#(it’s deserved anyway lol)/j | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hier--soir · 1 year ago

Text

a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @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 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

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

2K notes · View notes

hwaslayer · 1 year ago

Text

project: make you love me (jyh) | ten.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 5.2k (sorry i know i said 5.5k.. had to chop off a bit and move it onto the next chapter lol)

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, flashback scene, yuyu and yeosang find themselves at a house party ayeee 🤪, yeosang assuming the role of wingman, alcohol consumption, intoxication, a sprinkle of seonghwa, dancing/throwing ass back, cute funny drunk yunho lol, making out, dry humping, sleepovers 😙

one night - sire | mi gente - j balvin | dj turn it up - yellow claw

Yunho looks at himself in the mirror, letting out a deep sigh. He opted for a simple outfit— one that could keep him cool in a packed house and not be too extra for a party. But, the longer he stares at it, the more he feels like he could do better. Or, maybe, you might not even notice him or think much of him in this outfit.

How does he do this?

Honestly, he's not even sure what constitutes a 'house party' outfit.

"Nice." Yeosang nods as he stands near Yunho's doorway.

"It's too plain, isn't it?" Yunho eyes Yeosang's outfit. He's in a loose, black sleeveless top, a bomber jacket, jeans and boots.

"No, why? It's fine." It's Yeosang's turn to eye Yunho in his fit, and he honestly thinks it's perfect for tonight's events. Yunho opted for black jeans, a white Stussy shirt, and his converse. He has a silver bracelet dangling around his wrist, cologne sitting at the corner of his dresser. Yeosang doesn't smell it on him yet, but he thinks it's because Yunho is questioning whether it's too much or not. "You look good."

"Should I add some cologne? A light jacket?"

"Add the cologne." Yeosang laughs. "But, not the jacket. I'm literally only going in this because I'm just there for a few drinks and to be a wingman. Then, I'll see myself out." Yunho smiles and nods.

"Hm." Yunho hums. "I'm just going there for a bit, too."

"Mm, but you're going there to hang out with Y/N and grab her for a few dances. I refuse to leave until you get a moment with her."

"I don't know. What if she doesn't wanna, though? I'm not gonna force her."

"Seriously? With all the little walks you guys take and your study sessions?" Yeosang smirks. "Right." He looks at his phone. "Anyway, we're a bit late. Wanna take a shot or two and walk over?" Yunho shrugs.

"Sure." Yunho takes one last look at himself before spraying a bit of cologne and meeting Yeosang in the kitchen. Yunho doesn't like to drink much because he hates the feeling, especially the next morning. But tonight, he was feeling a little more bold— like he could use the extra liquid courage to be less nervous around you.

Not that he needed it, but it was a party. He'd like to be of some fun for you.

By the time Yunho heads out to the kitchen, Yeosang already has 2 red cups ready to go. He tilts the cup to the side, peeking at how much alcohol was inside—

Yeosang must have wanted him to die.

"This isn't a shot or two. This is half the bottle." Yeosang laughs and shakes his head.

"Not even. I swear dude, you'll be fine. We can pace ourselves when we get there. Plus who knows, they might've taken all the alcohol already."

"It's only been 30 minutes since the party started."

"A lot can happen in 30 minutes." Yeosang picks up his cup and raises it in the air. "Cheers?" Yunho shrugs and taps his cup against his, internally dying at how much alcohol is in his cup.

"Cheers." Yunho swallows the first half in a big gulp before cracking open the coke can. He takes a sip before gulping down the last bit and making a face at Yeosang. "Don't ever do that again."

"You're welcome." Yeosang laughs. "Let's head out and get your girl." Yunho shakes his head, quickly cleaning the kitchen before shutting off the lights and following Yeosang out. Luckily, the party is at a house right behind the complex, so Yeosang and Yunho aren't having to walk too far. As they approach the community, Yunho can already hear the music blasting from down the street, followed by a few echoes of loud yells and cheers. Hearing the noise makes him feel a bit anxious, and he's starting to regret his decision based off of it alone.

But, he commits. He knows he'll see you soon, and things will feel a bit better.

It does help knowing Yeosang joined to make him feel more comfortable.

Approaching the house, Yunho can see that there are people packed on the first floor of the house and into the backyard. He follows Yeosang in, squeezing his way past all the drunk people to head to the kitchen.

"Here, gonna make you a drink to sip on." Yeosang says, pointing at the counter where all the liquor and soda are laid out. Yunho continues to follow along, even if his eyes are searching high and low for you. He hasn't seen you yet, and he's hoping he does soon.

He really just wants to find you and be with you.

♣︎ FLASHBACK

Yunho kicks the rocks beneath his shoes, hands dug deep into his pockets as he patiently waits at the end of the path. He's anxious, and a bit nervous; but overall, happy to finally see you. His head shoots up the moment he hears a door click close, footsteps jogging down the steps.

"Yunho!" You softly squeal, giggling as you run straight into his arms. He wraps you into a bear hug, slightly swinging you around before placing you back down onto your feet.

"Hey cutie."

"I missed you! You're actually here."

"I told you I came home early." You chuckle before gently squeezing his bicep.

"I know, but it's nice to know it's real." You smile. "What have you been up to?"

"Not much. How was your drive over?"

"I fell asleep for most of it. We stopped at a pitstop to grab more grub, but otherwise, it was okay." He nods.

"Club was fun last night?"

"Sooo much fun! I met so many new friends, and the DJ was so good! It was such a good time. I wish you had been there."

"I wish I was too. But, next time. Yeah?" You nod.

"Sounds like a plan."

"I'm happy you had fun, though. You deserved it, all of it." You link your arm around his, absentmindedly following him to his car. You don't realize it until he's opening the car door, gesturing at you to wait until he grabs a few things from the seat. "I have something for you."

