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gutsby · 11 days ago

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Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.��

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

#ENOUGH BULLSHITTING WE NEED MORE GLUCOSE GUARDIAN JOEL ON THE TL NEOWWWWW #🫵🏼😐#i’m begging y’all to write more for this very particular and off-putting dynamic bc i love it dearly #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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dandelionsresilience · 4 months ago

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Good News - July 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Four new cheetah cubs born in Saudi Arabia after 40 years of extinction

“[T]he discovery of mummified cheetahs in caves […] which ranged in age from 4,000 to as recent as 120 years, proved that the animals […] once called [Saudi Arabia] home. The realisation kick-started the country’s Cheetah Conservation Program to bring back the cats to their historic Arabian range. […] Dr Mohammed Qurban, CEO of the NCW, said: […] “This motivates us to continue our efforts to restore and reintroduce cheetahs, guided by an integrated strategy designed in accordance with best international practices.””

2. In sub-Saharan Africa, ‘forgotten’ foods could boost climate resilience, nutrition

“[A study published in PNAS] examined “forgotten” crops that may help make sub-Saharan food systems more resilient, and more nutritious, as climate change makes it harder to grow [current staple crops.] [… The study identified 138 indigenous] food crops that were “relatively underresearched, underutilized, or underpromoted in an African context,” but which have the nutrient content and growing stability to support healthy diets and local economies in the region. […] In Eswatini, van Zonneveld and the World Vegetable Center are working with schools to introduce hardy, underutilized vegetables to their gardens, which have typically only grown beans and maize.”

3. Here's how $4 billion in government money is being spent to reduce climate pollution

“[New Orleans was awarded] nearly $50 million to help pay for installing solar on low to middle income homes [… and] plans to green up underserved areas with trees and build out its lackluster bike lane system to provide an alternative to cars. […] In Utah, $75 million will fund several measures from expanding electric vehicles to reducing methane emissions from oil and gas production. [… A] coalition of states led by North Carolina will look to store carbon in lands used for agriculture as well as natural places like wetlands, with more than $400 million. [… This funding is] “providing investments in communities, new jobs, cost savings for everyday Americans, improved air quality, … better health outcomes.””

4. From doom scrolling to hope scrolling: this week’s big Democratic vibe shift

“[Democrats] have been on an emotional rollercoaster for the past few weeks: from grim determination as Biden fought to hang on to his push for a second term, to outright exuberance after he stepped aside and Harris launched her campaign. […] In less than a week, the Harris campaign raised record-breaking sums and signed up more than 100,000 new volunteers[….] This honeymoon phase will end, said Democratic strategist Guy Cecil, warning the election will be a close race, despite this newfound exuberance in his party. [… But v]oters are saying they are excited to vote for Harris and not just against Trump. That’s new.”

5. Biodegradable luminescent polymers show promise for reducing electronic waste

“[A team of scientists discovered that a certain] chemical enables the recycling of [luminescent polymers] while maintaining high light-emitting functions. […] At the end of life, this new polymer can be degraded under either mild acidic conditions (near the pH of stomach acid) or relatively low heat treatment (> 410 F). The resulting materials can be isolated and remade into new materials for future applications. […] The researchers predict this new polymer can be applied to existing technologies, such as displays and medical imaging, and enable new applications […] such as cell phones and computer screens with continued testing.”

6. World’s Biggest Dam Removal Project to Open 420 Miles of Salmon Habitat this Fall

“Reconnecting the river will help salmon and steelhead populations survive a warming climate and [natural disasters….] In the long term, dam removal will significantly improve water quality in the Klamath. “Algae problems in the reservoirs behind the dams were so bad that the water was dangerous for contact […] and not drinkable,” says Fluvial Geomorphologist Brian Cluer. [… The project] will begin to reverse decades of habitat degradation, allow threatened salmon species to be resilient in the face of climate change, and restore tribal connections to their traditional food source.”

7. Biden-Harris Administration Awards $45.1 Million to Expand Mental Health and Substance Use Services Across the Lifespan

““Be it fostering wellness in young people, caring for the unhoused, facilitating treatment and more, this funding directly supports the needs of our neighbors,” said HHS Secretary Xavier Becerra. [The funding also supports] recovery and reentry services to adults in the criminal justice system who have a substance use disorder[… and clinics which] serve anyone who asks for help for mental health or substance use, regardless of their ability to pay.”

8. The World’s Rarest Crow Will Soon Fly Free on Maui

“[… In] the latest attempt to establish a wild crow population, biologists will investigate if this species can thrive on Maui, an island where it may have never lived before. Translocations outside of a species’ known historical range are rare in conservation work, but for a bird on the brink of extinction, it’s a necessary experiment: Scientists believe the crows will be safer from predators in a new locale—a main reason that past reintroduction attempts failed. […] As the release date approaches, the crows have already undergone extensive preparation for life in the wild. […] “We try to give them the respect that you would give if you were caring for someone’s elder.””

9. An optimist’s guide to the EV battery mining challenge

““Battery minerals have a tremendous benefit over oil, and that’s that you can reuse them.” [… T]he report’s authors found there’s evidence to suggest that [improvements in technology] and recycling have already helped limit demand for battery minerals in spite of this rapid growth — and that further improvements can reduce it even more. [… They] envision a scenario in which new mining for battery materials can basically stop by 2050, as battery recycling meets demand. In this fully realized circular battery economy, the world must extract a total of 125 million tons of battery minerals — a sum that, while hefty, is actually 17 times smaller than the oil currently harvested every year to fuel road transport.”

