As usual I read your tags always and so you said Apollo did not ask for resurrection of Asclepius and Hyacinthus so i just wanted to share this. About Asclepius death I read it on theoi.com, that earlier authors don't make him resurrect as a god but that's a later development mentioned only by Roman authors like Cicero, Hyginus and Ovid. But still Apollo has a role in Ovid's version
Ovid, Fasti 6. 735 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : Clymenus [Haides] and Clotho resent the threads of life respun and death's royal rights diminished. Jove [Zeus] feared the precedent and aimed his thunderbolt at the man who employed excessive art. Phoebus [Apollon], you whined. He is a god; smile at your father, who, for your sake, undoes his prohibitions [i.e. when he obtains immortality for Asklepios].
So here it is actually because of Apollo the decision was taken to resurrect him as god. And with Hyacinthus, I don't think I've read about Artemis playing the primary role. I know in Sparta there was a picture of Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite carrying Hyacinthus and his sister to heaven.
This is not on theoi.com but I saw on Tumblr it's from Dionysiaca by Nonnus
Second, my lord Oiagros wove a winding lay, as the father of Orpheus who has the Muse his boon companion. Only a couple of verses he sang, a ditty of Phoibos, clearspoken in few words after some Amyclaian style: Apollo brought to life again his longhaired Hyacinthos: Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.
So since he is singing inspired by amyclean stories it probably means in that place it was believed Apollo was the one to bring back his lover to life.
Apollo as god of order was very important so i think it shows how special these people (and admetus too) were to him that he decided to go against the order for them 🥺
ANON!! Shakes you like a bottle of ramune!! BELOVED ANON!!!!! I'm littering your face with kisses, I'm anointing you with olive oil and honey - you absolutely made my night with this because, not only did I get the pure serotonin shot of having someone interact with my tags (yippee, wahoo!!) I also got to have that wonderful feeling of "oh wow, have I misunderstood something that was integral to my understanding of this myth/figure this whole time or is this a case of interpretational differences?" which is imo vital for my aims and interests as someone who enjoys mythological content and literature.
I'll preface my response with this: Hyacinthus is by far the hardest of these to get accounts for because his revival itself, as you very astutely point out, is generally accounted for in painting/ritual format which muddies the waters on who interceded for what. I wasn't actually familiar with that passage from the Argonautica - and certainly didn't remember it so thank you very much for bringing it to my attention!
That said, what I've come to understand, both about Hyacinthus and about Asclepius is that in the accounts of their deaths, Apollo's position is startlingly clear.
For Hyacinthus, it is established time and again that Apollo would have sacrificed everything for him - his status, his power, his very own immortality and divinity. Ovid writes that Apollo would have installed him as a god if only he had the time:
(Ovid. Metamorphoses. Book X. trans. Johnston)
Many other writers too speak of how Apollo abandoned his lyre and his seat at Delphi to spend his days with Hyacinthus, but they also all agree that when it came to his death - he was powerless. Ovid gives that graphic account of Apollo's desperation as he tries all his healing arts to save him to no avail:
(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book X. Apollo me boy, methinks him dead. trans Johnston)
Bion, in one of his fragments, writes that Apollo was "dumb" upon seeing Hyacinthus' agony:
(Bion, The Bucolic Poets. Fragment XI. trans Edmonds)
Even Nonnus in the Dionysiaca speaks constantly of Apollo's helplessness in the face of Hyacinthus' fate where he writes that the god still shivers if a westward wind blows upon an iris:
and when Zephyros breathed through the flowery garden, Apollo turned a quick eye upon his young darling, his yearning never satisfied; if he saw the plant beaten by the breezes, he remembered the quoit, and trembled for fear the wind, so jealous once about the boy, might hate him even in a leaf...
(Nonnus, Dionysiaca, Book 3. trans Rouse)
And the point here is just that - Apollo, at least as far as I've read, cannot avert someone's death. He simply can't. Once they're already dead - once Fate has cut their string - all Apollo's power is gone and he can do nothing no matter how much he wants to. And this is, as far as I know, supported with the accounts of Asclepius as well!
Since you specifically brought up Ovid's account, I'll also stick only to Ovid's account but in Metamorphoses when we get Ovid's version of Coronis' demise, he writes that Apollo intensely and immediately regrets slaughtering Coronis. He regrets it so intensely that he, like he does with Hyacinthus, does his best to resuscitate her:
(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo's regret)
And like Hyacinthus, when it becomes clear that what has happened cannot be undone, Apollo wails:
(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo wept.)
