking hickies into the soft skin while his fingers worked magic. He already knew your body so well, years of working together on intimate missions allowed him to learn how to tell what you liked versus what you loved.

After leaving a few marks, he leaned his head against your thighs, looking up at you through his lashes and watching had your chest rose and fell and you head was thrown back in pure pleasure. "I was fucking right. Taste like honey, could drink you up all fucking day."

He licked a quick stripe again, from where his fingers were to the hilt inside you all the way to your clit. "So, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to continue eating your sweet little pussy until you cum all of face then I'm going to fuck you nice and deep so you feel my cock for days."

He chuckled when he felt your walls flutter around his fingers, "You like the sound of that, pretty girl?" He curled his fingers, hitting the spongy spot that had you gasping for air and eyes rolling into the back of your head. "Look, you're already so close to the edge. You better soak me, baby."

Bucky didn't fall short on his word, getting back to work on your clit with his mouth. His scruff added a nice sensation that bordered on pleasurable pain, fingers moving st the perfect pace and curving expertly, mouth switching between sucking and kitten licks. His right had squeezed your own hand, encouraging you to let go for him.

The pleasure was building quickly, it was intoxicating and inhibition destroying. You leaned up, using your free hand to grab hold of his hair and pull, giving you leverage to grind on his face. Bucky moaned against you, and truly giving you everything he was worth in his determination.

It didn't take much longer for you to fall over the edge, moaning loudly and body convulsing. Your legs squeezed his head as he continued to work you through your orgasm until you fell back, panting for breath.

Bucky pulled away, chuckling softly with a proud look in his face. From his nose down, he was absolutely glistening with your slick, "God you're fucking hot, using my face like that."

Bucky stood, pulling his shorts off, using them to wipe his face some, then tossing them to the side. "Can't wait to see your pretty face when I fill you up. Your gonna take me so good, aren't you?"

You nodded, already getting worked back up. You sat yourself up before he had the chance to grab you, leaning up and carding your hand through his hair again and guiding his lips to yours. You moaned at the taste of your own cum on his lips, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock, jerking him slowly.

He pulled away from your lips, breathing in sharp. "Uh uh, doll, you can do that another time," he kissed your forehead, a sweet gesture that was a drastic difference to what was currently happening, "Right now, I wanna be buried inside you, making you cum all over me again. Cmon, lay back down for me."

You stole one more kiss before resuming your prior position. Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, pulling you back to the edge and holding your legs spread wide. "You can tell me to stop at any point," he said softly, "but unless you do that, I'm not stopping until you're thoroughly filled with me."

You nodded, offering a desperate, "Please, Bucky. Want all of you," and moving to hold your own legs up as the extra step to prove how much you wanted this.

"So fucking perfect," he groaned out. Bucky grabbed his length, teasing your slit a few times to get his thick tip left before finally pushing in. He was slow, listening to your gasp as he stretched you out so nicely.

Inch by inch, he pushed in until he was bent over you and all the way to the hilt, your lower bodies completely flushed. "You feel fucking amazing around me," he moaned out, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Just as you were starting to whine, he pulled all the way out before slamming back in, causing you to moan out loudly when you felt him in the deepest parts of you.

Bucky set a brutal but rhythmic pace, changing it ever so slightly until he heard your moans and whines change to be deeper and louder. He moved one of your legs to his shoulder, which somehow allowed him to go even deeper, alternating between full thrusts and grinding against you.

He reached down between the two of you, rubbing circles in your clit with his thumb and watching as your whole body begin to shake with intense pleasure. "Look at you," he moaned out, "Better than my wildest dreams. You gonna cum again for me, already doll?"

He didn't need an answer at this point, he could tell from how your walls were squeezing him that you were close, and as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't far behind you. Bucky kept his movements consistent until he felt you fall over the edge again with a high pitch moan, his hips finally flattering as you squeezed him like a vice, quickly chasing his own high. A few erratic thrusts and he spilled into you with a moan of your name.

Bucky let your legs down, taking a few deep breaths before pulling out of you. He laughed lightly as you whined at the loss of him. He disappeared to the bathroom, cleaning himself up before bringing back a warm, damp wash cloth to wipe you down with. Bucky pressed softly kisses to yoh skin and he wiped you off, kissing your lips before tossing the cloth to the side and climbing into bed with you.

He helped you move back to laying normally in the bed, laughing once he noticed the credits of thie movie were rolling. He wrapped and arm around you, pulling you into his side and letting you get comfortable on him."How you feeling, doll?"

"Good, a little weird, but good." You said, voice drenched in exhaustion.

"Weird how?" He asked, rubbing his fingers up and down your back.

"Good weird. Happy things are gonna be different when we get home."

With how you were laying, you missed the way Bucky smiled down at you, "You don't understand how happy it makes me that I'll get to treat you like this all the time."

"Really?" You asked, already finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

"Doll, I've been yours since the moment I met you, someone was just too stubborn to notice her own feelings." He squeezed your side before going back to rubbing your back, "Get some sleep, we can talk in the morning."

#bucky barnes #marvel #seb stan #marvel smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #james barnes #james barnes smut

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hier--soir · 1 year

Text

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.”

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source.

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs.

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.”

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration.

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips. “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.”

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

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

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went.

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street.

None came.

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift.

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something.

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time.

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen.

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door.

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back.

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem.

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too.

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him.

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink.

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down.

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring.

“What?” Eddie was staring back.

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you.

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it.

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have.

It was becoming harder to lie.

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles.

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed.

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before.

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead.

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond.

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise.

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief.

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say.

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.”

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you.

You told it to shut up.

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it. “We’re friends, huh?”

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing.

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own.

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had. “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face.

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips.

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly.

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing.

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering.

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy.

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly.

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too.

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb.

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair.

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his.

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie.

Your forehead touched his.

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more.

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans.

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim.

Touching. Still touching.

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft.

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high.

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it.

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?”

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners.

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘‘cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely.

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night.

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head.

You wondered if you should’ve said something.

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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lovelookspretty · 4 days

Text

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: ermm angst. and another ending that will make u guys mad at me IM SORRY

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authors note: SRY idk how to write dramatic scenes like that ☹️ im gonna be better prepared for the next part so u guys can communicate PROPERLY w drew n not in some STUPID restaurant. anyway if u wanna be part of the tag list, let me know in replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

your fingers trace the outline of freckles on his arm as he talks about a memory from your past. the soft murmur of his voice blends with the steady rhythm of the waves outside, each sound wrapping around you like a lullaby. there’s no clear distinction between his words, just a gentle hum of familiarity and warmth, like he’s telling you something only the two of you could ever understand.

you can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the slight shiver that follows each brush as if he’s waiting for you to react, to smile at whatever joke he’s just made.

and you do. you always do.

it feels easy, like breathing, like everything else fades away in this moment.

you’re both lying there, tangled up in each other, the world outside irrelevant. his voice is like the background music of a song you never want to end, and the smile in his tone is contagious, making your heart flutter in a way that feels like home.

and in this space, you’re in love. you’re safe. there’s no distance, no secrets, no hurt—just you and him, where time doesn’t seem to exist. it feels perfect, endless, like nothing could ever come between you.

his hand finds yours, and you smile—because here, in this place, nothing else matters but the two of you.

but that’s not your life.

the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers feels too real, too perfect—yet there’s a gnawing sensation in your chest, a quiet voice whispering that this can’t be right. you pause, staring into his eyes as they flicker with life, his laughter still echoing in your ears. and then, just like that, it hits you.

“this isn’t real . . .” you murmur, the words slipping from your lips like a confession, soft and sad.

the moment shatters, and you wake up with a start, eyes blinking into the early morning light. for a second, your heart races, still tethered to that dream. but as you take in the quiet room around you, reality sinks in like a heavy weight.

drew lies next to you, sound asleep. his breathing is slow, peaceful, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest. his face looks calm, almost serene, and for a moment, you can’t tear your eyes away. you wish things could be this easy—simple, like they were in the dream.

if only he knew what you know.

after making that sundae with leila last night—past midnight, no less—you thought you’d be able to shake off everything that happened, but it just made you feel worse. the messages you saw on drew’s phone replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to let you find any peace.

now it’s morning, and as you drag yourself out of bed, you already feel exhausted. your eyes are gritty, head foggy, and the sun through the windows of the house feel too bright, too warm—too much. you rub your eyes as you shuffle down the stairs, hearing the chatter of everyone gathered in the kitchen for breakfast.

everyone’s already there, looking refreshed. gia’s laughter rings out from the kitchen, and you catch leila’s voice, animated as always, chatting with theo. they’re all gathered around the kitchen island, passing plates of food around—scrambled eggs, toast, fruit. the smell of coffee hits you, and you could almost cry from how much you need it.

leila notices you first. “good morning, sleepyhead!” she greets with a wide grin. “we were wondering when you were gonna wake up. there’s plenty of food left—grab something!”

you give a tired half-smile, barely lifting your head as you mumble, “morning.” your voice sounds flat, even to yourself, and you trudge over to the counter, grabbing a cup of coffee first before anything else.

theo leans back in his chair, eyeing you. “late night?”

you nod, stifling a yawn as you pour your coffee. “something like that.”

leila doesn’t miss a beat, already steering the conversation to her plans. “so, now that we’re all here, i’ve got some exciting news,” she says, “theo booked us a reservation at this amazing restaurant in town tonight, the pearl. we’re talking grand—so dress up nice!” she claps her hands together, clearly excited about the idea.

the group is enthusiastic—gia’s already asking what she should wear, and roman’s grumbling about having to dress up, which earns him a jab from libby. you sip your coffee, trying to focus, but everything feels like it’s happening at a distance.