10. Peekaboo! A baby tree kangaroo debuts at the Bronx Zoo

“The tiny Matschie’s tree kangaroo […] was the third of its kind born at the Bronx Zoo since 2008. [… A] Bronx Zoo spokesperson said that the kangaroo's birth was significant for the network of zoos that aims to preserve genetic diversity among endangered animals. "It's a small population and because of that births are not very common," said Jessica Moody, curator of primates and small mammals at the Bronx Zoo[, …] adding that baby tree kangaroos are “possibly one of the cutest animals to have ever lived. They look like stuffed animals, it's amazing.””

July 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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moondirti · 3 months ago

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imagine being the poor soul assigned to work a serial murder investigation under detective john mactavish.

you're good at your job. analytical, committed, discrete. possessing an eye for detail that turns the most convoluted problems simple, and a mental stamina to sustain you through the more gruesome aspects of your work. but with the explosive nature of this case, in particular — the crimes perfectly suited to garner media attention, victims offed too fast and sporadically for authorities to keep up, stirring an uproar by people who feel as though you are not doing enough — your captain sees it best to place someone… better liked, at the forefront. an agent able to empathise, communicate, reassure, and flash a comforting smile for the public.

charm, you think, makes for a lot of things. the rogue scot proves to you that it does not help make a good sleuth.

his investigation strategies are inelegant. the only thing he manages to do effectively upon processing every emergency call is waste department resources. by the time you arrive on scene — because being supplanted as head has its unfortunate effect on when you get notified — technicians are overwhelmed collecting trace materials he's deemed vital (though they're clearly not); pathologists have been given information conflicting with the results of their examinations, skewing results; and there's absolutely no sign of the profiler working on branching the series of murders to one suspect.

it's like that, day in and day out. the patterns you were slowly starting to uncover come apart quick. mactavish overwrites your list of suspects, trashes 'trivial' witness statements, takes informants off payroll to reallocate discretionary funds towards surveillance tools no one is trained to handle, and is an overall nuisance when you take up your complains with him. you know this case like the back of your hand, have worked on it for months now. if he could just heed your advice and think about what he's doing before he does it, then your combined efforts could crack things open sooner rather than later.

charming. reckless. he also seems especially gifted at steamrolling your complaints—

take it up wi' the boss, lamb. there's a reason ah got pit in charge—ye need tae stop worryin' yer wee heid aboot these things. jist look at ma track record. speaks for itself, i think. say, how aboot ah treat ye tae dinner an' a private massage this week'nd, help ye unwind? ye're a bonnie thing under that issued jacket o' yours. gotta learn tae take it off, sometimes.

it's your antisocial nature that shuts you up. or that's what you like to believe, anyway — the closest thing you can attribute an overactive stomach to. in your own time, you test the integrity of his word and pull some strings to access his history. a near perfect case clearance rate, go figure, accompanied by glowing recommendations from every captain he's ever served. described as clever, crafty, tenacious.

words and numbers don't exactly do much to ease your conscious. you need evidence, a lead, a testimony, an arrest, to believe all the praise — especially with a growing list of families whose grief doesn't get easier.

still, you're quiet. more pliant, afterwards.

johnny takes a liking to your attitude shift.

if not a shaky starting trust, it just means that you don't complain when he bullies you into his car to kickstart a canvass. or as he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt for you, or when he pinches your cheek with some cheery encouragement on the tip of his tongue. you're obviously tired, still suspicious, but you let him do what he wants with little to say about it; driving from street to street, knocking on doors and asking random citizens if they've seen or heard anything suspicious.

and really, it's the final test when, by dusk, he gets nothing more than a you still haven't found my stolen car.

he waits to see if you have something witty to say about what a waste of time it all was. a comment to really grind at his gears, muttered under your breath like all the other foul doubts you think he hasn't heard.

(driving to the last house on his list, the sky deepening from pink to purple to black. everyone at the office should have retired by now, and will have expected you to have done so yourself. it's really a wonder he managed to get you out here. you must have put sense on the back burner to miss the purpose this excursion lacks. the fact that neighbourhood canvasses are only done after a fresh crime scene. never like this, mid-week, for no reason at all.)

only you stay silent.

he's glad you can learn to listen.

home is a comfort after such a long, tricky day.

johnny lets you knock on the door this time, standing two steps behind so he can properly absorb his handiwork. when simon answers, nursing a cigarette with a mean, cruel twist of his lips, he feels his heart strain a little between his ribs.

"good work, mutt." a large fist hooks under the collar of your jacket. before you know it, you're being slammed into the doorframe, knocked unconscious, and hauled into the foyer. "this one's pretty. might jus' keep 'er."

"aye, sir. easy tae break too, ah reckon."