Unlike his mother, Asclepius in her womb had not yet died and so, with the last of Apollo's strength, he does manage, at least, to save him.
(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo puts the 'tearing out' in Asclepius.)
But it goes further than even that because Ocyrhoe, Chiron's daughter, a prophetess who unduly gained the ability to directly proclaim the secrets of the Fates, upon seeing the baby Asclepius, immediately prophesies his glory, his inevitable death and then his fated ascension:
(Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book Two. Ocyrhoe's prophecy. trans Johnston)
Before she too succumbs to her hubris and is transformed by the Fates into a horse so she can no longer speak secrets that aren't hers to share.
These things ultimately are important because it establishes two very important things: 1) Apollo can't do anything in the face of the ultimate Fate of mortals, which is, of course, death and 2) even when Apollo is Actively Devastated, regretful, yearning, mournful, guilty or some unholy combination of all of the above, when someone is dead, he accepts that they are gone. Even if he is devastated by it, even if he'll cry all the rest of his days about it - if they're dead? Apollo lets them go. In Fasti, when Zeus brings Asclepius back, he does not say Apollo asked him to - Zeus, or well, in this case Jove, brings Asclepius back because he wants Apollo to stop being mad at him.
(Ovid, Fasti VI. Apollo please come home your father misses you. trans. A.S Kline)
Even Boyle's translation which you used above in your findings hints that Zeus made Asclepius a god because he wanted Apollo to stop grieving. (i.e 'smile at your father', 'for your sake [he] undoes his prohibitions')
And like, Apollo was deeply upset by Asclepius' death - apart from killing the Cyclops in anger, in book 4 of the Argonautica, Apollonius writes that the Celts believe the stream of Eridanus to be the tears Apollo shed over the death of Asclepius when he left for Hyperborea after being chastised by Zeus for killing his Cyclops:
But the Celts have attached this story to them, that these are the tears of Leto's son, Apollo, that are borne along by the eddies, the countless tears that he shed aforetime when he came to the sacred race of the Hyperboreans and left shining heaven at the chiding of his father, being in wrath concerning his son whom divine Coronis bare in bright Lacereia at the mouth of Amyrus.
It all paints a very clear picture to me. Apollo did not ask for either of them to be brought back. Though bringing them back certainly pleased and delighted him, they are actions of other gods who are moved by Apollo's grief and mourning and seek to mollify him. Him not asking doesn't mean he didn't want them back which I think is a very important distinction by the by, but it simply means that Apollo knows the natural order of things and, even if it hurts, he isn't going to press his luck about it.
Which, of course, brings us to Admetus. And I'm really not going to overcomplicate this, Admetus is different because, very vitally, Admetus is not dead. Apollo can't do a thing once Fate has been carried out and Death has claimed a mortal but you know what he absolutely can do? Bargain like hell with the Fates before that point of inevitability. And that's what he does, ultimately for Admetus and Alcestis. He sought to prolong Admetus' life, not revive him from death or absolve him from death altogether and even after getting the Fates drunk, he's still only able to organise a sacrifice - a life for a life - something completely contingent on whether some other mortal would be willing to die in Admetus' place and not at all controllable by Apollo's own power.
All of these things, I think come back to that point you made - that Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore these people are very special to him if it means he's willing to go against that order but, I also wish to challenge that opinion if you'd let me. Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore, I would argue, that it is even more important that it is shown that he does not break the divine order, especially for the people that mean the most to him. The original context of my comments which started this conversation were on this lovely, lovely post by @hyacinthusmemorial which contemplated upon Asclepius from the perspective of an Emergency Medical personnel and included, in their tags, the very poignant lines "there's something about Apollo letting go when Asclepius couldn't that eats my heart away" and "you do what you can, you do your best, but you don't ever reach too far" and I think that's perfectly embodied with the Apollo-Asclepius dichotomy. Apollo grieves. He wails, he cries, he does his best each and every time to save that which is precious to him but he does not curse their nature, he does not resent that they are human and ultimately, he accepts that that which is mortal must inevitably die. There is nothing that so saliently proves that those who uphold rules are also their most staunch followers - if Apollo wants to delight in his place as Fate's mouthpiece, he cannot undo Fate. And, if even the god of healing and order himself cannot undo death, what right does Asclepius, mortal as he is, talented as he is, have to disrespect it?