“y/n you okay with that? dinner?” leila asks, pulling you into the conversation.

you glance up at her, blinking through the haze. “yeah, sure,” you reply. “sounds fun.”

she narrows her eyes at you, noticing the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. “you sure? you seem a little out of it.”

you force another smile, trying to shake off the sluggish feeling. “just tired. i’ll be fine.”

gia chimes in from her seat, giggling as she steals a slice of toast. “maybe you just need more coffee.”

you nod, lifting your mug in agreement. “definitely.”

the conversation continues without you as everyone starts talking about what they’ll wear tonight, throwing out outfit ideas and making plans for the day. drew is sitting across the table, looking as refreshed as everyone else, laughing along with them. but you can’t bring yourself to look at him for long.

he catches your eye across the table. he looks at you with a soft, questioning expression, maybe sensing something’s off. you glance away before he can say anything, focusing on your coffee again, but you curse under your breath when out of the corner of your eye you can see him get up from his seat.

he slides into the chair next to you, a casual smile on his face. “started the trip off with a pool day, and now we’re heading to the pearl for dinner,” he says, glancing at the table where leila’s organized a small checklist on her notes app. “leila’s really in planning mode.”

you manage a half-hearted nod, feeling the fatigue settle deeper into your bones.

“hey,” he continues, his tone light, “you okay? you seem a little—”

you’re already over it. before he can finish, you drop your piece of toast back onto the plate, the sound cutting through the chatter around you. without another word, you push back your chair and get up, taking your coffee with you. the others’ voices fade behind you as you walk away, the tension in your chest tightening.

drew looks after you, brow furrowed, and glances at leila, who’s the only other person who even notices your behavior. confusion lines his features as he points to you while looking at her, like asking if she has any idea what’s up with you.

leila shakes her head in response, but glances up at you walking up the stairs in concern. drew seems unconvinced, but he nods, turning back to the table as you disappear upstairs. and you’re grateful for the distance, even if just for a moment.

Liked by theohain, oscareyre113, and others

y/n 🐚

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user1 divaa

user2 I MET U THE OTHER DAY YOU WERE SO NICE!!! 😭😭

↳ user3 YOU ARE SO LUCKY

user4 mother

gia.carinteri ure so cute

↳ y/n love u

leilajharmon angel baby

user5 Are you and Drew still together?

user6 y/n annual post i’m so grateful to be this early

user7 I miss Tempest :(

↳ user8 me too

user9 Why don’t you ever post Drew?

as you step into the pearl, the warm glow of the lights and the soft murmur of waves greet you. leila and theo lead the way, their laughter weaving through the air as they navigate the restaurant. you grip drew’s hand reluctantly as you follow the group.

the server guides you to a table outside, and your breath catches at the sight: the seaside view stretches out before you, waves crashing gently against the rocks. a delicate black metal arch hangs above the table, draped with twinkling lights that flicker like stars. a large, lush plant sways in the cool evening breeze, and you’re in awe.

you take your seat at the outer corner of the table, next to drew. the space feels too open, and you can feel his gaze on you as you fidget with your napkin, trying to ignore the way your stomach knots.

as the conversations flow around you, he leans in, propping his elbow on the table to speak to you privately. “what’s going on with you?” he asks, “and you can’t use the tired excuse anymore. you’ve had loads of coffee this morning.”

you glance at him, caught off guard by the directness of his question. but take a breath, searching for the right words. all you can manage is a small shrug. “i’m fine. seriously. don’t worry about it.”

you wish you could sound more convincing as the server approaches, placing a beautifully plated dish in front of you. relief washes over you; at least you can focus on the food for now.

theo suddenly clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “i just want to say how grateful i am that everyone is here to celebrate with us before i marry this beautiful woman,” he gestures to leila, who frowns as she presses a kiss to his cheek. as the table raises their glasses, you join in but feel somewhat disconnected, and shut out the rest of theo’s short speech until you’re able to eat.

as everyone digs in, gia reaches across the table, poking at her food. “y/n, do you want this?” she holds up a piece of grilled zucchini.

drew interjects before you can respond. “y/n doesn’t like zucchini,” he says casually as he cuts into his food, and you look at him with furrowed brows.

“oh, right.” gia laughs, realization hitting her. “i always mix you two up.” she turns to libby, who’s already reaching her plate across the table.

gia’s cheeks grow red as she giggles, and you continue to watch drew. your eyes meet briefly, but there’s an unspoken barrier between you, so you quickly look away, picking at your food instead.

eventually he even seems lost in thought, his gaze fixed on gia’s plate as he dazes out. roman, sitting across from you, catches on. he leans forward slightly, studying the table as if trying to read the tension, but you notice his motor.

“what are you doing?” you mouth to him.

roman raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. he glances at gia, then back at the rest of you, sensing the unspoken words hanging in the air. he knows something is up between you and drew but decides to keep quiet, because if no one else is saying anything about it, why should he?

and you understand exactly that. you roll your eyes before returning to your food.

“i could die for this garlic bread,” leila groans as she breaks a piece off and eats it. just from hearing it, theo reaches over to take a piece.

you hum as you reach your hand over, and drew grabs a piece for you when he realizes what you want. just as you sit back against your seat, a server from a nearby table accidentally brushes against you as they rushed by, a full glass of red wine slipping from their hand.

time seemed to slow as the glass tumbled, spilling its contents directly onto your lap. your mouth is gaped open and your eyes clamp shut as some of the wine bounces off and hits you directly in your face too.

the others gasp as they stare at you in horror.

“oh my g—” the server exhales, eyes wide with panic. “i am so sorry! i’m so, so sorry!”

you’re frozen for a moment, the cool liquid spreading across your dress, soaking through the fabric. you feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, and there’s a rush of embarrassment washing over you.

“perfect,” you mutter under yourself as you try to maintain your composure. “just what i needed.”

the server continues to apologize profusely, almost stumbling over their words. “i’ll get you some napkins! please, let me help!”

“it’s fine,” you tell him, forcing a smile despite the discomfort. “just . . . give me a moment.”

as you stand up, the chair scrapes loudly against the ground, and you can feel the wine seeping down your torso. you quickly glance at drew, who looks alarmed, his fork mid-air.

“y/n,” gia calls to you, but you’re already moving toward the doors, desperate to find a restroom.

“just let her go,” roman says quietly, sensing the tension still simmering beneath the surface. gia is worried as she watches you disappear inside the building.

drew rises from his seat and tosses his napkin onto his seat, pulling his sleeves up before hurrying into the restaurant to find you. meanwhile the server is urgently trying to clean your seat but frowns at the stained floors.

just as you reach the restroom, he catches up, breathless and urgent. you feel like groaning when you feel like you just can’t catch a break. “y/n! hey, wait,” he calls out to you, sliding past a man who tries to return to his table. “sorry.”

you halt, irritation surging. “what? what, what? what do you want?” your voice is strong and sharp, turning around to face him.

he stops in front of you and winces at the stains on your clothes, and he glances up at the doors of the restrooms when he realizes you probably should clean it off your arms and chest at least.

“i know you’re upset, but—” he begins, concern lacing his words.

“upset? you think that’s all it is?” you snap back, meeting his gaze. you actually feel insane with every word you release. “you don’t understand what this feels like.”

he looks confused, searching your eyes for clarity. “what?”

taking a deep breath to calm yourself as best as you can, you continue, “do you have any idea how humiliating it is to notice everyone stop talking and feel their eyes on you? and the moment you do get up and walk past them, all you can hear are their murmurs and whispers about how— how embarrassing this all is? it’s suffocating!”

he opens his mouth to respond, but you press on, frustration spilling out. “and it’s not even just about tonight. it’s about how it feels to find out your own fake boyfriend is keeping secrets from you and has been this whole time.”

his expression freezes, shock washing over his face. “what? keeping what from you?”

you consider your choices for a second before stepping forward to reach into his back pocket, but there he reacts—as swift as ever. like he has something to hide. and he does.

he grabs a hold of his phone before you can and when you look up at him, you can feel the guilt in his eyes. but seeing that doesn’t hurt you as much as it does when you understand how fast he is to keep his phone away from you.

you take a step back and feel yourself falter. tears well in your eyes as you watch the way he grips his phone like suddenly it matters to him. it never has before. and you know why it does now.

“so you do know what i’m talking about,” your voice is quiet, a mix of betrayal in your tone that causes drew to reach out to you to say ‘wait’.

“when in the last year did you turn into a child?” you whisper to him, a faint scoff leaving your lips as you stand before him. you’re confronting him in a hallway of a restaurant for crying out loud.