#unedited #johnny can play the fool like no one else #johnny 'soap' mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader x ghost #ghoap x reader #simon riley x reader x johnny mactavish

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lushrue · 5 months ago

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141 + könig & graves as college professors (fem!reader) nsfw, mdni

cw: p-in-v sex, creampie, semi-public sex, power imbalance/unethical relationship, age gap (everyone's legal), oral (f!receiving), bondage, oral (m!receiving)

price teaches military strategy, a more theoretical and scientific look at war and battle tactics. he’s done the field work, he knows what it takes to physically carry out a mission. but he values the skill behind the planning a bit more than the execution. would definitely give real-world examples with missions he’s carried out with as much detail as he can provide. has classes outside some days. he tells his students it’s because the weather’s nice, but he really just wants to smoke.

he’s one to stare when you show up to class in a short skirt or low-cut top. he’s not shy about it, but he’s tactful, not letting his gaze settle for too long. won’t fuck you in his office, too nervous his colleagues would hear. so he comes to your dorm room sometimes when your roommate’s out, or he’ll take you to a hotel and treat you nice with room service and the whole deal. absolutely obsessed with the way his cum drips down your thighs, takes some pictures to jerk off to later.

ghost maybe teaches something like warfare tactics. something that would only be taught at a military college, something hands-on. he takes his job educating the next generation of soldiers seriously. insists that his course have both a lecture and lab section. he’s getting his students up at the ass-crack of dawn to run drills, even if they’re not currently serving. they wanted to know how to win a war, so he’ll show them.

kinda hard to convince, tbh. he’s fine pushing the bounds when it comes to rules of engagement, but this? still, when you prove yourself, when you beat out everyone else on the obstacle course, he jumps at the chance for some extra tutoring sessions with you. the fact that you look good in a sports bra and leggings is just a bonus. he’ll definitely fuck you in the gym bathroom after a training session. he’ll drag you into a stall and lock the door, hold you up if your legs are too tired from the workout he put you through.

soap teaches something not military-related, i think. maybe chemistry or physics with his demolitions background? very into demonstrations in his classes, likes to make shit blow up or fly across the room for the wow factor. he’s set the fire alarms off in the science lab more than once. definitely has a high score on rate my professor, one of the most sought after in the whole physical science department.

fucks you in the science lab. you’d come to him during office hours, cause the subjects he teaches have a really low pass rate. it’d start with actual homework help before devolving into heavy petting and kisses as a reward for correct answers. he’ll test your concentration, making you recite newton’s laws or the ratio of reactant to product. when you fumble, he’ll just chuckle and mumble something about how your head is too fuzzy for science. not too fuzzy for him to bully his cock into you, though.

gaz teaches something intro level. we’re talking “intro to military studies” or “intro to war and peace”. he’s really lenient on due dates, doesn’t have the really strict attitude that a lot of intro level professors have. he’s chill, one of those professors that does everything he can to work with you. won’t suffer a slacker, though. if you don’t do the work, don’t expect him to round your grade up at the end of the semester.

he won’t fuck you while you’re still enrolled in one of his classes. he knows himself, the temptation would be too strong if he had to see you for 55 minutes three times a week and couldn’t touch you. so he waits until the semester is over. but best believe he’s dragging you into some secluded corner of the building the minute you hand in your final. tells you about every single time he’s wanted to touch you, every time you’ve almost made him break his own rule. he makes it up to you, though, eating you out in the hallway and making you come on his tongue twice.

könig teaches german. falling a bit into the stereotype here, but i feel like this man has a really strong love of country. he’d definitely teach the culture alongside the language. he probably has an oktoberfest celebration for his students, lets the older ones drink beer if they want. he tells stories all the time about growing up in austria and will get sidetracked for a whole class just talking about life.

when he’s trying to seduce you, he’s a gentle giant. always cooing praises at you about how pretty you are, how well you’re taking to the language, that you’re a natural. but the moment you give in, he lets himself indulge. everything he’s ever wanted to act out, he does with you. if he’s stroked his thick cock to someone else doing it on his computer screen, he wants to try. it’s how you find yourself tied up in his bed, silk rope wrapped around your body as he fucks your throat. always dirty talks to you in german, giving you praise when you figure out what he’s saying.

graves teaches something niche, a class on terrorism in America or something like that. he gets really into it too. he’s known for being really animated in his lectures, gets really loud sometimes. other professors hate having a class in the lecture hall next to his. appreciates the students who stay after class to talk to him more in depth about his lectures. he knows the material can be dull sometimes, but he always has a few that are really passionate about what he teaches.

you’re one of those few. he’s embarrassed to admit that he falls for you, the way your eyes sparkle when he starts talking about some fringe terror group he helped to squash when he was serving. you always give him your rapt attention and he eats it up. takes you on dates to nice restaurants a few towns over so you won’t run into anyone either of you know. likes to fuck you over his desk after office hours are over. once, he shoved his boxers in your mouth and fucked you in the middle of the afternoon, when anyone could walk in. that time was your favorite.

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russellsppttemplates · 7 months ago

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I'm right here! (Oscar Piastri)

People seem to forget you're dating Oscar

Note: english is not my first language. Another Oscar piece 🫶

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: jealous themes

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Do you think this will translate as well on the track though?", Phil, the head of the engineering department, asked as you showed him the latest set of data.

"Even with the interval we've set for changes, these numbers show it could improve performance, especially in race pace", you pointed to the calculations on the side.