The beauty of these stories isn't that Apollo loved them enough to bring them back. The beauty is that Apollo loved them enough to let them go.
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a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.
“Have you called Maeve?”
She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?
He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with.
Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them.
“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.
“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”
“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”
She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks.
Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me.
She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response.
Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.
She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it.
Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office.
She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief.
She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share.
He does not want to call Maeve.
The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.
“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”
Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.
He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess.
He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.
“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”
“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”
“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“
“Then why-“
“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”
He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it.
She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now.
All the cards are in her hands.
Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this.
“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”
It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him.
“How could I not be? It’s you.”
It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up.
A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount.
“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“
He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable.
When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life.
“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”
He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back.
It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits.
She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back.
On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything.
He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though.
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refined taste - joel miller x female reader
summary: joel relishes in the taste of you.
word count: 3.2k
content warning: pre-existing relationship, girl dad joel, drinking breastmilk, fingering, humping the bed, male and female ejaculation. mother + father joel. mentions of joel being a hoe pre-outbreak lol. brief mention of age gap, joel cums in his pants.
Times were scarce where you and Joel got to relax.. with no one but the company of each other. That’s what happens when you have a baby—you learn. Hell, most of the time you roamed the house in nothing but one of Joel’s shirts, as you are now. Maria had warned you of what was to come, after her and Tommy’s son was born, he was an absolute nightmare baby. Your and Joel’s daughter, Tilly, was wonderful. She had Joel’s dark hair and his hazel eyes. She looked just like him.
You didn’t mind, not when you could see that she was healing him in a way that you couldn’t. To fill the grief of Sarah. Not to replace her.. but to have a connection that felt the same way. A paternal connection.
Joel is a hands-on father, and he’s honestly incredible. He gently lies Tilly down in her cot.. after she had downed the whole bottle of your warm breast milk. Maria was generous to share over the baby things she no longer needed.
Tilly coos as she falls asleep, her tummy full of milk. For some reason, the bottle was the only way she would take your milk, since she was born she absolutely refused to take your breast. It was hard for you, as you’d heard it was good for her immune system and a way of connecting to the baby. You eventually grew accustomed to bottle feeding, still expressing by hand to relieve your breasts of their ache.
Joel sighs as he lies into bed with you. The sheets wrinkling under the sudden weight.
“Y'know I always wondered what breast milk tastes like.” You wonder aloud. A soft murmur so you don’t wake your daughter.
Joel's eyebrows rise in surprise at your sudden statement, a mix of amusement and mild shock on his face. He chuckles softly, his voice filled with a hint of disbelief.
"Oh really?" he playfully retorts, trying to hide a smirk. "Well, I can tell you it's quite distinct."
He pauses for a moment, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks, before continuing with a teasing tone, "Though I can't claim to be an expert taster."
“Then how do you know?” You ask, a confused expression on your face.
Joel's smirk widens slightly, the playful banter continuing between the two of you. He raises an eyebrow, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.
"I happen to have certain experiences with it," he replies with a feigned air of nonchalance, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of devilishness.
You laugh softly. “Oh, so it’s a fetish of yours then?”
Joel chuckles softly, enjoying the lightheartedness in your voice. His expression softens slightly, his eyes gleaming with a mix of humour and affection.
"I wouldn’t necessarily call it a fetish," he clarifies with a hint of a smile on his lips, "but let's just say I’ve had my moments. You know, like any man who's been around the block.”
A gasp leaves your lips, part shock and part confirmation. “So you were a whore before the outbreak?” You’d assumed he would’ve been a ladies man anyway, looking at the old photo of him before the outbreak.. he was a hunk, even then.
Joel's expression turns serious as he addresses your question, his tone softening. He realises the weight of his past actions and the impact they had on him and others.
"It's true, I was," he confirms, his voice filled with a sense of regret. "Back then, I was not the man I am now. I was more wild, more reckless. The world was a different place, and I made some choices I'm not proud of."
A faux gasp of surprise leaves your lips, and you raise a hand to your chest. “I can’t believe I’m marrying the town bike of Texas!”