“when you make a plan with your ex-girlfriend, you make sure there isn’t somebody already waiting for you back home. you don’t get close to me while we’re here and you don’t keep it from me the whole time . . . i mean, when were you going to tell me? or tell mila?”

he shakes his head slowly, “i’m getting close with you for the others, remember? that’s our plan.”

“then you shouldn’t hold me and hug me when it’s just us, drew.”

his heart drops at the sound of his name, the familiarity twisting into something more painful in this moment. “y/n—”

“no, don’t ‘y/n’ me,” you cut him off, your voice rising. “you can’t just play both sides. if you’re going to keep secrets from me, then don’t pretend like we’re something we’re not when the rules don’t apply. it’s clearly more than just showing out in front of leila and everyone when it’s just us.”

“but it’s not like that,” he insists, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “we’re trying to make this work for everyone else!”

“for everyone else? or for yourself?” you ask him. “because i swear to you, if i had known mila existed, never in this universe would i have ever agreed to the plan. because it hurts all three of us. do you understand?”

you wait for him to say something—anything, but you’re not surprised when he just stares at you with the same look in his eyes.

it’s too much. way too much. and you still have so many things to say.

are you betrayed that your ex-boyfriend has someone new? are you even able to be mad at that?

“was it worth it?” your voice cracks as you struggle to get the words out. “i keep asking myself, was it worth it to feel so alive, even if it led to this? or would it have been easier if this just never happened at all and we just told them instead of doing all of this for fucking nothing.”

as the last words escape your lips, you push the restroom door open, leaving drew in the hallway in silence.

girl .. ill make a better confrontation in the next part or something what the fuck. im compiling a whole list of his mistakes rn so i can actually be prepared for it too LMAO

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @cl4uus @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy

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libraryofgage · 1 year

Text

Addams Family Steddie AU Part 2

Part two of the Addams Family Steddie AU from this post! Anyway, here are five times Eddie gave Steve a gift plus one particularly special gift Steve gave him in return

I'll be honest, this one really got away from me LMAO

Also, @xjessicafaithx asked to be tagged if there was a part two so here ya go! I have a few more ideas for this AU so there might be more parts later too lol

One~

Steve is idly flipping through the mail he just pulled out of the mailbox, delaying his return to the house where Dustin is currently screaming about dice rolls over a Discord call, when he feels someone staring at him. His shoulders tense, and his grip on a junk letter creases the envelope as he looks up.

Crouching on the walkway leading up to a pitch-black house, elbows resting on his knees and a covered plate in his hands, is Eddie Munson. He's staring straight at Steve, eyes practically boring through him. When he realizes Steve has noticed him, Eddie perks up and balances the plate in one hand so he can wave with the other.

Steve hesitates before flashing an unsure smile and waving back. He thinks of the recently-washed plate that held the arsenic and chocolate chip cookies currently in his kitchen, waiting to be returned. Maybe he can return it now?

While he's thinking, Eddie has apparently taken the wave as permission to pop to his feet and walk over. And, well, he isn't wrong. It's not like Steve immediately started walking away after waving; he just kept standing there, locked in place by neighborly social conventions and Eddie's intense gaze.

"Good morning, Stevie," Eddie says, flashing that too-sharp grin at Steve as he leans on the mailbox. "You're looking particularly ravishing today."

"Ravishing?"

Eddie slowly looks him up and down, his eyes dragging along Steve's figure before finally letting their gazes meet once more. "Good enough to eat, really," Eddie replies, leaning in a little closer and making Steve's heart race with something that could be fear but is more likely embarrassment. Not that he wants to admit that. So, fear it is.

Steve laughs awkwardly and leans back, looking away and blaming the heat in his cheeks on the sun. "Uh, thanks. You, uh, look nice too," he says, glancing back at Eddie to take in the ripped jeans and short-sleeved black button-down (is that silk? It looks like silk) and chunky rings shaped like bats and skulls and coffins and wow, Eddie's fingers are kind of long.

Thankfully, Steve is saved from his mind wandering too far by Eddie shoving the covered plate into his hands. It's a familiar motion, and Steve almost laughs at it. "Thanks, sweetheart," Eddie says, letting his fingers brush across the back of Steve's hands before pulling away. "Anyway, Wayne baked more last night before communing with some spirits. He made too many eye of newt brownies, and I thought you'd enjoy them."

Steve blinks, looking down at the plate in his hands. "Eye of newt?" he asks, curiously lifting the tin foil to see perfectly normal-looking brownies inside.

"Yeah, they're to die for," Eddie says, his grin widening as he pushes off the mailbox and leaves Steve with a plate of brownies and a confusing feeling in his chest.

Two~

"She likes meatballs."

Steve blinks, staring at the concerningly large Venus Fly Trap in El's hands. Behind her, Eddie is smirking at him, holding his sister's shoulders and giving Steve an expectant look as El holds the flower pot out to him. The pot itself is also concerningly large for how she's holding it, and Steve can't stop himself from quickly taking the pot so she doesn't strain her back any more than she already has.

He grunts at the sudden weight when she lets go but doesn't drop the pot. Instead, he carefully and gently places it on the ground, silently letting out a breath of relief as the plant sways slightly in the pot, brushing against his hip.

The two had caught Steve when he was getting out of his car, his entire body already feeling heavy from work. His plan had been to go inside, do his best to not fall asleep standing in the shower, make Dustin dinner, and then pass out in bed until his alarm woke him again in the morning.

But instead, El had run over to him the moment he got out of his car, cheeks slightly flushed with excitement as she offered him the plant. Eddie had leisurely followed her over, amusement clear on his face as he watched Steve's brain struggle to catch up.

"Doesn't she eat flies?" Steve asks, looking down at the plant. For some reason, he feels like it's staring back at him.

El shakes her head. "Flies are not big enough. You should feed her one pound of meatballs on Wednesday and Sunday."

Cool. Great. Perfectly normal. It's not like Steve has had a Venus Fly Trap before, so he can't contest that. "Why are you giving her to me?" he asks, tearing his eyes away from the plant to look at El.

"Aunt Morticia took cuttings of her Cleopatra and sent us a few," El says, her tone implying that should be more than enough explanation.

Steve's expression, however, surely says differently. Thankfully, Eddie picks up on it and leans forward over El. "She'll make a great guard plant for you and Dustin, Stevie. Plus, she's almost as good a listener as I am," he explains, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, pointedly ignoring the second part of that explanation. "Does she have a name yet?"

"Nix," El tells him.

"Nix?"

"Yeah. Stevie," Eddie says, pointing at him before pointing to the plant and saying, "Nix. Because you said you like Fleetwood Mac."

Yeah, Steve did say that, but it was in passing, and he didn't think Eddie had actually heard him say it or paid any attention. It was said to Dustin while they were walking to the car, and Eddie had just happened to be sitting on his porch at the time.

But he did pay attention. And now he and El have given Steve and Dustin a plant whose name is a reference to Fleetwood Mac. Steve can't help a smile, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than just ten minutes ago. "Thanks, I know Dustin will love her, too," he says, feeling blinded by the tiny smile from El and the full-on grin from Eddie.

Three~

Nix likes to get sun, but she doesn't like being in the sun for too long. She also doesn't like staying still in the sun; she prefers to be moved around constantly, never staying in one spot for more than a minute if she's particularly patient. She also prefers to go on a sun walk right after eating her pound of meatballs.

These are things Steve learns over the course of three weeks through trial and error that often resulted in Nix snapping shut around his arm whenever he didn't immediately do as she liked. Steve had never heard of a plant having a personality before (especially not such a temperamental one), but he's come to find it endearing. Plus, carrying Nix around the yard does make for an effective workout.

So, on a very hot Sunday at the very end of June, Steve is carrying Nix around his backyard. Her pot is in his arms, sweat is dripping down his back, and Nix is helpfully trying to shade his head from the sun using her...head? Steve actually isn't sure what to call the top part of her. Is it a mouth?

"It's called a lobe."

Steve jumps, his grip on Nix's pot tightening as he whips his head around and sees Eddie crouching on the fence dividing their yards. He isn't even sure how Eddie manages it, considering how narrow the fence is, but he's also stopped trying to figure it out.

"What is?" he asks.

Eddie hops down, walking over to Steve and carefully taking Nix out of his hands. He continues walking around the backyard, and Steve doesn't even question following him. "This," Eddie says, pointing to the top of Nix's head. "This is called a lobe."

"How'd you..."

"You had a curious expression and were looking at Nix."

"You know my curious expression?"

Eddie looks over at Steve, a smile pulling at his lips and his eyes softening some, and Steve suddenly feels like he's drowning in the ocean and floating among the clouds. "I know all your expressions, Stevie," Eddie tells him.

Steve feels seen and terrified and...and utterly under whatever spell Eddie has spent the past few months carefully casting. He doesn't say anything about it, though. Instead, he rather dumbly says, "Oh."

The smile widens, and Steve finds himself wondering not for the first time what it would feel like to run his tongue over Eddie's too-sharp canines. "By the way, I got something for you, Stevie."

Steve blinks, watching as Eddie easily cradles Nix's pot in one arm and reaches into his back pocket. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's going to pull out his dagger again. Last time, he'd placed it in Steve's hand and very seriously told him, "If you ever see me on the verge of death, take this dagger and stab it through my heart. I'd rather die by your hand than whatever else got to me first." He'd then showed Steve where he kept it, his smile bright despite his words leaving Steve speechless.