"We would only have it for Miami, though", he reasoned, "we don't have enough time to get this done for Shanghai and I don't think it would be wise to test this in a track we haven't raced in five years", Amelia argued as you nodded in agreement, "but it looks promising - good job, Y/N", she patted your back.

"Would you feel comfortable talking about it in the meeting with Zak, Andrea and the mechanics? You have been the one working the most with this, makes sense for you to be the one taking point. Lando and Oscar should join you as well - I think they're doing something on the Sim", William mused.

"Absolutely! Yes, Oscar said he was driving a new set up and strategy Tom also wants to discuss in the meeting", you offered with a smile.

"Having insider information makes this easier - I don't have to check every single e-mail and wonder about things, especially Oscar's schedule", Amelia chuckled, rubbing your shoulder before she got up.

As everyone gathered in the meeting room, you set your laptop up so the latest data would be seen by everyone as you spoke about the changes, "we don't think nor expect this will be ready for China, but we're hoping to have the new package in Miami already - gives us enough time to work on it and the track there is ideal for us to have an idea of how this could play out for the rest of the season", you concluded.

"I agree - I think China will be damage control racing and we're accepting it as it goes", Andrea stated.

"We just need to get going with these then and also get the guys to try it out on the- Oh! Speaking of the devil", Zak chuckled as Oscar and Lando stepped inside the meeting room.

"So that's that, I think - thank you for all your work and let's hope we can bring some points next weekend", the British driver said before everyone scattered out.

Closing your laptop and getting your tablet, you held them against your torso so you could go and set them back to your station before lunch. You didn't make it very far as Oscar stood just outside the room, his hand snaking up your back carefully as he didn't want to startle you.

"Good morning, love", he smiled, kissing your cheek and walking with you.

"Morning, Osc", you kissed his cheek back, "how was training?", you wondered.

"Same old - went for a run this time, though, it was nice enough outside", your boyfriend offered as you reached your desk, tidying it a little bit before leaving to get some lunch, walking hand in hand.

You didn't expect to fall for a driver, especially after the relationship you had with Lando. You behaved like siblings, often pranking eachother, and it had helped you grow more confident around him and the senior staff when you felt you were all but a small intern. Over the years, you grew more comfortable as your ideas and pitches would get considered and tested, finally feeling like your place was well earned and that at the right time, the development would come to bring McLaren to the top where it belonged.

When Oscar joined the team, however, you didn't expect to feel the way you felt about the Australian driver. He was handsome, very shy and very kind and thoughtful as he sat all through the meetings as you explained the changes. Jeopardising your career was something you didn't want to do, but after some not so careful touches and glances, the team assured you it wouldn't be an issue in case you and Oscar were to pursue a relationship together.

"Here's my favourite team-mate! And she brought Oscar with her!", Lando joked as you sat at the same table as him.

Swatting his neck playfully, you sat down next to him so you could face Oscar as he put his tray down, "I will revoke new updates package from you and you'll be stuck in the midfield", you taunted before you started eating.

"Do you want to spend the night at my place? I need to sort a few things out still this afternoon, but I'm hoping I can leave on time today", you squinted your eyes.

"What do you mean on time?", Lando quirked an eyebrow.

"Yesterday, she got so caught up in the calculations, I barely got a text out of her when I asked her if she wanted to have dinner with me", Oscar chuckled as you held hands on top of the table, playing with his fingers, "what was it you texted me? 'I'm having a breakthrough' I think it was", your boyfriend offered.

"I did, though! Amelia checked it over and we might be onto something - I have to go to Race Base this afternoon so they can check them out", you shrugged your shoulders."We're spending the whole afternoon in the sim", Oscar checked with you, "when you get off, then we can leave together - how does that sound?".

Coming back to your place after you stopped by the supermarket, you set the bag on the counter and pulled out all of the ingredients you bought to make sure the dinner would be suitable and appropriate to Oscar's plan.

"I haven't had a proper cuddle today", Oscar pulled you to him, beggining to litter kisses on your forehead all the way to your cheeks and jaw, "I can't ever do this at the center", he mumbled against your neck, tickling you.

"We could, just where there are no other team members", you giggled before cupping his cheeks, "which happens to be nowhere most of the time", before you kissed his lips.

"I'm going to start working on the chicken", Oscar said after you stole a few kisses, "are you going to be in the Center for the race?".

"No, I'm travelling with the team", you smiled as you took the fresh pasta out of the bag, "which means we can spend more time together - and people will actually see us together", you mumbled the last part.

"People know we're together, love", he smiled, cutting up the last bit of garlic and tossing it in the pan.

"Sometimes it doesn't seem like it - they didn't see me in Jeddah and the rumours flew out of control", you wiped your hands on the kitchen towell before hugging Oscar's back, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

"You know how the media works - they see the smallest hint to something they want to see and then they're there", he offered, taking one of his hands to squeeze your hip, "you're the one here, aren't you?", he tsked.

"Where are you going?", Oscar asked as he saw you grab a tablet and push the chair back under the table, "I thought we could have some time together now".

"The stewards picked out eight cars at random to get checked over a few components - Mike and Barry are waiting for me", you offered, pecking his lips quickly, "hopefully they're just not messing around with our schedule because everything is supposed to be how it is!", you smiled before you started to walk out.

"I'll go with you, then", your boyfriend assured, "can't have you go to the wolves on your own when you can have company, beautiful".