"What is it?" Your eyes sparkle as you stand and wait.

"You said you needed to get new lavender for your room, right?" You remember texting him that a few days ago, and you can't help but smile at Yunho's attention to detail.

"Are you serious?" You slightly pout when he hands you the small bouquet of lavender, plus a smaller bag.

"I-I also found those persimmons you like so much." He scratches at the nape of his neck, nervously watching you eye the gifts. Your expression is a tad bit unreadable, and Yunho can't really tell if he's crossed a line or if he's okay. But, to his surprise, you set the things down onto the trunk of the car and jump back into his arms.

"Yunho, you really are the best. Thank you for all of this."

"Of course. I guess it's my odd way of saying congrats?" You giggle, allowing him to press a small kiss against your temple.

♣︎ END

But, unluckily for you, you're having to deal with a drunk Seonghwa who doesn't seem to get the point. You had been avoiding him since you arrived, sticking close to a few other friends in the backyard while watching an intense game of beer pong taking place. The moment you stepped away to go find your bestfriends, Seonghwa comes stumbling out of nowhere— ziplining straight to you once he spots you.

"Babygirl, can we talk?" You can smell the liquor on him, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist. "I've missed you. I've been waiting for you all night. Just give me a few mins—"

"Not now. I'm trying to find my friends."

"Your friends?"

"Seonghwa." You warn him because you know exactly where this is going.

"You sure it isn't Yunho? I hope it isn't." Seonghwa laughs at the possibility even though your expression confirms the answer.

"And if it is, then what? At the end of the day, it isn't your business." Seonghwa scoffs.

"Are you serious? I don't get you. I don't get it. I've been turning everyone down for you, and you don't even realize—"

"Okay, then go do whatever the fuck you want Seonghwa! No one asked you to do that, I told you this was over. Stop keeping tabs on me." You rip your hand from his grip even as he continues to call for you, walking away from the hallway into the crowded, but hyped living room. Every single person in the room was dancing; either with friends or with another person. You catch a glimpse of Yunho standing against the wall with Mingi and Yeosang, flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. He sips on his drink, eyes meeting yours across the room. You're in this cute cargo mini skirt, a cropped tee and Nike dunks.

Goddamn, you look good.

And if it wasn't for all this liquid courage, he wouldn't be thinking about grabbing you for a dance— just for funsies. Bonus that he gets you, all of you, to himself tonight.

You didn't even expect Yunho to show up at this point, being that he's said time and time again that he wasn't into parties. But, you're glad he is. Mingi and Yeosang must have done a lot of convincing, which they did. Though, the other part of it was the fact that he knew you'd be here and that might give him another opportunity to get even closer to you.

"Hey, what the fuck was that about?" Chaery pulls you out of your little staring contest when she comes out of the kitchen and gently squeezes your arm.

"Just Seonghwa being Seonghwa, what else?" You roll your eyes, still appalled at Seonghwa's audacity to try and gatekeep you for the night even though you're well aware there isn't one truthful bone in his body. You ended this, and you had no plans on falling back into his trap tonight.

Not on the agenda.

"Dude, forget him, let's just have fun." Soobin says, pointing at your group of friends in the corner of the room. "Everyone else is over there." You follow them over, eyes glancing over to Yunho again. He's still conversing with Mingi and Yeosang, though his eyes follow yours mid-convo. It's almost like he's waiting for you, or waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his move. You're hoping he does, but you also have no problem making the first move.

Yunho is so, so attractive.

You would be lying if you said your feelings for Yunho weren't growing by the second.

You meet up with your friends in the living room; Hyunjin, Jongho, Taehyun, Minnie and Yeonjun already dancing along to the song and showing off their moves. You, Seungmin, Soobin and Chaery join along, before Yeonjun is passing his flask around so that your group can take more shots together. At this point, you're tipsy and definitely feeling yourself more as the alcohol continues to run through your veins.

Feeling yourself, feeling bold, feeling good despite Seonghwa trying to ruin your night and be all possessive— who the fuck was he to act that way? He didn't want it in the first place, so you'll give him a little taste of his own medicine.

You can't help but turn over your shoulder to see Yunho bouncing along to the beat while Mingi is scoping the room. You can tell he's trying to get Yunho to explore and find himself a cutie to dance with, but he responds with a laugh and a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours [yet again for the umpteenth time tonight] and the tension suddenly increases tenfold through his look alone. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips before he's giving you a small smirk.

You want him.

"Why don't you dance with him instead of eyeing him the entire night?" Chaery says in your ear, making you drunkily giggle.

"I'm too shy."

"Shut up, since when? You look so good tonight, fuck Seonghwa. I refuse to let him ruin your night. Get up on Jeong Yunho, now." She quickly glances at him. "He clearly wants you too." Suddenly, the lights in the living room shut off, obnoxious, colorful disco lights filling different corners of the room. It's clear that the intention behind shutting off the lights was to get everyone to the highest level of hoe tonight, and it's working—

Hyunjin is dancing with Minnie, Soobin and Yeonjun are dancing with some other girls in your class.

Even Seungmin is pulling Chaery to the middle for a fun, platonic dance.

"Go for it, dude." Yeosang says to Yunho, gently nudging his arm. "She'll be out there any second."

"Y/N come out here!" Chaery yells, pulling you deeper into the dance floor with Seungmin. You know she's plotting on getting you closer to Yunho because the two of them are only an arms-length away from where Yeosang, Yunho and Mingi stand. You laugh and dance around with your bestfriends anyway, until you feel a hand gently grab at your wrist and pull you from the crowd. You turn to see Yunho smiling, pulling you flush to his body before grabbing your hips. Mingi is focused on his dance with one of the seniors, leaning back against the wall as she works her ass against him, while Yeosang is pursing his lips together to prevent himself from smiling at you and Yunho dancing together.