Eddie does not, in fact, pull out a dagger. He pulls out a tiny, leatherbound journal. The journal is black like everything else the Munson family owns, and a heart is carefully painted onto the cover with two skulls looking outwards and meeting at the jaws to create the heart's point.

Steve slowly takes the journal, the cover feeling soft under his thumb, and he looks up at Eddie. His confusion is made even stronger when he sees his bashful expression. Eddie uses his free hand to tug on a lock of his hair, habitually hiding his mouth behind it. "I, uh, write music, you know," he says, waiting for Steve to nod once before rushing out in one breath, "I wrote songs for you."

When the words actually register, Steve's eyes widen, and he cracks the journal open to a random page. Eddie's familiar scratchy handwriting crosses the paper. Steve can only just see a line about the arrows of fate and burning stars before Eddie's hand covers the page. "Maybe, uh, maybe read them later."

Steve easily agrees, and Eddie quickly changes the subject. After finishing Nix's walk around the garden, Eddie helps Steve return her to her room and returns himself to his own home. Steve watches Eddie through the window, waiting for him to go inside before opening the journal once more and finding the page Eddie had covered.

i'll throw myself before the arrows of your fate// take all your misfortune as the gift it is// piercing my ribs as you burn brighter than stars// unhindered by the despair i have stolen for myself

Four~

Eddie's hand is warm in Steve's as he leads him up the stairs of the Munson home. The halls are dimly lit by old lanterns whose flames make shadows dance across the walls, and Steve finds them more romantic than creepy. When they reach the attic, Eddie stops at the door. "Okay, some of them don't look like normal bats," he says, turning to look at Steve.

"Are you giving me one of the normal ones?"

Eddie nods once. "Yeah, the demobats are too unpredictable, and the hivemind doesn't help. You wanted one bat, not a swarm."

Steve hums softly, leaning closer and placing his free hand on Eddie's chest, right over his heart. "I would accept a swarm if you gave it to me, babe," he says, smiling reassuringly at Eddie.

His words are rewarded with an arm around his waist, holding him closer like Eddie wants to pull Steve under his skin and hold him in the spaces between his bones. "But I wouldn't get nearly as much attention then, Stevie," he replies, punctuating each word with tiny pecks that begin at his forehead, follow the bridge of his nose, and end on his lips in a lingering kiss.

Steve almost loses himself in it, but he'd rather not get carried away where Wayne or El could catch them. So he begrudgingly pulls away, playfully reaching up and tugging one of Eddie's locks when he pouts. "You know you're dearer to me than all the bats in the world, Eddie. Now, which bat is mine?"

Eddie's pout immediately becomes a grin, and he opens the attic door. It's dark as night in the room, the only lights coming from red eyes staring at them from the ceiling. Eddie keeps his arm around Steve's waist, keeping him close as he shortly whistles three times. A screech sounds from the ceiling, followed by the flapping of wings and a bat flying out to land on Eddie's outstretched arm.

With his foot, Eddie shuts the door as he holds the bat in front of Steve so he can get a better look. The bat is small, no more than three inches, and its nose looks vaguely like an upside-down heart. It tilts its head, studying Steve in return as it shifts on Eddie's hand. "Isn't she cute?" Eddie asks.

Steve smiles and holds his hand out to the bat, a few seconds passing before she moves from Eddie to him. "Yeah, she's really cute," he says as she surveys her new spot. She shifts a few times before pushing off Steve's hand and flying to his shoulder. She settles close to his neck, a warm softness against his skin partially hidden by his hair. And then she chirps, sounding like the squeaking of sneakers on a gym floor.

"She's an African heart-nosed bat," Eddie explains, starting to pull Steve down the stairs again. "They're very territorial, and they mark their territory by singing."

"Is that what she's doing?" Steve asks, raising his free hand to gently brush a finger against her head. She humors the touch for a few seconds before gently nipping his finger, not breaking the skin but clearly getting across that he shouldn't touch her anymore.

"Yep," Eddie says, grinning at Steve. "So, what are you gonna name her?"

Five ~

Hulyet buries herself in Steve's hair as he stares at the floor-length black dress Eddie holds up. She apparently picks up on Steve's confusion and slight concern, decides something is invading their territory, and begins singing aggressively in Eddie's direction.

The sudden squeaks and chirps break Steve out of his confusion, and he can't help a laugh. He reaches up, gently stroking her back to reassure her that everything is fine, and asks Eddie, "What's with the dress?"

"All Hallow's Eve is approaching," Eddie says, "I thought we could go as Dracula and his bride."

"Am I the bride?"

Eddie pauses, looking at the dress for a moment before looking back at Steve. "I haven't figured that out yet," he admits. "If you don't want to be the bride, I don't mind it."

Steve blinks, suddenly realizing this is Eddie trying to plan a couple's costume for Halloween. A familiar warmth floods through him, and he can't help smiling. He studies the dress, coming to the conclusion that he doesn't mind wearing it. For Eddie, of course.

Well, actually, he also thinks it looks hot.

"Okay. Let me try it on," he says, holding out his hands. Eddie lights up, handing over the dress and looking at Steve expectantly.

Well, there goes changing in the bathroom. Steve sighs, feels relieved he wore briefs, and strips down. Hulyet grips tighter to his hair as he moves, chirping once in indignation before settling once more as Steve wiggles his way into the dress.

It's tight, but not overly so. The material hugs curves Steve didn't even know he had, and the neckline plunges between his pecs and stretches into off-shoulder sleeves. The very bottom of the dress flares outward in a spiderweb pattern formed by lace. He takes a few experimental steps, relieved to find his movement isn't too restricted by the dress and fascinated to discover the spiderweb at the bottom stays perfectly spread out.

"How's it look?" Steve asks, turning to Eddie only to find that he'd moved right behind him at some point. He startles, taking a step back and getting his foot caught on the back of the dress. Before he can hit the floor, though, Eddie catches him, arms around his waist and holding him in a dip.

Steve's heart is pounding against his ribs, his breath short as he tightly grips Eddie's jacket collar and tries to ignore Hulyet painfully yanking on his hair. Eddie grins at him and says, "You look enchanting, Stevie. I would have fallen on my knees to worship you if you didn't beat me to the falling part."

Steve snorts and relaxes his grip, sliding his arms around Eddie's neck instead. "How long are you planning to hold me like this?" he asks.

"I could hold you as the world burns to ash around us. Even after we die and have decomposed, our skeletons will still be wrapped around each other, forever locked together."

From anyone else, Steve thinks he would worry about being murdered. But from Eddie, Steve just thinks it's one of the most romantic things he's ever heard, right alongside everything else Eddie has ever said to him. "That sounds perfect," he says, happily smiling into the kiss Eddie gives him.

Plus One~

"Fucking hell, Steve, stop bothering me about this!"

Steve frowns at Dustin, slouching on the couch as he anxiously turns a velvet box over in his hands. Dustin is laid out on the floor with a bowl of cheese puffs, his head resting on Dart's back as the demodog naps. "You're such a supportive brother," Steve says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dustin scoffs and throws a cheese puff at Steve's head. "I was plenty supportive the first fifteen times! Just fucking give him the ring already," Dustin says, returning the stuck-out tongue that Steve sends him before looking down at his phone and typing something. "Dude, it's Eddie. You could give him a used soda can and he'd give it a fucking pedestal in his room."

Okay, yeah, Dustin has a point. That doesn't make Steve any less nervous, though. He forces himself to take a deep breath, pushing down his anxiety long enough to say, "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Literally, when have I ever been wrong, Steve?"

"Shut up."

Dustin flashes a grin just as Eddie's familiar rhythmic knock sounds against the door right before he opens the door. "By the way, I told Eddie to come over so you'd stop bothering me," Dustin tells him, his grin widening as Eddie saunters into the room.

"All right, gremlin," Eddie says, nudging Dustin with his foot, "get out."

As Dustin practically bolts from the room, Dart right on his heels, Steve decides he's going to make zucchini spaghetti for dinner so Dustin is forced to suffer through vegetables.

"So, whatcha got there, Stevie?" Eddie asks, perching on the couch next to Steve and looking pointedly at the box in his hands.

Well, there's no escaping it now.

Steve takes one more deep breath and opens the box. He pulls out the ring inside and presents it to Eddie. It's smaller than the rings he normally wears, but the sterling silver band is engraved with bat wings and an anatomical heart is carved into the garnet on top. A small, almost imperceptible clasp can be found just under the garnet. "I found it at an antique store with El and Max," Steve explains. He hesitates before carefully pushing the clasp to reveal a compartment just beneath the garnet. "It's one of those poison rings."

Eddie is uncharacteristically silent as he takes the ring, carefully shutting the compartment so he can turn it over in his hands. Once he's fully inspected the band and garnet, he pushes on the clasp and studies the size of the compartment. Finally, he slips the ring onto his left ring finger, his sharp canines coming into full view as he grins. "Yes, of course."

"Uh, yes what?"

"You're proposing, and I'm saying yes," Eddie explains, taking Steve's hand and bringing it to his lips. He kisses Steve's palm before lightly dragging his teeth over it, and Steve thinks he shows incredible character growth by not jerking his hand away.