Oscar walked up to the building with you, kissing your temple before you stepped inside, "I left some data from the sprint for you to look at, and tell Lando I also left a file for him with his tire deg - I told Will to do it, but he might forget!", you alerted before letting him go.

Knowing how long it would take, he went back to the McLaren garage, stopping whenever fans snapped a couple of pictures or autographs.

By the time you were back in the hotel room after the sprint and qualifying, Oscar went to the bathroom so he could have a shower, leaving you to lay on the bed and scroll through social media.

You looked at the photos the media team had posted, along with the stories where you could spot yourself in the background and spotted a few comments as you flicked through the carrousel of pictures, the comments under it weren't something you hadn't seen before.

Hear me out, Oscar and Elaine are the perfect match

I know, right? 😭 honestly, they need to get together! They would be so cute together

She's so polite and put together, but I get rhe vibe that she's really shy too, they would be perfect for eachother

Are we forgetting Y/N? aka Oscar's girlfriend

I still can't believe the people at the top have let their engineer date a driver

Y/N's way too out there, I call PR relationship

She couldn't even build a great car, I'm not sure why you would defend her

She was literally the reason the car and the turnaround last year and we started getting podiums?

These have been the best 12 months in terms of development, what are you on about? Just because she's with Oscar, you can't dig at her like that

The last few comments don't come up too often, but you had to admit it was nice when they did even if they did nothing to the way you felt.

The green eyed monster took over more times that you'd like. You work with numbers, probabilities and direct correlations, so it was hard to miss the reason behind how you were feeling.

"Why are you looking at your phone like that? You promised you wouldn't work once we got back to the room", Oscar warned, using the towell to dry his hair before he looked at you again.

"I'm not working", you mumbled, locking the phone and setting it on your stomach, pondering whether or not you should talk to Oscar about this.

"That long silence tells me that there is something bothering you", Oscar began, "I'm not saying you have to talk about it right now - I won't force you to -, but I'm here for you when you want to do it", he offered earnestly.

"I'm jealous of you and Elaine", you stated, earning a quirked eyebrow from your boyfriend.

"Me and Elaine? The communications' intern?", he looked for some clarification.

"Yes!", you answered loudly.

"We don't - I don't even spend that much time with her, what do you mean?", Oscar asked.

"I know you don't, but people online seem to think you should! First, it was that actress that McLaren invited for Abu Dhabi - the weekend where Natalie and Naomi kept approaching us because they wanted to chat and there was actual visual proof we were together after all the rumours -, now they're saying how you should go out with Elaine!", you admitted, "they're all saying you really should have someone and that she should be the one to go, that she has all the qualities you should look for and I-", you took a big breath in, "I'm literally over there, every single day of the races - in the garage, sometimes in the pitwall!", you stated, "I barely do any races from the Center anymore, so it's not like people forgot that I exist!".

"Love, I'd never do that to you - you're the only person I care about like that", Oscar replied instantly.

"I know you don't, but it hurts to see", you admitted, "comments people make about my boyfriend and how he really should start dating someone when our relationship is public - I'm there, I see them, they see me!", you let a tear fall down your cheek, "there's only so much I can do to make it obvious, Osc!".

Oscar sat down next to you on the bed, throwing the towell on the floor for the moment so he could pull you to face him.

"Y/N, I didn't know it was bothering you so much, I don't even notice all of that", your boyfriend craddled your face in his hands, thumbs wiping the tears that continued to fall and looking into your eyes.

"I never told you and I know you don't read all of the comments", you reasoned, "I just thought it would stop at some point! Everyone keeps saying that you should have someone and I want them to think I'm that someone - because I am!", you said bitterly.

"Is there something you'd like me to do? That would make you feel better about it?", Oscar combed your bangs away and behind your ears.

"What can we do anyway? Have you walk around with a t-shirt that says "I have a girlfriend - Y/N, the engineer"?", you scoffed.

"I will do that if you think it will help - throw in a headband with "Y/N's boyfriend" too if it helps!", he tried to pry a smile out of you.

"Don't be silly", you playfully shoved his chest before holding his hands in yours, "I honestly have no idea what to do, but I know I want it to stop without putting our jobs on the line", you pouted.

"Maybe an Instagram post from us then? Something chilled but serious enough so anyone can get the hint - and I wouldn't mind arriving into the paddock with you in the morning", your boyfriend suggested.

"Oscar, I have to be there way earlier than you need to", you argued.

"Then I'll be there earlier, I'll have breakfast there with you and we'll spend more time together in front of everyone - as much as you feel comfortable with", Oscar offered you an assuring smile, "I don't want anyone else the way I want you, I don't love anyone the way I love you, Y/N".

Smiling at the honesty and safety he was transmitting you, you kissed his lips, starting with small pecks before one last long kiss, letting your foreheads touch as you pulled away, "thank you, Osc, I love you".

The next morning, reporters were surprised when they saw the McLaren driver show up in the paddock so early, his hand laced in yours as they asked a couple of questions.

"My girlfriend had to come in earlier, so I thought I'd join her and see a little bit of the preparations", Oscar replied before you continued to walk to the McLaren hospitality.

"Is it bring your boyfriend to work day?", Anna asked after her usual morning greeting.