And Seonghwa? He shouldn't give a fuck, but he does. Especially when he sits on the random bar stool and catches you having fun with Yunho [out of all fucking people], his girl for the night whining for his attention in between his legs. The worst part is that Yunho can fucking dance.

The sly motherfucker has gigs and can keep up with your rhythm. Since when?

It looks so natural for the two of you to be all up on each other like this, and it makes Seonghwa so fucking annoyed, slightly sick to his stomach even. How the hell was he gonna lose his main chick over Jeong Yunho?

But, you could care less about what he has to think. Right now, all you can think about is Yunho giving your hips a squeeze, fingers hooked into the belt loops of your skirt as he dances against you and works with your rhythm. What a turn on.

After a couple of songs, it's transitioning into yet another song and you're worked the fuck out. You turn to face him, giggling as he keeps you close and rests his hands around your hips.

"Thanks for the dance." You tell him in his ear, hand resting on the nape of his neck.

"Are you staying for awhile?" He asks, pulling back slightly just to read your expression.

"I was, but I don't mind leaving early." He looks at you again, a small smile on the corner of his lips.

"Wanna get outta here then? I'm kinda over it." You chuckle and nod.

"Let me just tell Chaery." You look over at Yeosang, who is still observing the party with another friend of his. "What about Yeosang?" Yeosang hears you and shakes his head with a smile on his face, deciding he'll be home later just to give you and Yunho some alone time.

"No, it's alright. I'm gonna stay and catch up with more people." He lies. You nod, hand laced with Yunho's as you navigate the crowd and gently pull Chaery by the arm. She waves happily at Yunho before she's dipping forward to hear what you have to say.

"I'm gonna head out early." Her eyes widen before she squeals.

"Oh my god! Yes! Be safe, okay?" She points at Yunho. "You better take care of her or I'm chopping your shit off, for real." He winces.

"Yeah, don't worry. I got her."

"See you later!"

"Or not, don't come home! That's fine, too!" Seungmin drunkly adds, making you roll your eyes as you both continue to through the crowd and out of the house.

"Thank god." He says the moment you two step out of the door and get hit with the fresh, evening air. You chuckle as you make your way out of the front yard and out onto the street, finally feeling free from suffering at a crowded, stuffy frat party.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here." You look down at your hands still clasped together. As the cold hits, you're realizing you're still quite drunk and Yunho is too. He's much more talkative and giggly tonight. You like it.

"I wasn't either." He chuckles. "But Yeo and Mingi.."

"They did a lot to convince you, it seems." He shrugs.

"That. And, maybe the fact that I knew you were coming?" You shoot him a look before smiling down at the ground.

"You know you don't have to use the party as an excuse to hang out with me more, right?"

"I don't know, you're a really pretty girl who has a really busy schedule. Thought it was a good way to sneak myself in a bit more outside of school and friends." You snort and nod.

"Yunho, I like your company. We can always hang out. You don't have to subject yourself to this mess."

"Eh, I'd say it was still worth it." You giggle.

"So, where are we going?"

"Down the street and back to my place?" He asks nervously. "If that's okay with you, of course. There's really no intention behind it, and I know you wanted to see my place, so I just—"

"I'd like that." He smiles. God, the fucking boldness spewing out of him right now— who is he?

"Okay." The walk is back up the hill, super quick and nothing too treacherous. Though, it seems like it lasts for 5 seconds when you're holding Yunho's hand and listening to him talk about everything he's observed at the party. He's making you laugh so much that you don't even remember the last time you had a stomach ache from someone telling you their party experiences. Everything is just so natural with Yunho, you can't help but accept the fact that your feelings for him do grow every second you're near him.

"Oh my god, I think I got a workout from that walk alone." He chuckles as he unlocks his door and steps aside to let you in.

"Good, at least our workout is covered for the weekend." You look around at the apartment. It's bare, but it's clean. They have a couch with a coffee table in the living room and a good sized tv. The kitchen is spotless, with a few containers of protein and Shaker bottles lying around the counter [thanks to Yeosang] and some bread and fruits off to the side.

"Wow, it's cozy and clean." Yunho chuckles.

"We try to keep it clean." He looks at you with glossy, drunk-dazed eyes. "And guess what? It's really hard." You snort.

"I beg to differ. You and Yeosang do a good job." He pops into the fridge and flashes a water bottle.

"Well, that's always good to hear." He laughs a bit. "Need some water?"

"Please." He smiles as he hands you the bottle in his hand. You both take a good gulp or two before Yunho starts to slowly walk down the hallway.

"Quick tour - Yeosang's room, my room." He smiles. "End of tour." You laugh.

"Thank you for that."

"Do you wanna hang out in my room or out here? It's up to you, I don't mind either way. Just want you to be comfortable." He says. You point to his door and he simply nods. He swings the door open to his room and it almost surprises you how neat it is inside. You're only peering in from the hallway though, carefully taking steps into his room before you're fully in his space, eyes wandering from wall to wall. He has a drawer against one wall, with a few figurines lining the top surface. He has a corner desk with two monitors, probably to help with his gaming [you assume; Seungmin and Soobin have been trying to do this setup for ages], and a good sized bed that has its navy sheets neatly fixed. His room isn't entirely huge, so it's obvious he's tried to utilize his space as much as possible.

"I feel like I'm intruding in your space, though." You say as you continue to eye his room. Yunho comes behind you, watching as you observe the surroundings.

"Trust me, you're not." He says softly from behind. You feel his presence close in on you from behind, chest almost grazing your back. "You can relax." He chuckles a bit, hoping it'll help you feel a little better. And he thinks it works, especially when you start to walk towards his drawer and carefully run your hand across his figurines and special edition funko pops. They were mostly given to him throughout the years by his older cousins. The gifts will always be special to him, especially now that they've all moved to various places around the world and he rarely ever sees them anymore.