Joel's jaw drops slightly at your playful remark, a mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if trying to process the teasing.
"Hey, you better watch it," he retorts, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I may have been the town bike, but you're the one marrying me. Who's the real crazy one here, hmm?"
“Probably the guy that’s tasted breast milk before his fiancé that’s actually got breastmilk?” You retort.
Joel's eyes widen at your teasing remark, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the flush of red.
"Okay, okay, you got me there," he admits, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "But in my defence, it was research. Purely for scientific purposes, you know."
The laughter that leaves your lips is followed by a low snort. “You’re ridiculous…. Well maybe I can help you with your.. peculiar study.”
Joel raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued by your offer. He gazes at you for a moment, gauging your sincerity before responding.
"Oh yeah? You feeling generous, are you?" He teases, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, I suppose I could use a volunteer for my, ahem, 'study.' Just don’t go spreading rumours about me now."
You bite your lip to stop your smile. “I’ll be sure to hold my tongue whenever I feel like making fun of you.”
Joel smiles, his eyes gleaming with affection and a hint of playful mischief. He leans in closer, his voice slightly huskier as he responds.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, his words filled with warmth. "I know you wouldn't." He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, his gaze fixated on your face, as if he can't take his eyes off you.
A small drop of milk leaks through one of Joel’s shirts you wore and your face heats up, but you take the opportunity to tease him. You lift your shirt and swipe a drip of milk falling from your nipple, and pop your finger in your mouth, tasting your breast milk. You raise an eyebrow. “Huh.. not bad..”
Joel’s eyes widen slightly as he watches you taste your own milk, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. He can’t help but chuckle softly at your reaction.
"That’s all? Just ‘huh’? I thought I was gonna get some more details," he teasingly responds, his voice carrying a hint of playful disappointment. "Don’t leave me hanging here. How does it taste?"
“You’re more than welcome to test it yourself, mister scientist..”
Joel blinks once, his cheeks flushing with a hint of a blush at your suggestion. He can’t help but chuckle softly, the idea a bit new and unexpected, but not unwelcome.
“Well, I suppose I could be a good scientific partner and contribute to my.. study," he replies with a hint of a smile, his voice a little husky.
He reaches out, gently lifting the material of his own shirt that you wore, exposing your breasts with one hand, and leans in closer, his warm breath grazing your nipple.
A whimper leaves your lips as Joel latches onto your nipple, suckling softly at first to let you adjust to the new feeling, then when the milk starts to flow; he starts suckling desperately, using his hands to help express the milk.
Well; it certainly did seem like he’d done this before.
The tips of your fingers caress his scalp, as his ministrations grow more desperate, you gently tug on the greying locks, he draws a breathless whine from you.
Your touch sends a shiver down Joel's spine, intensifying the connection between you. His mind and body are consumed by the sensations swirling around him. He moves his hands to your hips, gently pulling you closer as he continues to suckle on your breast, the taste of milk fueling his passion. The sound of your whimper only serves to heighten his arousal, his desire for you growing with each passing moment.
“You’re a selfish man Joel.. gonna drain me dry.”
Joel's body tightens at your words, a mix of desire and restraint filling his mind. He pulls away from your breast, his lips leaving a trail of warm kisses along your sternum before he finally speaks.
"You taste divine, you know that?" He whispers, his voice husky and filled with passion. "I might get addicted to this."
“Don’t get greedy now sweetheart.” You tsk him in a mock condescending tone.
Joel chuckles softly, his hands tracing gentle patterns on your hips as he whispers, "I don’t intend to. But you’re tempting me, you know that?”
His eyes gleam with desire, the passion evident in his gaze. "You’re so captivating. I can’t help but want more of you. I hope you’re prepared for it."
Giggling, your fingers play with his hair. “So.. what’s the verdict—Mr scientist? How does it taste?”
Joel smiles, his eyes filled with warmth and affection as he responds, "Ah, the scientific results."
He pauses, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Well, it tastes wonderful. Sweet, with a hint of earthy goodness. And the texture, smooth and creamy. Not to mention the effect it has on me."
He leans in, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "But I think I’ll need more time to conduct further research."
You hum. “Tastes like sugar water to me. Seems like you’re.. undecided.”
Joel laughs softly, shaking his head in playful disagreement. He nuzzles his face against your neck, his voice filled with teasing desire.