"He's always with me at work though", you squinted before giggling, "but I really need people to know he's mine and that I'm here!", you half joked.

#oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fluff

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phoward89 · 7 months ago

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Professor!Coriolanus x Innocent!Reader

Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Dark!Coryo, Obsessed!Coryo, Innocent!Reader, Sweet!Reader, Naive!Reader, manipulation, obsession, professor/student relationship, power imbalance, age difference, cussing, drugging, dacryphilia, smut, dub con, non con?

Based on a request a while back where your professor's obsessed with you and manipulates you to be with him.

Part 1

Coriolanus Snow flourished in his studies at the University: a double major in Political Science and Military Strategy. He also impressed Dr. Gaul while interning with her as a gamemaker. But, although his ideas were implemented and well liked by the mad scientist, Dr. Gaul didn't feel like Mr. Snow had the raw, insane, sadistic gumption that it took to be an official Gamemaker.

The mad scientist also didn't like Coriolanus’ presidential aspirations. Truthfully, she feared the young Snow because, in her opinion, he was too ambitious. Ambition is a very dangerous thing when given the absolute freedom to bloom into real, tangible, outcomes and goals. Dr. Gaul knew if Coriolanus became an Assistant Gamemaker that he'd stop at nothing to attain her job; use that position to further his goal of politics.

Coriolanus Snow dreamed of becoming the youngest President Panem has ever had. And Dr. Gaul knows that in order to do that, well, her little pupil has to win people over; kill a lot of them too in order to clear the way for his stepping stones to the Presidential Palace.

Coriolanus Snow as the president is the last thing Dr. Gaul wants on God's green earth. Her former student is very cunning, but uncontrollable. He likes to be in control; doesn't want to be told what to do. Has a godlike complex too. And the mad scientist can't have that because, in reality, the President of Panem is just a figurehead- a puppet that Dr. Gaul pulls all the strings of.

And after mentoring Mr. Snow for his 4 years of University, well, Dr. Gaul has come to the conclusion that he's a failed experiment. To a certain degree he passed some of her tests, but not the one where ambition and falling in line were concerned. Plus, the woman has a suspicion that Coriolanus poisoned Highbottom a few years back; no way in hell is she letting an arsenic happy little sociopath work close to her.

She's not crazy enough to trust Coriolanus Snow not to poison her. Give Dr. Gaul some credit, she didn't become the Head Gamemaker and the Head of the War Department for nothing. She's very bright, just a bit insane and morally evil.

But, since Dr. Gaul, his personal mentor during his entire University career, claimed that he just wasn't the best of the best or the brightest star out of the University students under her tutelage, Coriolanus wasn't offered any positions that could be of power or use to him in his dreams of politics. He was blackballed from the Citadel and from anything Gamemaker related, per Dr. Gaul's request.

But he was offered a position as a professor in the Political Science department of the Capitol's prestigious University. But the class he was assigned to teach just happened to be an elective class.

Political Policies In Utopia/Dystopia Pre-Panem Literature/Media

It was basically a class that broke down what was right and wrong with the politics of various pre-Panem books and movies that were usually apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic (sometimes even sci-fi in nature). Coriolanus felt that the class was idiotic, but he was stuck teaching it. Apparently the class was designed as something fun for the Political Science students, as something light amongst their heavy coursework. But still something that'd keep their minds on the strengths and weaknesses of politics; the importance of them.

The first couple of years teaching the course, Coriolanus would cringe at some of the books and movies he was forced to make the class read, watch, and disect. But as the years went on, well, he got immune to some of the source material he was teaching. Sad to say, but after a while the shocking things in his lessons didn't phase him.

So, as his old classmates and acquaintances made their mark in the world in either politics, banking, or business, Coriolanus was a University Professor. He was trapped in a mundane life, year and year.

And one day he woke up, a man nearing 28 and going nowhere. He was frustrated with his life: bitter over his dead dreams. But, when you walked into his class on the first day of the Fall semester looking like a fresh faced innocent school girl that had recently graduated from the Academy during early July, well, he knew that his luck had changed.

Yes, he might be stuck being a professor of a useless elective class forever, but at least now he had a sweet angel- you- to lust after and corrupt. And the darkness looming inside of Coriolanus’ soul demands that he corrupts you; takes you as his life partner to smother and never let you.

He swore to never fall in love again and he intended to keep that vow, but that didn't mean that he had to keep fucking useless, faceless, nameless whores. No. It was time for him to get a good girl and unfortunately for you, well, your youth and innocent aura attracted Professor Snow to you like a moth to a flame.

Except he's not the one that's getting burnt in this scenario, but you are.

You're one of the only girls enrolled in Professor Snow's class, but that's because it's a Political Science course. Actually, it's an elective class for Political Science majors of all year levels. But still…it's a political class.

Your parents weren't too thrilled when you enrolled at the University as a Political Science major. Your father, Colonel Javanis Halvir, felt that you should've joined the Nursing Core or should've settled on becoming a socialite and looking for a husband like other pretty Capitolite girls did.

But much to your father's disappointment you did neither and decided to study politics instead. You're older brother, Rein, who was an Officer in the Peacekeepers thought it was hilarious that you defied your father. He backed up your decision to major in Political Science. Your mother could care less; she even told your father to ignore your University major and course load; that you’d either get tired and quit because it was too hard or you’d find a future politician to marry.