"Do you collect these?" Your eyes are still on the figurines while Yunho follows behind. He shakes his head as if you can see him.

"Not really, my cousins gifted me those."

"Sweet." You glance at him with a small smile. Then, your attention darts to the random pile of photos sitting at the corner. Your hands almost get ahead of themselves, beginning to reach over to grab them when you pause— "Pictures?" You look at him with that doe-eyed look again and he melts a bit.

"I found them while cleaning out a few things. It's mostly with my cousins and—"

"Baby Yunho with mom?!" You raise up a picture, one that has baby Yunho in a hat, striped t-shirt and shorts. He's sitting on the lap of who you presume is his mother, throwing up a thumbs up with a huge, hearty smile. "You are so cute, look at you!" He blushes, but he takes the photo from your hand and snags the others before you can see anything else embarrassing.

"Uh, yeah. That's mom. I need to get a frame for these, but until then—"

"Let me see the others!" You pout, trying to reach for the others in his hand. He raises it, laughing at your effort when he's damn near as tall as the Salesforce Tower in SF. It's so adorable, and so, so endearing that you want to see this so badly. "Yunho, hey." You whine. "That's not fair. I wanna see baby Yunho with his cousins."

"You will, once I frame them and make it look more presentable." You give him an unsure look and he smiles. "Promise." You huff and scrunch your nose. "You're really, really cute, you know that?"

"If you think this is gonna make me forget about it, it's not gonna work Jeong Yunho." You look up at him as he closes the distance between you two.

"Oh, it's not?" He teases, his face dipping down towards you in an angle that'll make it so easy for him to just kiss you, indulge in you, right at this moment.

"Mm, no." You subtly bite onto your bottom lip, but Yunho catches it. There's a small pause, some silence sitting in the air while Yunho's eyes are darting to your features— the mole near your bottom eye lid, long, thick lashes, plump lips.

Yeah, he wants to kiss you.

"Y/N?" He breaks the silence first.

"Mhm?" His lips only a mere inches away from yours at this point and it's obvious where this is going. God, you can't wait.

"Is it okay if I..?" You nod quietly as Yunho leans in to meet your lips. At first, the kiss is soft, sweet. He only pulls back to quickly read your expression, but it doesn't last for long when you're pulling him by the shirt for another kiss. This time, it's deeper. There's hunger, there's need, there's want. Yunho quickly drops the photos back on top of the drawer before cupping your cheeks. His tongue lines your bottom lip before inserting it in, a small whimper leaving your mouth when his tongue starts to dance around with yours. You push him back so that he plops onto his bed, boldly climbing onto his lap without a care in the world as you continue to messily make out with him. The quick moment you release your lips from his, he's chasing after your bottom lip— gently sucking onto it and biting it before pulling back. One hand is at your waist, fingers starting to hook onto the belt loop of your skirt when he feels you subtly grind against him. He lets out a breath while the other hand gently squeezes at your thigh before coming up to cup your cheek. He kisses you on the lips once more before he trails down your jaw, feeling your hips working against him as you let out small moans.

Your skirt is barely doing justice to cover you at this point, and it's driving Yunho crazy.

But, that's what brings him back to reality. Though it's hard as fuck to fully come back down from cloud nine, he doesn't wanna do this the wrong way. He wants to take you out first, wants to treat you properly and have your first time [if ever] naturally occur— not a drip of intoxication. You were worth much more than that, and he was not trying to be another Park Seonghwa who solely treated you like an object, a 'prized' possession; another body he could add to his list.

"Wait, wait." He whispers near your ear after prying his lips off of your jaw.

"What's wrong?" You look at him with some sort of fear, or worry. Yunho immediately shakes his head in response because there's nothing wrong with you; he just wants to do right by you.

"As much as I really, really wanna do this right now, I wanna do things right with you." His eyes land on yours as his thumb continues to caress your cheek. "Especially don't wanna be intoxicated if it ever gets to that point. Is that okay?" You give him a soft smile and nod.

"More than okay."

"Okay." He comes in for another sweet, gentle kiss against your lips— one where he stays there for a bit before slowly pulling back. "I don't wanna mess this up."

"You won't, Yunho. You couldn't." You brush the hair out of his face before lazily wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands rest at your waist while he looks at you, eyes darting across every inch of your face.

God, you are so beautiful. So sweet, and so beautiful.

Seonghwa is the biggest dumbass he has ever come across. But to each their own!

"Do you.. wanna make some pb&j sandwiches? Watch a movie while we lay down? Play a board game?" You giggle.

"Actually, a pb&j sandwich followed by a movie while laying down sounds amazing right now."

"Okay, let's do it." He taps your waist.

"Wait. Do you have clothes I can borrow and change into? Cause I definitely don't wanna lay down in this." He chuckles and walks to his drawer after the both of you get back on your feet. He hands you some shorts and a longsleeve, telling you to use whatever in the bathroom that you might need to freshen up. "Thank you." You plant a chaste kiss to his cheek before freshening up in his bathroom and changing into his clothes. You smile to yourself, smelling the scent of his detergent on the pieces of material, feeling how soft it is against your skin.

When you walk out, Yunho is already toasting some bread while grabbing the peanut butter and jelly. You giggle as you place your clothes down in his room, slipping yourself onto the counter near him while he goes to work.

"Yunho, the peanut butter to jelly ratio is off."

"No, it's not." He holds up the bread slice with a thin layer of jelly.

"It needs more jelly. You can still see parts of the bread cause there's not enough jelly." He laughs and nods.

"Okay, cutie. I'm on it." He adjusts the ratio until you're happily clapping and take the sandwich from him. You bite into it with so much satisfaction that Yunho can't help but be pleased with himself. You're happy. Here— with him and this sandwich.