"Oh, come on, you can do better than that. It's not sugar water. It's unique and delicious. I'm not undecided. I'm just thorough, sweetheart. I need more... samples. For science, of course."
“Oh right—if it’s for science.. by all means, go ahead.”
An eager smile spreads across Joel's face, his body pressing closer against you. His eyes gleam with desire, a mix of playful mischief and affection. He leans in, his voice filled with a husky rasp as he whispers against your neck.
"Perfect. I promise to be... thorough."
It feels more sensitive than it did the first time.
Joel's smile widens against your skin as he hears your whine, his body reacting instinctively to the sound. His mouth presses gently against your breast, his tongue coaxing out more milk as he suckles hungrily. His hand begins to massage gently, his grip firm but tender, his touches designed to elicit more of those delightful sounds from you.
Joel becomes more intense with his mouth and tongue, lapping at you, his teeth gently graze at the sensitive skin of your nipple and you moan softly.
A sudden movement catches your attention, the bed shakes a little, and you’re curious—so you look. His hips are desperately rutting against the bed, he groans against your flesh.
As Joel's mouth continues it’s ministrations, exploring your body with increasing intensity, his hips involuntarily rocking in rhythm with your moans and whimpers.
The sensations swirling between you only seem to intensify, the connection between you growing more intimate and powerful. Your voice, the sound of your pleasure, fuels his desire, his touches and kisses growing more urgent and desperate.
“Joel..” you whine, an octave higher than normal. Almost begging for something.. more.
Joel's ears perk up at the sound of his name, his mind consumed by the intimacy of the moment. He can tell that you need more, that you're on the verge of something intense. His mouth moves hungrily across your skin, his teeth grazing softly as one of his hands slide down your body.
His fingers slide down between your cunt—it’s soaking his fingers, the pad of his thumb begins to swirl softly against your clit, teasing you at first. He drags his other fingers down into your hole, pumping in and out. Your head hits the pillow, hips bucking upward as you whine in approval.
As he hears the sharp inhale that escapes your lips, he knows he's found the spot that makes you quiver. His touches grow more deliberate, each stroke sending a shiver of pleasure through you, his touch knowing precisely how to ignite the fire he's been fueling.
You tremble at the sensation of the two most sensitive parts of you both being worked simultaneously. His mouth is lapping desperately at your breast, your sensitive nipple is perked and dribbling milk. Joel doesn’t let a single droplet go to waste. The feeling of his thick fingers pumping into the spongey flesh of your cunt makes you clench around him, his thumb remains in it’s steady pace of working your clit.
Joel's eyes are fixated on your face, watching every tiny expression and reaction to his touch. Witnessing the way you tremble beneath him only serves to heighten his own desire. The intensity of the simultaneous stimulation is nearly overwhelming for you, and he takes full advantage of the moment. His mouth lingers on your breast, his tongue exploring and teasing as his fingers continue their seductive dance on your precious cunt that’s soaking his fingers, determined to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.
You curl your fingers in his greying hair, pulling taut as you fall apart, feeling it all at once, the sensations overwhelm you in a delicious symphony of overstimulation. Then, as coil that had been winding tighter with every pump of his fingers, every lap of his tongue.. it snapped. The quickest orgasm of your life.
By far, the most intense, too. Your toes curl into the bedsheets and your legs try to close at the feeling of sensitivity. Your cunt clenches around his fingers at it coats the thick digits with your cum. A ringing sound warbles through your ears, breath struggling to regulate as you huff quickly, desperate to get oxygen to your lungs after Joel ripped it from you.
Joel's body tightens in response to the way you pull at his hair, a mix of excitement and pleasure surging through him. As your body quivers in release, he continues his ministrations, each slowed stroke designed to prolong your bliss. He can feel the intensity of your pleasure, the way your body convulse and clench, and it fills him with a sense of satisfaction. He watches as you surrender to the moment, his touch gentle yet deliberate, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy until you come back down.
Joel falls apart at the sight of your parted lips and pinched brows—relishing in the intimate and ecstasy of his actions.
The bed vibrates as Joel desperately ruts against the mattress, hearing you fall apart, feeling your cum coat his fingers..