So far neither of your mother's assumptions have come to pass. You're still enrolled in all of your classes and you're still single.

Your last class of the day was Professor Snow's and you found the class to be very interesting. Very intriguing in fact. Oh, how you found the class to be unlike any you've ever taken before.

Political Policies In Utopia/Dystopia Pre-Panem Literature/Media.

Oh, the class made you think about how things could be worse in different realities or universes. Yes, you're only on the first assigned book for the semester’s reading, but so far The Handmaid's Tale seems like hell on steroids. Fuck, that book makes you shudder and you're only halfway thru it. You honestly can't wait til it's over and Professor Snow lets you move onto the next one.

When you walk into the classroom, Professor Snow's sitting behind his mahogany desk. He's got reading glasses on and he's nose deep in a book. It's not one of the class assigned reads, so you quickly figured out that it's a personal book.

As you take your usual seat, you can't help but think that your professor (who’s a good decade older than you) looks handsome in reading glasses. That the dark frames make his icy blue eyes pop and contrasts against his slicked back platinum hair. Shaking your head to clear any and all wandering thoughts of Professor Snow, you open your bag and take out your supplies for the class.

Coriolanus discreetly looks over the top of his book to check you out. Oh fuck, how he thinks you look so goddamn perfect and sexy today in your sweater, blouse, skirt, stockings, kitten heels, and your pearls.

Fuck, a simple strand of pearls around the neck and simple pearl earrings in the ears always makes his cock twitch. Oh, how he wants to do some pearl play with the strand and your pussy.

Oh, yes, with how young you are and how innocently pretty you look, he's sure that your cunt's tighter then a Nun's chuff. Oh, how he'd love to take your strand of pearls and slide them up and down your wet slit; tease your clit with them until it's swollen and you're begging to cum. He wonders if you’d suck your juices clean from the pearls too.

But then Coriolanus remembers where the hell he's at, his classroom in the damn University, and suddenly he's thinking of his ex, Livia Cardew, to make his dick soft. Ugh, that shrew can kill a wet dream.

And when he sees all of his students are sitting in their respective seats, he eyes the clock on the wall to check the time. When he sees that it's about time to start class, he closes his book and places it on his desk before standing up and standing in front of the large blackboard. He writes on it in his impeccable handwriting.

The Handmaiden's Tale Chapters 26-28 Review

You listen as Professor Snow goes over the material you read over the last couple of days, literally giving a cut and dry summary that barely touched the topic of the latest chapters. But then, when he's done, he starts asking the class questions. Questions about the book that makes the class think and ponder.

“In chapter 28 Offred muses about the fall of the United States and the creation of Gilread. Now, we find out that women's rights are slowly striped and all bank accounts women have are given to the husband or male in the family, amongst some other revelations about the occupation Gilread slowly does to the government. Now, my question is, do you think the flashback Offered provided about the fall of the United States and the subtle, but sure, takeover of Gilread could happen today in Panem?”

A young man with beige hued hair raised his hand, only for Professor Snow to nod and acknowledge him with a simple, “Mr. Arnoult, you share your answer with the class.”

Eros Arnoult, in your opinion, was a pain in the ass; know it all. Or at least he thought he was a know it all. And he just had to answer Professor Snow's philosophical question with the idiotic and incorrect answer of, “What happened to the United States in the book would never happen here in Panem. Panem has Peacekeepers.”

And you knew Eros’ answer was wrong by how Professor Snow’s cerulean blue eyes narrowed and turning into a pair of cold icicles; how his lips frowned in a thin line.

Before thinking better of it, you turned around in your seat to look at Eros and told him, “You’re such an idiot, Eros. You're wrong, because what happened to the United States could happen to Panem.”

“Miss Y/N, please elaborate.” Professor Snow insisted with a spry smirk on his face.

You turn around to face your professor before telling him and the entire class, “What happened to the United States in the book A Handmaiden's Tale could happen to Panem if, gods forbid, the Districts rise up again like they did during the war; the Dark Days.”

“The Districts would never dream about rising up again. Not with the Hunger Games keeping them in line.” Eros told you before Professor Snow could even make a remark about your thoughts.

Turning around to face your classmate, again, you counter his remark with one of, “The Hunger Games can only do so much to keep them in line. People, if pushed too hard or if they feel too hopeless will try to rebel or will follow the pied piper into something worse than what they have and everyone else will be stunned when it happens because they never thought it could.”

Coriolanus was very impressed with your political insight. For being in your first semester of your first year at the University. At first your beauty and innocence caught his eye, but he has to admit that the more time you spend in his class the more he discovers he appreciates your wit as well.

So much so that he tells you, “Very good answer, Miss Y/N.”, before explaining in length what the United States did wrong in the book to fall and become Gilread and, of course, explaining how those lessons can be implemented and used in politics today.

One day after class you're walking with your neighbor in the courtyard whenever Professor Snow comes marching up to you, seething. You didn't understand what was wrong; why he seemed so upset.

“You need to leave my student alone.” Professor Snow ordered your neighbor, Odysseus, in a firm baritone while using his hand to separate you and your bronze haired neighbor.