"Hey." Yeosang suddenly walks through the door and slightly furrows his brows at the two of you laughing over pb&j sandwiches. You're sitting on the counter with Yunho now slotted in between your legs.

"Oh, hey! How was the rest of the party?" He shrugs and tosses his keys aside.

"Alright, I guess. You guys didn't miss out on much."

"Are Chaery and them still there?" He nods.

"Yeah, but they were getting ready to head out too."

"Want a pb&j sandwich?" Yeosang laughs.

"I'm good. Thanks." He spots Yunho's clothes on you and prevents himself from smirking a bit too big. He doesn't know you too well enough to tease, plus he feels like he can't just flat out assume, so he keeps it to himself and bids you two farewell instead. "I'm gonna shower in a bit and head to bed. Fucking beat."

"Goodnight!" You and Yunho call out before he disappears into his room. You and Yunho giggle at each other as you continue to satisfy your drunchies before getting yourselves ready for the movie. The both of you settle on a true crime documentary for god knows why [definitely not shits and giggles], but as long as Yunho was around, you felt comforted enough. He hands you an extra toothbrush from his stash, reassuring you that he wasn't pressuring you to stay unless you really wanted to.

Which, you did.

It was late. You were comfortable in his clothes. Of course you'd fall asleep mid-documentary. Plus, Yunho wasn't gonna let you leave this late even if you lived across the lot.

Once you and Yunho get more comfortable and clean up in the kitchen, he shuts off the lights and closes his door— leaving you to stand awkwardly in his room as you wait for him. He chuckles a bit and grabs his laptop off of his desk before nodding towards his bed.

"You can lay down, you know?"

"It's your bed. You should pick which side you want first."

"I'll hang out on the end so that the monsters don't come and get you in the middle of the night." You laugh and shake your head, slipping yourself near the wall after Yunho pulls his sheets back. He settles in right after, allowing you to snuggle against him as he sets the laptop on his tummy. "Are you okay?"

"You're comfy." He snorts a bit as the movie starts to play.

"Definitely gonna fall asleep."

"Am not." You whine.

"Probably 20 mins tops."

And Yunho's right, except it barely hits 20 minutes before he hears the soft snores against his chest. He smiles down at you before shutting off his laptop, setting it on the floor near his bed before adjusting his position so that the two of you were snuggled deeply under his covers.

He could get used to this, and he doesn't know if it's more of a good or bad thing right now.

But he doesn't ponder for long— setting a small kiss on the top of your head before shutting his eyes and letting the drowsiness take over.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintificreads @primoppang @betray-the-light @aurorasjoongie @wineyoungie @yunholuvrsblog @mingigiggles @jaerisdiction

405 notes · View notes

inbred-mothman · 1 month ago

Note

bro steb is my favorite background character lol. love my boy. also i hc him to be selectively mute <3

Now give me your steb headcanons or else *grabs TNT* :D /hj

How does it feel to be my first ask? Jk ik it feels amazing /j

Anyway, more Steb HCs below the cut :3

After the war, officers got an optional few months off. Steb took it, understanding how important it'd be for his health, but the time isn't spent the way it was intended to be. He spends the time still training and working out, volunteering in the medical field, and just reflecting on everything that has happened.

He is EXTREMELY hurt about Maddie's betrayal. As Enforcers, their trust is a heavy thing to have, especially having been in the strike team and positioned together. Their trust was life or death in so many instances. He saved her, and she was willing to just let him die at spear point. She manipulated him. So it's not that out there to think that he'd have some subconscious trust issues. Both having the fear that they'll die or the fear that they don't mean it when they try to gain his trust.

He tried to hand in his badge after finding out that Maddie wasn't who he thought she was. She was partially the reason he was promoted to the strike team and after that, so it doesn't feel deserved. Of course the station didn't accept it though.

Now onto some more.. Light hearted ones

He smells like petrichor

His frills are more sensitive than the rest of the skin in that area

He has 2 more sets of gills, one set on his collar bones and another along his ribs

He likes bitter things like dark chocolate and black coffee, however he also really likes tart things

Hes good at cooking, I don't think he's like.. a chef or anything but he's good at following a recipe

Steb is 100% the type to, while walking down a sidewalk or something, tap you on the opposite shoulder and snicker when you turn to look

Hes always got to be doing something for someone, his love language is acts of service. You're cold? He immediately gets up to get you a blanket. Headache? Have some ibuprofen. Tired? He's taking care of everything that day.

I hope you enjoy my ramblings

#arcane #arcane season 2 #steb #steb arcane

99 notes · View notes

fungal-rot · 7 months ago

Text

Just Ask

this is short, sweet, to the point. was gonna be longer, but i’ve had massive brain fart and writers block for like the past couple weeks lol. i wasn’t gonna post this bc of it, but then i was like, ‘well at least i wrote something !!’ so anyway-

pairing: Javi G x Reader

summary: Javi loves to spoil you. He'd give you the entire world if he could. All you have to do is ask. (this is also smut practice just fyi)

warnings: smut (no plot), fingering, oral (f receiving), fluffy kinda?? f!reader, no description of reader

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

"Just ask me, hermosa." Javi would always tell you; whether it was for a date night, a specific movie to watch, or even that new brand-name pair of shoes you eyed in a shop window. He only wanted to give you what you deserved.

"Ask, and it's yours."

"J-Javi, sweetheart-" You whined out, hands clutching and pawing at his wavy, sun-bleached hair while his face was buried deep into your slick cunt.

His tongue lapped and savored the musky, salty-sweet taste of your folds, all the while the bridge of his nose bumped and rubbed up against your clit, creating that tantalizing friction you were desperately chasing.

"Ask me," Javi uttered against your skin before sliding a long, thick finger inside your heat.