His brain catches up a few seconds later. "Wait, proposing? This wasn't...I just...we've only been dating for three months?"

Eddie hums softly in agreement, sliding Steve's hand to his cheek and leaning into the touch. "I know," he says, "We've shown incredible restraint so far. Most Munsons get married within weeks of meeting their loves."

Honestly, that doesn't surprise Steve at all. Who could resist the Munson charm? Who could say no to the all-consuming devotion that shows no sign of ever fading? Steve's mouth suddenly feels dry. "Right," he mumbles, gently brushing his thumb over Eddie's cheek, "That, um, that's just a little fast, I think."

Eddie's smile doesn't fade one bit. He just nods, his eyes glowing with understanding and love and Steve's weakening resolve practically crumbles when Eddie says, "That's okay, Stevie. As long as I can see you and be near you, I don't care about anything else. You could put a knife through my heart, and I'd thank you for the chance to get a closer look at your eyes."

Steve...Steve is fucking weak. He abandons any idea of maintaining a distance between them, climbing into Eddie's lap and kissing the cheek he isn't holding. "It's not an engagement ring, but...but consider it an engaged-to-be-engaged ring," he says, the words feeling ridiculous as he speaks them.

But that doesn't matter because Eddie practically lights up. "Is that a promise? That we're engaged to be engaged?" he asks.

"Yeah," Steve says, his voice soft, "Just wait at least three more months before you propose, okay?"

Eddie's grin gets even wider, and he presses a searing kiss to Steve's lips, leaving him breathless and light-headed and absolutely sure Eddie is already planning his proposal.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #addams family au #addams! Eddie Munson #dustin henderson #el hopper #hulyet is yiddish for howl btw #addams family steddie #addams family romance my beloved #my writing

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mingsolo · 1 month

Text

Say My Name

incubus!hongjoong x f!reader / genre: demon au, supernatural au, smut, romance / warnings: alcohol intake, cursing, clingy woosan, manifestation of paranormal activities, f! masturbation, sex toys, an almost hook up, scaredy cat mingi, pet names (love), the word kill used in threatening context, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), oral f!receiving, , squirting, creampie / wc: 7k, r: 21+

done for my beloved @flurrys-creativity 666 milestone from two years ago! yep. another repost im too proud to let go. and idc this is a supernatural/halloween themed party, we celebrate summerween in this household from now on!

Another boring Halloween night indoors.

You wanted to do something fun, but most of your friends told you they were “too old to costume parties” and left you without plans for the night, so just like last year, you were bound to spend Halloween night laying on the couch watching another mainstream horror film that will be as bad as the previous one.

Doing just that, sipping straight from the wine bottle, because there was no one to impress after all, you emptied what was left of the liquid, hoping it made you drunk enough to lose the critical thinking from your brain and enjoy this plot-less movie.

The doorbell rang, interrupting your mental count of how many cliche moments had been in the film already. You look at the hour surprised to check it was barely past nine. Dragging your feet to your door, you checked the peephole to find your friends San and Wooyoung standing next to each other, San kissing Wooyo’s cheek, as clingy as ever.

“Hey hey, don’t be mushy in my house!” you shouted, opening the door, to which San abruptly let go of Wooyoung’s ass. “Let’s not eat in front of the poor?.”

“Someone is really sensitive tonight.” San said, letting himself in, followed by Wooyoung who smiley showed you the two bottles of wine and packs of beer they had brought with them.

“Well I’m the most single person on earth, so I have the right to complain.” you sighed, dropping yourself on the couch same as you previously were.

“Very dramatic.” San arched his eyebrows, sitting on the carpeted floor next to you, opening the bag he was carrying.

“What are you doing here anyways, weren’t you going to a haunted house with those friends of your dance group?.”

“We did,” Wooyoung responded, opening the wine bottles in the kitchen, searching for something through your cabinets as if it were his own home. “But Mingi fainted half way through and the paramedics needed someone to accompany him while he was still zoned out, his apartment is on the other side of the city so there was no point in going back.”

“… And since we knew you were going to be here alone drowning in your own misery, we decided to come play with you with the little thing we bought at the gift shop.” San added, taking out a wooden board and placing it on your coffee table. “Tadda!.”

“A Ouija board?, really?.” You rolled your eyes at the thing. You have played with them in the past, a few times in fact, and nothing interesting ever has come out of it.

“It’ll be more fun than sitting on your ass all night watching… that.” Wooyoung sat beside San, taking the remote and turning the TV off.

You scoffed, accepting the glass of wine Wooyoung handed to you. Sitting cross-legged next to San, with Wooyoung in the center of the other side, you sipped half glass, and placed your hands on the planchet as they did.

“Alexa, dim the lights to minimum.” Wooyoung shouted.

With the ambiance now up to Wooyoung’s Ouija board session standards, He closed his eyes and you and San did the same. The whole thing was silly, but it was better than what you were doing for sure.

“I’m now speaking to whoever demon or spirit that roams close to us tonight!” Wooyoung shouted so abruptly after a minute of silence that both you and San got startled, popping both your eyes open. “We meant no harm! we only want to communicate with you.”

San and you were containing the laughter, which Wooyoung noticed giving you both a sharp glare. You catched San looking at his boyfriend so earnestly that you felt your heart ache a little, they really were in love with each other. It made you happy and melancholic at the same time. How much you wished you too had someone.

“Please! Manifest to us, give us a sign that you can hear our calling.” Wooyoung continued, the tone of his voice becoming louder with each sentence.

“Wooyo shut it, the neighbors will complain about…”

Your words were interrupted by the piece you and your friends were holding slowly moving to the “H” marker.

“gET oUT!” Wooyoung giggled excitedly. San let go of your hand to put a fist in over his lips, failing to repress a high pitched Oooooh.

“H? So there is someone here with us,” Wooyoung closed his eyes without dropping a smile. “So tell us your name then, I’m Wooyoung, that’s San, and the sulky one is Y/n,”

“Shut up!” you replied annoyed, letting go of both their hands, but they quickly grabbed them again, putting them back. Just as you were to keep complaining, you got interrupted again by the marker making your hands move to the “O” letter, then “N” next “G”, until it spelled a complete name- Hongjoong.

“Who the fuck is Hongjoong?.”

“The demon, woman!” Wooyoung squeaked.

“Ok that’s enough you almost had me,” you let go of them and stand up, taking the glass of wine with you.

“You are no fun.” San pouted, taking a sip himself.

“Y/n comeback, you need to say goodbye to the demon or else it will stay here with you!.” Wooyoung whined again.

“Well I’m kind of lonely, so welcome home, HOngJoOng!” you mocked, raising your glass to the air, finishing it in one shot. Both your friends interchanged worried but amused glares. They then took the marker again, saying their goodbyes to the supposed demon, and set the board aside.

The rest of the night went without any more talk about the Ouija board. You ordered pizza and watched random horror YouTube videos while finishing the booze your friends had brought.

San and Wooyoung left your apartment around two in the morning. Despite having tried to tease you with the demon thing, you enjoyed having them over tonight and were grateful they decided to show up so you could have some fun on Halloween night.

“You really spooked her with the demon thing,” San chuckled, while he and his boyfriend waited for their uber downstairs at your apartment building.

“What do you mean?” Wooyoung asked, yawning widely.

“By moving the board to spell that name, where did you hear that anyway?”

“That wasn’t you?.” Wooyoung suddenly got very awake. His posture getting painfully straight.

“No.”

Both looked straight into nothing, a sudden breeze running through their backs, cold and intrusive.

“She didn’t say goodbye to it.” Wooyoung mumbled, as the uber arrived in front of them.

That night you went to sleep right after your friends left. Drowsy thanks to the alcohol, you started snorting as soon as your head hit the pillow. That’s how you didn’t notice the lights on the whole apartment flickering all night until you woke up later that morning.

Over the next couple of weeks, something started to change in your apartment.

Small stuff at first, like things you swear to have left in certain places, appearing on others. Then, things that disappeared completely. You started thinking the stress of working extra hours was messing with you, so you decided to complete your shifts normally and go to sleep at early hours trying to get more rest, but this didn’t end whatever weird thing was happening.

On top of that, every time you went out with your friends, you were reminded how single you were and it was starting to be really annoying. Of course you were happy for them, but you would be lying if you didn’t wonder what was about you that was impossible for you to get with someone. Hell, even a one night stand was starting to sound good at this point.

Sadly, your work was just entering its demanding season, with you having to stay late again and unable to go out as often, so even that wasn’t on the table right now.

Besides, the stuff going on in your apartment continued to worsen. The more you paid attention, the more weird things happened, and it was coming to the point where you couldn’t keep ignoring it. Every day, the presence of someone living with you was more tangible. It was as subtle as feeling a stare over you, while cooking, working or even taking a shower. Creepy shadows behind the curtains or sudden shivers on your spine, as if someone was standing behind you.

It all started on Halloween night, you knew it had to do something with that stupid Ouija board but you weren’t going to admit it. Doing that was accepting it was real, and then who knew what this thing could do.