Joel's own release follows shortly after yours, the intensity of the moment overwhelming his senses. He continues to move against the mattress, the friction of his body against it adds to the intoxicating mix of sensations. He finds release in the rhythm of your breaths, the tremble of your skin, and the sound of his name on your lips. As he climaxes, his grip on your body tightens, his gasps and moans mingling with yours in the heat of the moment.
He couldn’t help the way his weeping cock finally exploded inside of his jeans.
You’re wide eyed as you realise Joel had just cum in his jeans, he pants heavily, groaning against your skin as he pulls away from your breast, resting his sweaty forehead against your warm chest.
Joel takes a moment to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling as he tries to calm his racing heart. He can feel the heat in his cheeks and he glances up at you, realising the mess he had made.
“Did you just..” you trail off.
He lets out a sheepish chuckle, his voice filled with a hint of embarrassment.
"Oh...well, that was unexpected. Guess I got a little carried away."
“A little? You think?” Your eyebrow is raised. But you’re not upset, not even a little. It was.. flattering, honestly.
Joel laughs again, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and fondness. He looks up at you, a softness in his gaze as he responds.
“Alright, maybe more than a little. Can you blame me though? The sight of you in the throes of passion...it's a sight I can't resist. I couldn't help myself.”
You smile softly, admiring the redness in his cheeks.
“I love you. Even if you were the town bike back in the day.”
Joel's expression softens at your words, a deep affection shining in his eyes. He reaches up, gently cupping your cheek in his calloused hand.
"And I love you, more than anything.” He responds, his voice filled with sincerity. He pauses for a moment, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. "And as for being the town bike...well, let's just say that's a reputation I'm grateful to have left behind. You're the only one I have eyes for now."
His words were truthful, and it entices a smile, knowing he was serious even in your playful banter.
“Good. Cause I’m not sharing my soon to be husband.” You murmur into his hair.
Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, a surge of warmth spreading through his body. He returns your smile, his eyes gleaming with love and contentment.
“You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart,” he reassures you, his voice laced with affection. “I'm all yours. Body, heart, and soul. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with than you."
Your other breast, that was left unattended to, starts to leak from being so engorged. As if weeping that it didn’t get any attention.
Joel notices the leaking breast, a flicker of desire in his eyes. He watches as it leaks and dribbles down your torso, leaving a sticky trail.
"Hmm...it seems like this sweet girl is in need of some attention too," he comments, his voice low and husky. He gently cups your breast, massaging it gently. "Can't have you leaking all over the place, right?"
A whimper leaves your dry lips. “Such a greedy man.”
Joel chuckles softly, his eyes meeting yours with a heated gaze.
"Can you blame me, sweetheart? You're simply irresistible," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing teasing circles on your breast. "Every part of you is so alluring. I couldn't resist if I tried."
You roll your eyes in a playful manner. “Just save some for the baby.”
Joel's smile widens, his eyes softening as he leans in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. "Of course. Just because I can't get enough of you doesn't mean I'll deprive our little one.”
"We'll just have to find ways to share you, hm?" he whispers, nuzzling his face against your neck. "But rest assured, I'll never let either of you go hungry."
You hum as his facial hair scratches against your soft skin.
Joel's stubble brushes against your skin, it’s roughness adds a delightful contrast to the softness of your neck. He nuzzles further into you, relishing the intimacy of the moment.
"You're just so damn irresistible," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "The way you react to my touch...it drives me crazy.”
Joel's body presses closer to yours, his need evident as his arousal grows stronger. He groans, the sound a mixture of pleasure and frustration.
"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" He mutters, his voice husky and breathless. "The way you affect me...it's hard to hold back sometimes."
You grin cheekily. “Keep up baby. You have a good few decades left. I’ll have to keep you on your toes, eh?”
Joel laughs softly, the sound a mix of amusement and affection. "You cheeky little minx," he teases, his eyes gleaming with adoration. "I should be the one keeping you on your toes, given I'm the older and wiser one. But I reckon keeping up with you will keep me young in spirit."
You laugh. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
Joel chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Years of experience, sweetheart. You learn a few things along the way." His fingers lightly trace across your cheek, a tender gesture that complements his teasing words.
"Besides, when it comes to you, I always have something clever to say. How else am I supposed to keep up with your wit and sass?"
“I just hope little Tilly doesn’t grow up to have your sense of humour, cause then we’ll be in trouble.”
Joel grins against the soft skin of your breast. “Ain’t that the truth.”
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