Your hips bucked into his mouth, eager to reach that high you could feel stirring up in your tummy. Of course, you adored that Javi wanted to lavish you with anything you asked for, but you hated actually having to ask. Not in an 'I-shouldn’t-have-to-ask' way; more of an 'I-don't-want-you-to-think-I'm-expecting-it' way.

He was determined to break you of that.

Javi hummed lowly before pulling his mouth away, eliciting a cry of loss from you. He inserts another finger, curling the two digits up against the sponge-like flesh of your cunt with careful precision. "Tell me what you want, mí corazón," he cooed and laid his head on your thigh's soft, pillowy flesh. "Need to hear you ask for it."

He placed a sweet kiss on your hip bone while that gentle, tender puppy-like gaze bored into yours. His neatly trimmed facial hair- wet from you- lightly scratched at your skin, erupting a wave of goosebumps and leaving behind a bit of your slick on the surface.

Another whine pushed from your chest. You wanted just to tell him to fuck you already, teeth gritting with a twitch of your lip. Javi was being so sweet, though. So tender and loving as he looked up at you from your thighs, thick fingers still curling and pumping into you at a slow, steady pace.

"You- I- fuck, Javi!" You cried out a stammered mess. The hand, still fisting at his hair, tugged a little harder, eliciting a groan from him with a shut of his eyes.

"Iwannacum!" Spoken all too quickly, and words slurred together, Javi shook his head with a click of his tongue.

"That is more of a statement," He lightly chided with a chuckle and breathy noise of your name, but moved his mouth back over your swollen bud, hovering and leaving you mewling beneath him.

Your hips lift from the mattress in an attempt to chase his mouth, and with a strong arm, he keeps you pinned. Your body was glistening with a thin layer of sweat, all nerve endings sweltering with a heat that only he could extinguish. As your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to find the words to correct yourself, but not quite getting there, that’s when Javi spoke once more in an almost desperate tone,

"Ask me."

Fuck, okay. You had to do this. With what little bit of resolve you had left, the words finally came falling from your tongue in hasty desire, "Javi, will yo- will you make me cum? Please, baby, I need to cum."

Pleased with your request, he smiled fondly with a faint hum of approval.

"Anything you ask for, it’s yours,” he murmured and latched his mouth back on your bundle of nerves, eagerly lapping and sucking away.

Oh, yes, Javi was going to give you any and everything you asked for.

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

uh, anyway yeah- i love my pookie sunshine bear. if you liked this please reblog/like/comment !! <3 i love feedback and hearing ur thoughts

#javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #the unbearable weight of massive talent #tuwomt #pedro pascal #javi g x you #javi g smut #javi g fluff #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javier gutierrez #drabble #javi g drabble #pedro boys

97 notes · View notes

project-sekai-facts · 7 months ago

Note

Opinions on the announcement? I think this might be the single most despised decision clpl has made, I’ve barely seen a single person happy, not in en, not in jp, not in kr. eos soon /j

hmmm i'm mixed on it. the fes is dumb. the fes is awful lineup bc now it messes up wxs/meiko's lim distribution for the next however many years and kanade makes sense honestly but pairing her with meiko means all the fes pairs are probably gonna be totally random mixed unit pairs.

the lim event. two vbs hako lims not just in the same year but within 2 months is insane. we've had two hako lims for the same unit in one year (2022 haruka lim banner hell), but the 2 months is fucking insane. AND BOTH HAVE KOHANE RATEUP. see i had a bad feeling that this could happen. i brushed off the fact that two events were announced which would make kohane5 lim on the account of two hako lims in 2 months which is insane. i thought they were being nice to tsukasa fans and giving them a month to save instead of 2 days, and assumed maybe this will just be how it is from now on. ALSO THIS IS WXS' FOURTH TIME BEING THE SHORTENED EVENT. SECOND TIME FOR TSUKASA ALONE. theyre just bullying tsukasa oshis bc they go so hard on tiering /j. also rip rui but he's probably still july lim lol even if not on a wxs event.

however on the bright side, it makes sense. this is THE VBS event that we have been working towards the entire time. having it be lim makes sense just because of the importance of it all. like sure give it super fancy card arts they deserve it (rip toya who is definitely 2*). also the cards look really good for both fes and Over Rad Squad. We'll ignore that Akito's hairstyle is just his wday hair flipped and shorter though...

anyway look holy shit rad weekend is trending... under television??

#asks #mod talks

57 notes · View notes

werewolfetone · 1 year ago

Text

1790s Ireland tumblr simulator

😐 william-dickham Follow

Omg has anyone else noticed the sexual tension between Caleb and Falkland in this chapter of Caleb Williams Daily. Falkleb REAL

( 12 notes )

🗞️ henryjoyjuniorofficial ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅ Follow

Anyway I can't believe I have to tell yous this again but if you support the n/orthern s/tar or any of its contributors you're literally advocating for the mass murder of women and children just like we've been seeing happening in france and I don't fucking want anything to do with you. They've said repeatedly and explicitly that they actually want to chop off the heads of every single person in this country and it's disgusting that they're still being platformed. Proof under the cut

🤺 jonathanswiftscock Follow

Those are out of context discord screenshots of someone calling william pitt a cunt. are u actually basing this on anything or

🗞️ henryjoyjuniorofficial ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅ Follow

Blocked ❤️

#we don't tolerate northern star apologism on this blog

( 879 notes )

🌳 gowhiteboygo Follow

Like to kill edmund burke instantly reblog to kill edmund burke instantly

( 130,907 notes )

Community label: mature

📰 northernstarofficial Follow

Feel like pure shit just want her back

📰 northernstarofficial Follow

Hey @ staff what the fuck is this

#another example of anti-dissenter discrimination I hate this fucking website

( 17,890 notes )