A couple of months living like this, you started to feel more at ease, ignoring all signals, convinced that whoever was living with you, wouldn’t hurt you, or it would have done it already, besides that, the little time you spend in your apartment was sleeping, so what would the spirits or whatever was inside your home do?.

One particular evening, you got this urge to do a deep cleaning of your home, so you spent a big part of the night looking through stuff stacked in your closet. At the top of one shelf, you found a shoe box, with old cards and random objects, one of them being a rubber item with the shape of a teardrop, your forgotten vibrator. Your eyes pop open when you instantly remember having bought the thing last year, pressured by your friend Yeri, who told you “every girl needed one” as if it was a lip tint or favorite perfume.

You took the vibrator to the bathroom, and cleaned it neatly with some body wash. After drying it completely, you took the charger and connected it, pressing your lips together when the white light showed on, telling you it worked.

You didn’t remember why you stopped using it, or when was the last time you did, but right now you were happy to have found it.

After finishing with the usual night routine, you were ready for bed. Throwing an old shirt over your head you were about to put on your worn out pajamas, when your eyes landed on the toy laying on your nightstand.

“Well fuck it.” you said to yourself, throwing the pajamas away and taking in your hands. You lay onto the bed, pressing the + button to which the thing began to vibrate with slow repetitions. You pressed the same button again and it started vibrating continuously, now faster. Quickly you removed your underwear, closing your eyes, pressing the vibrator on the spot between your legs. It was cold and the vibrations made you gasp a little, sending a twirl of sensations right after it touched your skin.

Slowly you began pressing it harder, building up the sensation, making your legs relax, opening more and more to give access to your entrance, until it was placed right on the spot where it could begin sinking inside you.

Lost in the pleasure, you began moving the thing automatically in circles, up and down until it was half way inside you, making your legs shake and the knot in your stomach build up quickly. Either the toy was surprisingly efficient, or it had been so long since you experienced an orgasm that in mere minutes you were too worked up and ready to let go.

Moaning softly, the same time you were riding your release, you clearly felt the sensation of something making pressure on the bed at your feet, as if someone was sitting on it. You got startled at how clearly it felt, all while your orgasm continued to hit you until the sensation started to wash away. You opened your eyes, noticing the lights in the room quickly flickering, stopping immediately as your vision cleared.

Ignoring the lights issue for your well being, you placed the vibrator on top of your nightstand, too worn out over your first orgasm in weeks. Having no energy left you barely threw a blanket over you, completely relaxed.

The next morning you woke up refreshed, a sensation that didn’t last long as soon as you looked at the clock.

“Oh fuck!.”

It was way past nine, and you were already late for work. You rubbed your eyes to get rid of the motion to close them again, noticing your blanket wasn’t over you. You were half naked and uncovered, and it made you shiver. The wind from outside makes your curtains move, letting you know your window was open when you were sure you left it closed, same as you knew you were wearing underwear before falling asleep.

Whatever the case, you didn’t have the time to contemplate that right now. You clumsily got up and ran to the bathroom, got into the shower, throwing whatever clothes you saw first and leaving for work before your boss decided to send you back and take out a considerable amount from your weekly paycheck.

After that the day continued to be awful. Your boss had waited for you to scold you for coming in late, the clients you saw that afternoon were a pain in the ass and you had to skip lunch in order to finish something someone else didn’t do on time.

Besides, there was something on the back of your mind. You remembered the sensation of someone sitting at the foot of your bed, the lights acting weird, the missing underwear, the window… It was starting to feel kind of dangerous. But even by having all those things on your head, plus the work stuff, the only thing that could possibly help you relax was to go home to your toy, as desperate as it sounded.

That evening, you felt something was particularly off the moment you stepped foot into the apartment. The presence in your home felt heavy and oppressive. It felt as if whatever it was, was right there waiting for you, you just couldn’t see it. It wanted attention, and you weren’t going to give in.

Acknowledging it was accepting it was real. And you weren’t ready for that.

A few weeks into the paranormal stuff going on in your apartment, you could almost say it was becoming the new normal. The thing in your house wanted your attention, but so far it hasn’t done anything to directly hurt you. It was as if it was presenting you an endurance test, and you were decided to win.

A particular thing you noticed was that on the nights you decided to play with yourself, it seemed to trigger this thing even more.

The windows slammed louder and repeatedly, the tv turned on and off nonstop, your bedroom stuff fell off their places. All while you could clearly feel someone hovering over you, breathing beside you. At one point you even felt fingers caressing your skin as you did, and you swore you must check yourself into a mental facility but the sensation of being watched gave you a push, something new you didn’t know you enjoyed so much.

It was crazy, but it felt so good.

This is how it went for another month, until one night a few days before new years eve.

It was a Friday when you and your friends met up at a new club close downtown.

San and Wooyoung picked you up, and together you entered the club waiting to meet with another couple of friends from their dance group. Yeri and her girlfriend were already inside, waiting for you.

The night was going on great, you spent the time since arriving dancing with San and Yeri, drinking and having a good time, so good that you even forgot about the crazy stuff happening at your house. One moment as you asked for a martini at the counter, Wooyoung reached out to you with a devilish smirk on his lips, and you knew it was trouble.

“I can tell you are scheming something.” you said glaring at him, waiting for your drink.

“I have someone who wants to meet you.” He said with a teasing tone.

“Who?.”

“My friend Mingi, he’s been wanting to talk to you but you just haven’t stopped dancing with Yeri since he got here.”

“Mingi?, isn’t that the dude that fainted at the haunted house?.”

Wooyoung arched his eyebrows, his smirk so big that you felt like slapping him out of his face.

“Wooyo, he sounds like a wi…” You swallowed your words as a shadow approached you both, showing a guy half chest and head taller than Wooyoung, coming out from behind him.

To say he was handsome was an understatement, cause was gorgeous. Sharp eyes and nose, beautiful plump lips. His hair was styled up, dark with shades of blue on the sides, shining from the lights on the ceiling.

“Hello,” He spoke with the deepest voice that you’ve heard, so clear despite the loud noise of the music and people around you.

“Y/n, this is Mingi,” Wooyoung said with an irritating tone, “You were saying he sounds like a whi-”

“Nice to meet you,” you waved at him, pushing Wooyoung back softly. He let out his particular loud witchy laugh but took the hint and walked out back to the rest of your friends.

Mingi nodded, smiling as he looked at you straight into the eyes.

This Mingi you were talking to didn’t seem like the type to faint in haunted houses.

As you two chatted, he was confident, cool and very interesting. You spoke and danced with him for a good amount of time, admiring how much of a natural he was. You were so at ease that you completely ignored your friends, knowing they were happy to see you getting along with someone.

“We will be opening a show later this month,” Mingi spoke softly, practically whispering in your ear, as you danced with him so close you could feel the friction of his muscles over your chest, his hand resting firmly on your waist. “Would you like to come up backstage and cheer us on?, And maybe go out with me after?.”

You smiled like a dumb high school girl nodding your head yes, but you didn’t care. Mingi smiled too, hiding his flustered cheeks looking up at the ceiling.

God not only he was hot but so freaking cute.

When the song was about to end you asked Mingi to take a break to get more drinks. Mingi ordered a beer and a cocktail for you. Drinks in hand, you bit your lip, watching him lick his, savoring the rest of the beer on them. You knew what you were about to ask was maybe too rushed, but fuck he looked incredible hot and you were already tipsy from the alcohol. Inviting him over to your apartment was too tempting to let it go. And by the way he was eyeing you from head to toe all night, you knew he also wanted it.

Just as you were about to say the words, Mingi shuts you up by pressing his lips into yours, softly at first, the kiss slowly becoming more hungry.

Your hands went to his chest, roaming through his muscles until you reached the back of his head. Mingi let go a soft spoken growl, that with his deep tone sounded even more hot. You stood up from the stool, placing yourself between his legs and continued kissing him, his lips were so soft that you wanted that kiss to last forever until there was no more left of them.

You bit his bottom lip and you could feel his bulge hardening by having him so close. It was now or never.

“Want to get out of here?.”

Mingi smiled against your mouth, taking your lips just as you did before and grabbing you by the waist so he could stand up, leading you by the hand between the people dancing and shouting on the dance floor.

Before leaving you sent a text to Yeri, to inform your friends you were leaving with Mingi, to which she responded with a smirk, eggplant and teardrop emojis, making you laugh out loud.

Mingi asked for your address and called an Uber, you two kissing softly outside the club the entire time until the car arrived.

The ride home was too long in your opinion, not wanting to waste more time. Your mind wonders the things Mingi would do to you, having seen how good he moved on the dance floor, you could only imagine how he would move in your bed.

Just as you arrived at the front door, Mingi hugged you from behind, his large hands roaming through your hips and ass, pressing gently but firmly. You giggled and wished he wasn’t so playful right now because it was taking too long for you to get the right key.

When you finally entered your apartment, he slightly pushed you against the wall, making you feel his length on your stomach, while his tongue explored all of your mouth.

“You look too good.” He breathed on your neck and you could feel the warmth in your lower abdomen, the space between your legs aching for some touch. Mingi seemed to read your mind by the way one of his hands went to touch your sensitive spot, fingers toying with the fabric of your underwear, teasing your entrance.“Want me to keep talking?.”