🔫 memberforcharlemont Follow

The inherent eroticism of duelling with your enemy

🔫 memberforcharlemont Follow

It's about the refusal to try to kill them outright it's about the tension of being so close to them when you pull the trigger it's about putting your life in their hands even though you hate them and are trying to kill them by allowing them a bullet as well. do you understand

( 45,900 notes )

🗣️ Anonymous asked: lower your rents or be visited by na Buachaillí Bána cunt

🏘️ local-landlord answered:

Lol. Anon hate used to be believable

🏘️ local-landlord Follow

Does anyone else smell burning

( 1,761 notes )

🖐️ steelboy1769 Follow

He is like a babygirl to me

#I want to eat him alive

( 1,690 notes )

😎 incognitopolls Follow

😐 william-dickham Follow

( 2,700 notes )

📖 friendofmrpitt Follow

Reminder that if you support j/a/c/o/b/i/n/i/s/m every single shakespeare character fucking hates you

( 4,977 notes )

🤺 jonathanswiftscock Follow

She richard on my brinsley till I sheridan

🤺 jonathanswiftscock Follow

Easy website

( 20,234 notes )

🏰 lordlondonderry ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅ Follow

Hey guys

😐 william-dickham Follow

🖐️ steelboy1769 Follow

🤺 jonathanswiftscock Follow

🐺 mrhutton Follow

🌳 gowhiteboygo Follow

🪓 catholic-committee-polycule Follow

🔫 memberforcharlemont Follow

📰 northernstarofficial Follow

#this doesn't deserve an irish history tag #jory.txt

235 notes · View notes

fuumiku · 9 months ago

Text

Selkie AU

Ok so on discord we went off. A lot of this is just paraphrasing or copy pasted from buddies hii guys. It’s honestly a fun concept to play with no matter how you turn it around~ I’ll start off with the version I drew these doodles for but it’s all under the cut because it got so long... There’s also always place for different flavors like if they realize the other’s a selkie immediately or over time, etc etc so this is all just food for thought. Marcille is always the instigator though lol, obsessed with him no matter the universe. As a selkie wants to learn more about this human and as a researcher is chasing after this secretive mysterious sea-guy while he very much tries to escape everyone’s attention.

Fisherman Chil & selkie Marcille

Old sad fisherman Chilchuck… He drinks out at sea even. Divorcee dad who’s got nothing waiting for him on land anymore. He’s on the sea every day to get fish to sell at the wet market or to the butcher, the sky and sea’s grey and everything’s dull and tedious. Seals are nothing special either. The only stuff he knows about selkies really could have some selkie storybooks he reads to his daughters. Meanwhile selkie Marcille… You could go a lot of different routes I feel. You know I feel like being a selkie fits with Marcille and her mom, with that interaction of "you’ll have to let others go and deal with that", like in this AU she’ll always be different and will have to leave people behind for the sea eventually here and there and whatnot…

Chilchuck and worksongs... Fisherman Chilchuck singing sea shanties while selkie Marcille sings her songs of the sea and then she hears him and gets curious and follows him back on land or something…… Tries to blend in with humans just so she’s like. What’s his deal. But them only meeting out at sea is very cute as well. Eventually she gets on his boat and they hang out. Melancholic psychological horror sea tragedy-romance would be fun idk. Maybe he starts hearing a woman sing out at sea randomly and thinks it’s the alcohol. But he’d be a goner already lmao. Like don’t get me wrong it’d take a while of actual interactions for him to actually fall in love, but also ~~he’s lonely~~ pretty blonde woman waaaa. Siren imagery hehe. "Hmmm I didn't know selkies had hypnotic voices as well" (they don't. he's down outrageous and he knows it.) Mr "in denial so bad maybe magic is the answer yep for sure". I want her to hear him singing something he used to for his daughters/wife etc and shes like 👁️👁️ who hurt this man........... (Could also work for selkie Chil) What’s his tragic backstory…..

I think marcille also deserves to go silly and catch a carp between her teeth, giving it to chilchuck batting her eyelashes like teehee... I'm such a good assistant right... He needs them undamaged if he wants to sell them but he still makes use of her gift anyway... Puts it in a stew and shares it with her... Something we made together..… Marcille being able to taste human food with actual spices and actual heat and actual cooked meat... His home is the warmest place on the surface. His hugs are more comforting than even the water’s. AGH and how long hasn’t he eaten a real homecooked meal you’d bet 😭 Marcille notices he’s underweight and is like "he’s always fishing though??? Does he just need like, a lot??" and takes it upon herself to bring him more fish to feed him. "He NEEDS to blubber up. I know it." Do you think when his wife was still there he'd come home to the smell of cooking.... but now there's nothing......... He’s on his own, he sleeps in the boat… It just smell like fish all day. The stench gets to him and even the burn of alcohol in his nostrils is a kinder hell. NOW he comes back to the stench of roting flesh and he's like :))) ahh.... my gi rl firned 💖 /j

Selkie Marcille getting onto his boat out of nowhere and slapping the beer bottle out of his hand. It’d go hard if he’s so drunk once that he’s leaning over the railing with his bottle hanging down from his grip and the beer goes into the sea and she tastes it and is like. Now what the fuck is this. Ew. He doesn’t look so good maybe I should splash him with water. She could save him from drowning... Girl who puts him on a rock somewhere until he wakes up and hides in the water as soon as he comes to… Peekinh at him from the surface of the water because, oh dear we're shy now because it's face to face… Drawing parallels between swaying (drunk) and swaying (motion of boat on the sea). She sways his world…… Makes him feel dizzy in a nice, light airy way…… He crashes into his bed in his home and still feels the rocking of the waves under him, and he falls asleep thinking of her…

Go out to the sea in a storm because you can’t stand feeling useless. The sea is your livelihood, it's where you're good and useful. On land you never know what to do with your hands. Maybe he should just let the sea pull him under. let it sweep him away. Marcille does exactly that, but it's not something that erases him. It's not something that swallows him whole. It's something that shows him a whole other world- The coral reefs, the schools of fish that exist below, the lush seaweed forests that Marcille treasures so much. It's all been there for him to see, theres so much beneath his feet. And all he had to do was let her take his hand. This world full of fish and creatures he's caught and gutted... that he gets to see in a different light…… The idea of him trusting her enough to let her lead him underwater... I think the time that Marcille leads him into the water should be on one beautiful evening, with the water shimmering, and the sun casting rays onto the waters surface- enough that it's still scary at first, enough that Chilchuck still struggles against the salty grasp of the waves, but when marcille takes him under he can see just how the light of the sun casts its spotlight on the seafloor- and how even in the shallows therein lies a thousand wonders, ones he's stepped right over before. I'm just obsessed with chilchuck experiencing a whole nother world in there. Give me childlike wonder. Give me a Marcille who wants to show her grump fucking fisherman boyfriend the cute fishies and the minnows, the pretty hermit crabs. Something about the sea looking different from beneath the waves... The parallels of him on the beach stepping over shells and urchins in the shallows with his boots and just crush them right over, not even noticing he did from force of habit and routine having dulled everything… Him working on the sea all the time but never really seeing it because he’s so absorbed in his own shit and he always just uses the harbor so there’s never real contact with it anyways. When the sea water laps at his forearms when he reels the net in but they feel like lashes of frost against his skin. She'd look really pretty with her hair flowy in the waves............ Marcille’s hair should get used for creepy compositions more… In the water she takes him under and her hair tangles and latch onto him against his skin. Her hair is long, underwater it could engulf him probably, he likes blonde hair he'd be happy with that… Not the lowkey suicidal ideation of letting the sea take him and how he’d be happy suffocating in her hair when doing a dive wow ok

I keep thinking about the Dredge AU… The video game yes yes. It’d be a mess but ohhh ohh the sea and its wonderful world but also its dark secrets, Marcille researching the depths and finding dark powers and idk the tragedy of a man at sea who can’t forget what he’s lost and the mythical gf he made that was never meant to be and it’ll destroy them both idk idk. Bc of Marcille helping him fish from below as a selkie, Senshi like YOU ARE OVERFISHING YOU ARE DESTROYING THE ECOSYSTEMMM @ them lmao You are feeding the whole town and making big bucks but you’re fishing so much that some fish are starting to get stale without being bought, the sea is bleeding and the leviathan is hungry

Maybe one time, one of them gets upset at the other and holds the seal fur hostage, its sooo mean but it also feels very them. When I think selkie I think of the movie Song of the Sea and in that movie the father of the protags loved a selkie, the mother, but she had to leave at one point for the sea because that’s her nature etc etc, but he didn’t want her to leave so he hid her skin which like. Ruined everything and hurt her. And ohhh the parallels… Leaving him… Just food for thought.

Selkie Chil & marine researcher Marcille

The reverse of that where Chil’s the selkie, Marcille’s fascination for him has the reverse angle, almost like admiration too. Crying she’d be like "who’s this mysterious guy, why’s he look kinda ethereal(selkie fairy blablabla)?" and investigates meanwhile he doesn’t want anyone to see him transforming and such so he’s like "leave me aloneeeeeee!!" Selkie chil? secretive man who just wants to chill gets grabbed by the most enthusiastic fairytale-obsessed girl out there. She WILL almost drown trying to say hi. C’mon mister mythical let’s have a storybook romance <3 Jumping in da water and he has to rescue her and immediately gains 100 grey hairs. She gets her storybook ‘saved by the merman’ moment but at what cost. "WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGG" screaming, she gets scolded very much but it all goes in one ear out the other tbh. Selkie Chilchuck is even better with his secretiveness... How do you get around the fact you’re a seal? Iunno I’ve never been a seal Obsessed with the implications of his family in this. Except if his wife and daughters were humans and so his work travels are instead selkie shenanigans going out at sea for months on ends, I imagine they’d be selkies too… Did they get separated? Die? Is Chilchuck’s cowl in this one Flertom’s fur? :( Once more mentioning sea shanties Chilchuck btw, Roll the Old Chariot comes to mind… Ooough Song of the Sea from the movie that he sung to his daughters <33 I’m fine

With the researcher angle actually being pushed there are interesting plots and scenes you could think of obvi, but uh we kind of went off on the fisherman Chil Marcille selkie AU instead haha. It’d be cute if she ends up teaching him how to live on land in the end. Dresses him up like a funky lil guy. I went with tallman Chil when drawing it and selkie Marcille’s more elf-like, and for selkie Chil I’d imagine it’s the reverse where she’s tallman-like and he still looks like a halfling… Sea-related AUs are my weak spot <33

No matter how you turn it, Marcille is the instigator lol. Selkie Marcille: this little man… I want to know more about this human! Selkie Chilchuck = tries to avoid everything but this Marcille keeps chasing him! It’s her job to, Chilchuck minds his business!! He sees a sliver of something weird out at night? Not his job nope keep your nose out of that it’ll only bring you trouble. It’d have to really itch him at him for him to crack I think… Honestly he’d make a great lovecraftian horror protagonist lol. We love a girl with no chill and her nose in everyone’s business

Shout to to @dayundying, @cabinette, @soappox and @lucky-fydraws!! These people were there for the brainstorming and the writing of the scripture…

#Dunmeshi au #marchil #chilchuck tims #marcille donato #dredge au #Irish chilchuck ftw #also let’s be real chil would see a naked woman monster and be like oh… i am listening #Mean old fisherman ily. He wonders how seal jerky would taste. Surprisingly kind tho. Would pet the seal #If ppl want more specific credit or parts edited out just lmk #Tallman chilchuck

133 notes · View notes