You were already so wet for him and you smiled proudly seeing how his eyes dropped lazily, anticipation shining on them. He kissed you one more time, sliding his fingers beneath your cloth, when suddenly you felt it…

The presence, it was there.

The vibe in the apartment shuffled instantly. Mingi didn’t seem to notice but you did, and you gasped out loud when something grabbed Mingi’s hand between your legs away, making him break the kiss, and look at you in confusion.

“Are you ok? You want to stop?.”

You wanted to say no, that you didn’t throw his hand away, but you didn’t have the time to.

The sudden stomp of your front door slamming open by itself made Mingi jump pack, and you pressed yourself against the wall. Then your kitchen cabinets opened and closed repeatedly, the contents inside of them popping out falling into the floors making a mess.

“What the fuck?!” Mingi screamed, pressing himself against the wall too. The look on his face was of someone so terrified that he will probably have a hard time adjusting to normal life again.

“Mingi…” you tried to calm him down but it was no use.

He fainted halfway at the Haunted House. You remembered. You suddenly got scared what would happen if he died right here in your apartment.

Your windows then open at unison, making your curtains fly high into the ceiling, the cold air from outside making your magazines and lightweight items fly around as if a little tornado had born inside your home.

“Nah fuck this…” Mingi said to you barely audible, hands over his chest. You tried to get close to him but he walked back, scared of you. “Fuck this!!.” He repeated, his glare changed into that one of a scared puppy. Then he sprinted through the already opened door, which slammed shut behind him.

The flying objects, slamming doors and cabinets and all the shit happening around you stopped as soon as Mingi walked away. You stood still for a few seconds, gathering your thoughts and trying to collect yourself, but you realized you have gone past beyond that.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?.”

You shouted at the air, the anger built up from months ready to explode from your body.

“I know you are listening! what the fuck was that?!”

You waited for a response, a cracking door, a flickering light, but nothing.

“So now you don’t want to do anything huh?!,” you walked in circles in your living room, trying to provoke whatever this thing was. You knew it was there, invisible as always, watching you, mocking you. “So now what?, you screw my fuck over? And then you go silent?!”

Still nothing.

“I’ve had enough, Fuck you!” you whined, the anger now becoming frustration. “And who’s going to clean this mess up, motherfucker?” you were crying shamelessly, kicking the first thing your foot could reach, hurting your foot a little in the motion. A brown wooden box slid off, landing in front of your coffee table. “This is ?...”

Walking over to it, you crouched and opened the Ouija board your friends had left in your apartment since that Halloween night. You walked towards it as if it was going to explode at any second, bending over to reach it, carefully placing both hands on the marker. As soon as your fingers touched the piece, it violently began moving - first to the letter “H”, then the “O”, next an “N”… until you said what it spelled. “Hongjoong.”

Just as you finished saying his name you felt a violent gust of cold air behind you, and a soft spoken voice dragging his words, whispering right over your ear.

“Fucking finally.”

You have thought countless times what would you do if you had whatever that was hunting you in the flesh, so to speak. You had imagined yourself screaming, running away _ the poor Mingi, you didn’t blame him for doing so. But right now, what you had in front of you wasn’t anything you would have expected.

The figure of a man crouching beside you, his face was what you saw first. You froze, admiring his features, and god he was magnificent.

Pointy nose, seemingly carved to perfection. Large almond eyes, shaped like that of a red fox, that were now eyeing your own face, almost earnestly. Pouty lips, pink in shade and soft looking. Ashy blonde hair falling into most of his forehead. His face alone was stunning and he seemed to notice your staring.

“I could look at you all night too, but I have better plans, my dear Y/n.”

He helped you stand up, grabbing your chin between his long fingers as he did. His outfit was weird, and it seemed heavy but it accentuated his slim but toned figure.

“You were the thing making all these weird things all this time?.” You asked, your tone way calmer and softer than the shouting and cursing you were doing moments before.

He chuckled dryly, leaving your face and walking away, watching the mess in your living room visibly amused. “Do I look like a thing?,” he said, picking up the Ouija board from the floor, chuckling and throwing it over the couch.

“No- I mean…”

“I had to mess up your stuff, and even that way it took so long to say my name for the third time,” He walked over to you again, and you instinctively walked back. “I’ve thrown this thing many times at you and you always ignored it.” He eyed the Ouija board again. “Hope you have learned not to bring anyone over ever again, sorry your friend shit his pants.” Hongjoong chuckled with malice, but you were unable to move or say something back. “You do it next time and I won’t be so gentle.”

“Gentle? You destroyed my apartment.” You replied bitterly, to which Hongjoong glared at you. You took a step back and he smiled again.

“Gentle meaning I won’t kill whoever you bring out next time.” He teased, and you felt a shiver down your spine. “Relax, I would have hurt you if I wanted to already.”

That was true.

“What do you want then?.”

Hongjoong smirked, finally the conversation was heading his way.

“You know what I want,” he came closer to you, his hand grabbing the hem of your dress, playing with it. “You know I like to watch you…” Immediately your mind went back to the nights when you pleased yourself, now having clear that it was him every time, leaning beside you, guiding you with his presence.

The thought made you feel incredibly aroused, you shook your head in denial. It was insane. Whoever he was, he didn’t belong to this world, yet he was right here in front of you. He looked and felt so real, and it was overwhelming.

Hongjoong got even closer, cupping your head with his fingers, black chrome shades painted on them. His touch was burning, it felt dark and forbidden, as if you needed to get out of his presence as soon as possible, or you would be sucked into something you wouldn’t be able to go back from.

“What’s wrong, love?,” He leaned to brush his lips into yours holding you by your waist with his free hand. “Don’t you want to play with me? We have waited for so long.”

Your eye level was almost the same as him, which let you look at him in the eyes as he brushed and softly licked your bottom lip with his tongue. Your lower abdomen was on fire, and by the way he made pressure with his fingers on your skin, you knew he could feel how worked up you were.

This felt wrong, off limits. But his aura was overpowering, and you needed this, he was right about that, you have waited maybe too fucking long.

“What happens after?,” you mumbled, closing your eyes as Hongjoong pressed gentle pecks on your neck, now both his hands sliding under your dress, making pressure between your thighs.

“After what?,” He continued kissing your neck and making his way between your legs, with force he lifted your leg up, so he could easily caress your entrance. You were damped already, Hongjoong scoffed at the feeling of your ruined underwear.

“After we-.”

“Why so prude?” He faced you again, brushing your pussy with his long fingers, so much bigger than your little damped spot. “After we fuck all night until you never think of someone else but me, ever again?.” He then slid his finger under the cloth and pushed his finger inside you, making you moan softly. Hongjoong didn’t wait for a response, instead pushed another two fingers inside, lifting you up first until you were sitting on your now empty desk. He curled his fingers, causing you to clench around them, which made him groan. His voice was so gentle and soft, and yet you could sense he might have sounded like it, but he wasn’t going to be.

Your whimpers and moans had him biting his lip, chasing your release knowing you wouldn’t resist much longer like this. Your arms were hung over his shoulders, eyes shut, your legs numb, lost in the sensation of his fingers playing with the softness of your clit.

“Oh, please…” you whined, pushing yourself deeper into his fingers, making Hongjoong groan in desperation.

“Fucking tease.” He growled, looking down exactly where his hand was connected with your entrance. “If this is how you feel around my fingers, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

His words made electricity run through your whole body. Is this some kind of magic, hex or something unnatural? How he has you like this by his fingers only. Whatever the case it was too much when he crocked his fingers hitting your sweet spot, making you jolt and moan with your face buried on his neck.

Hongjoong could feel your release dampening his fingers, and somehow knowing what you liked, he caressed the outside of your entrance so gently that the tingling sensation made your legs give up and you collapsed over him.

He carried you wrapping your legs around him, you tightly hugging him, too worn out to move.

“And that’s one.”

The short trip to your bed was enough for you to recover your breath, shaking as you hear what he said.

Hongjoong placed you at the center of the bed, letting you rest a little more, as he took out his flashy jacket, and began unbuttoning his black silk blouse. He stopped at the third button, showing you just a glimpse of his chest, soft and firm skin teasing you. He then unzipped his belt, giving you a show, how fucking delightful. You just came, but the knot on your lower stomach was building up again.

“I’ve seen that expression so many times,” His tone lowered this time, almost in a whisper. “Can’t believe I had to go through the pain of watching you do that to yourself, when I could have been fucking you every night just like I would do now.”

You were ashamed of how much his words affected you, your entrance dripping wet by the way he looked at you, how his words enveloped you. “Please…” you find yourself about to beg him to touch you, you desperately want him to be deep inside you, like you never wanted anyone before.

“Shhh.” Hongjoong lowered himself on the bed, placing himself between your legs, opening them slowly as he kissed your knees and legs with soft brushes of his lips. “For now I only want to hear your moans and whimpers, I want to hear the sound of my name while you scream it.”

You pressed your lips together, letting out a soft Hum that made Hongjoong chuckle.

“You better say it countless times, you have to make up for me, for all these months you refused to say it.” He then grabbed your underwear and ripped it off, throwing it to the side. He took a good look at you from behind your legs, sliding your dress up until you were exposed from your abdomen down.

You saw his eyes, glowing with a crimson tone in the darkness of the room and his black eye shadow. They shone brightly the more he stared at you until they disappeared as Hongjoong buried his face between your legs.

Hongjoong had wished for this moment for so long. Watching you had been both a torment and a blessing all these months.

It’s been so long since he had been summoned in the flesh, and the first time someone made him feel the need to really feel someone else’s skin, a vulnerable and delicate skin. You as a mortal were invaluable to him, because you wouldn’t just disappear and be a stranger to him as all of the demons, ghouls and entities he was accustomed to surrendered himself with, all of which had no substance or meaning, but again what did on his seemingly endless and pointless life anyway?. At least here he could watch over you, protect you.

He had realized how much of a domestic life he wanted. His past human self is still attached to this world, now finding comfort in you, his precious master.

But of course he wasn’t going to tell you that just yet, first he had to make you feel good, knowing perfectly how much you needed it.

You softly gasped when his lips brushed your entrance, he took his sweet time flickering over your pussy lips, savoring them. He licked your dripping slit with one long strip, making you clench and arch your back at the sensation.

Still sensitive from your previous high, you couldn’t hold back, unwinding slowly letting go of any inhibitions. Hongjoong smirked with his head buried in between your legs, proud of how you were losing control.

He was licking at a faster pace, up and down and then wiggling his tongue making you whimper loudly. Impulsively your hands went to his hair, making a mess out of it. You pushed your hips against his mouth, urging him to keep going, and he groaned against your pussy sending vibrations to your whole body. Hongjoong could feel his hardened length throbbing at how good you were taking his tongue. He needs to be inside you or he will come just by looking at you getting high on his mouth only.

“Hongjoong, please…” You threw your head back, your hips moving letting him burying his tongue deeper inside you, where he had no problem reaching your sensitive spot.

“Come for me again,” He whispered, going back to suck in your pussy right after.

Your whines and moans had gotten him so hard, his dick leaking already, desperate to be out of the restraint of his pants. Without letting your pussy alone, he skilfully removed his belt, dragging his pants down a little so his length could break free.

“Love, I want to taste it.”

He licked you from top to bottom before sucking in your little nest of nerves once more, to which you couldn’t resist longer. The explosion in your lower abdomen crushed you over. It was a hundred times more intense than the previous one, and you felt an unfamiliar sensation you never experienced before. Shocked, you saw your juices leak from you with a little splash, Hongjoong expertly making filthy noises as he sucked in the sweet release until there was none of it.

“Oh God… I-” you excused yourself, kind of embarrassed of what just happened.

Hongjoong licked his lips, and your pussy throbbed from the sight of him smiling devilish as he brushed his thumb over his lower lip.

“Bet your damned toy couldn’t do that huh?.”

He stood up finally removing his blouse, letting you admire his slim but toned figure. Then he pushed the rest of his pants down, his length in full display so hard and erect that it wobbled, and you could feel your pussy dripping once more. You couldn’t believe you weren’t drained out already.

“Take the dress off.”

You obeyed, sitting on the bed and unzipping the back of your dress, throwing it over your shoulders until it was completely off. Hongjoong let out a moan at the sight of your breast bouncing as you took the dress off, a sight he wouldn’t be tired of anytime soon. He then took his length on his hand, stroking it gently the same time he eyed your breast attentively. You adjusted yourself on the bed purposely making them bounce, to which Hongjoong let out a giggle full of devilish intent.

“Such a tease.”

You took a deep breath, watching him hovering over you until his face was in front of yours. He kissed you gently and slowly, both of you unable to keep your eyes open. He pressed himself beneath you until you were laying down in the bed again, making you feel his hardened length over your stomach. Your hands trailed the firmness of his chest, the warmth of his skin feeling so good against your palms. You then caressed his back, kissing him deeply as you never kissed anyone else before.

As you were lost in the pleasure of the kiss, Hongjoong took the chance to spread your legs apart with his knee, shifting from his position so he could align himself with your entrance.

He breaks the kiss apart, taking in a deep breath. You both opened your eyes as he slowly pushed himself inside you, so slowly it was almost as if he was punishing you. When he was finally inside you, he stood still looking at your face, your eyes dropping lazily unable to keep them open.

Him stretching you out was the most exquisite sensation you have experienced probably ever, it felt so intimate and personal, as if your body had been waiting for him to fill you up like this.

When he was sure you had adjusted to him, he began moving, slowly at first, trying not to hurt you, but soon his pace intensified and he was going in and out with force.

Your vision was blurry, head spinning as Hongjoong slammed inside you repeatedly, leaving hickies in your neck, kissing your breasts and caressing the back of your thighs as he fucked you desperately.

Looking for something to hold onto you grabbed the bed sheets with your fist tightly, Hongjoong burying himself deeper and deeper inside you with rhythmic movements. You were becoming louder by the second and it was making him crazy. He harshly took your hand from your mouth when you tried to repress your moaning.

“Don’t, I need to hear you.”

His choice of words really resonated with you. He wasn’t just fucking you just because he could, he was fucking you so good cause he wanted to, he needed to. Even if his presence was dominating, you could feel he wanted to do this, maybe since the first night he was summoned.

He leaned again to kiss you on the mouth, stroking his tongue against your lips as his dick slammed into you with the same motion. You took him in your lips, licking and sucking on his mouth as well, everything building up the sweet sensation right there where your bodies were connected.

Hongjoong continued fucking you so hard that you had trouble keeping up with the kiss. The sound of your bodies slamming against each other was obscene and so beautiful to hear, it invaded the entire house, allowing no other sound to come in. Each of his strokes sends electric waves through both your bodies. Your breast pressed against his chest, which now Hongjoong caressed with his palm, in circle motions over your hardened nip.

“Fuck, Hongjoong,” you moaned, arching your hips for him to bury himself deeper. “Faster” you begged, looking at him with hungry eyes. Hongjoong smirked at your requests, happy to oblige.

He pushed himself in, adjusting the angle by grabbing one of your legs and throwing it over his shoulder. You whined, cursing under your breath with your head thrown back. The movements plus Hongjoong breathy moans driving you insane.

“Yeah, right there.” you threw your other leg over his shoulder, making Hongjoong groan loudly. “Deeper Hongjoong, fuck me deeper.” Hongjoong knew he would be done if you continued to be so vocal about what he was doing to you, but he couldn’t stop. Every word and sound coming out you was delicious, making him realize he could be fucking you so good like this every night for the rest of your life together.

You whined when he pulled out almost entirely, but when he slammed himself all in one motion again, you couldn’t resist any longer.

“I’m so close…”

“I know.” He responded, pulling out again, and pressing all his length softly, stroking your clit with his hand at the same time he pushed in and out. “I want you to make a mess again, would you?.”

You let out a few breathy Yes, rolling your hips close to him, like wanting his dick to reach even deeper, until you could feel it almost touched your heart. Your hand reached his back, when he bent over too close to your face, firmly holding your legs still hanging to the sides of his shoulders. He looked down again at how he slipped inside and out of you and he let out a guttural sound, biting his lip almost hurting himself.

You took his head and made him look at you, letting him know you were about to come. He moaned when he felt your walls tightening around him, and a warmth drizzling sensation covered him up. You closed your eyes and let go of him, moaning loudly riding your release.

Hongjoong continued to thrust inside you, massaging your clit in circles wanting you to come again, the over stimulation so much that you cried out his name, grabbing the sheets again looking for something to hold onto. Hongjoong couldn’t hold any longer and spilled all inside you, still pushing inside wanting you to come once more. When he pulled out, looking at his dripping cum spill out of you, at the same time he watched you squirt again, it was a view he would never get tired of, and will probably have on repeat in his mind on the times he can’t have you like this.

When you finally took a deep breath, waves of pleasure still tingled inside you. You opened your eyes, finding Hongjoong looking at you, one hand stroking your jaw gently.

The windows opened again, this time without any loud bang, letting in a cold breeze than in any other circumstance would have been too cold for you, but right now it felt so good how the air cooled your burning bodies. The light from the night sky illuminates the afterglow of what just happened.

“Right. I almost forgot you are a… demon?.” you smiled. Hongjoong chuckled, still admiring your face, caressing your waist with his fingers.

“It’s funny. I can make a mess out of things, but I don’t have the power to clean the mess out.” You arch your eyebrows. It was very convenient and didn’t make any sense, but the thought of cleaning was the least thing you cared about right now anyways.

After a moment of silence, as you rest against each other you finally ask. “What happens after?.”

Hongjoong was taken aback from your sudden question. Now that it had already happened, he had to give you a real answer. He got tense for a second, but his face softened immediately after.

“I’m yours to take.” He whispered over your lips, brushing his bottom lip against yours.

“Mine?.”

“Yours.” You caressed his face, his body comfortably on top of you, skin still burned against yours, but you felt no discomfort. You then kissed him, softly but deeply.

Hongjoong felt a spiraling sensation over his chest, a feeling he thought he had lost so long ago. With his energy building up inside him, it started causing the lights to go out, so intense that it reached not only your apartment but the whole building. The fainted sound of cars and the city at night echoed through the room.

Still kissing, your naked bodies glowing against the night light coming from the opened windows was the only thing that could be seen against the total darkness.

@mingsolo do not repost/translate to other sites

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