“It's fine, Professor Snow. Really, he's my neighbor.” You assure your tall and imposing teacher as he places a protective arm around your shoulder; pulling you into his side while acting as a large buffer between you and Odysseus.

Odysseus’ lips curled up into a deriding smile that dug into his dimples cheeks. Cocking his head slightly at the pristine platinum haired professor, he remarked in a mawkish tone, “Yea, Professor Snow, I live across the hall from her so we'll be seeing plenty of each other.”

Keeping you under his protective wing, Coriolanus craned his neck forward as he towers over the peacock of a bronze haired boy, while coldly stating, “I know exactly what boys like you, Mr. Odair, want from girls like Miss Y/N and I’m not going to let you taint her reputation. Neighbor or not.” Waving him off with a dismissive flick of the wrist, the professor ordered your neighbor to, “Stay away from Miss Y/N or else you might find yourself on an academic probation.”

Odysseus shook his head in disgust and disbelief before stalking off. Honestly, he couldn't believe that you just let your cold, overbearing, astute professor take control over the situation that was your neighborly friendship and turn it into some knight in shining toilfoil coming to an unneeded rescue moment. The sea-green eyed man couldn't help, but have an uneasy feeling about Professor Snow swooping in on you under the guise as your protector.

You're a freshman at the University, you don't need some distinguished professor that's all washed up (everyone in Capitol City knows how Coriolanus Snow aimed high and fell short in his ambitions) ‘protecting’ you from a young man your age.

Coriolanus couldn't help, but to let a smug, triumphant smirk paint his lips as he watched Odysseus Odair slump his shoulder and scurry off in defeat. Yes, once again Snow lands on top.

And Snow’s going to be the only man landing on top of you too. That he'll make sure of.

Coriolanus’ face contorted from a smugly victorious to stricken with concern before he turns to you. His baritone is deep with care as he tells you, “Although Mr. Odair's your neighbor, you need to stay away from him, darling. He's a skirt chaser with a nasty reputation on campus; boys like that'll just use you and leave you.” Patting your cheek, he adds in, “I'd hate to see my best and brightest pupil get hurt.”

Unable to believe your ears, you ask in awe, “I’m your best pupil?”

“Yes, Miss Y/N, you truly are.” Professor Snow nods. Clutching the strap of his leather satchel, he informs you with a thin lipped smile, “In fact, I find your insight on the course material we're currently working on to be very refreshing and mentally stimulating.”

Did you just hear him right? He can't mean that, can he? “Really?” You blurt out in a surprised tone.

“Really.” Your platinum blonde professor nods. “Do you have a class I could escort you to before I leave, just to make sure you're safe from Mr. Odair's nefarious intentions?” He asks, sounding like a concerned angelic man with a heart of gold.

But little do you know that he's as angelic as Lucifer himself; his heart of gold is pitch black and full of selfish desires.

“Oh, I don't have any more classes. Yours was my last one.” You innocently inform Professor Snow, causing the cunning and calculating man to do a mental happy dance hidden behind a neutral mask.

Coriolanus knows that what he's going to do is unethical, but he doesn't care. As long as he gets what he wants, which is you in his bed, he'll break every rule. All of his other dreams are unobtainable, but not you.

No.

His dream of being with you is right in reach and he's going to snatch it up greedily in his large hands.

Coriolanus gives you a smile that's more manic then friendly, as he suggests, “Why don't you join me for a bite to eat? We can always discuss your thoughts on politics or anything related to my class, if you'd like.”

Professor Snow thinks you're his best student and wants to grab something to eat with you to discuss politics and his class with you. Oh wow! You can't believe it. You didn't think you were that great of a student, surely one of the boys must have a higher aptitude for politics. It is, after all, usually a man's world and subject.

“Okay.” You simply reply with a small, flattered smile.

“I know the perfect place.” Coriolanus told you, guiding you into the direction of the parking lot and in extension his black luxury sedan was parked. “I'm positive you'll enjoy the food there.” A slightly sinister smirk crossed over his face as he lightly remarked, “And the wine’s to die for.”

“I'm not old enough to drink wine, Professor Snow.” You remind your professor, who has to be close to thirty.

“Well, you just let me order for us and nobody’ll know how young you really are.” Professor Snow tells you, his tone sounding mirthful and secretive, as he sips his face a bit too close towards yours.

His disposition changes as he holds his head up high and points his car out on the approaching lot. “That's my car right over there, darling. Nice, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's very nice.” You agree with a nod. In fact, his car seems nicer than the one your family has. You even tell him that too, earning you a chuckle from him.

The place Professor Snow took you to was a quaint, but upscale restaurant close to the Corso. The food was very delicious and the wine, as he said, was to die for. True to his word, your professor ordered for both of you and nobody was none the wiser that perhaps you shouldn't be drinking the wine.

But right before desert was going to be served you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. And that's when Coriolanus decided to enact the most vital part of his plan. Something that you knew nothing about; would never believe if told either.

As you wash your hands in the powder room, you look in the mirror and wonder if it's odd that you feel a bit giddy from eating with Professor Snow. You'd be lying if you said that you didn't have a tiny crush on the handsome, distinguished man. Because, you really do have a teeny tiny crush on him. But a girl would have to be blonde not to simp over the man with the perfectly styled platinum curls, striking baby blue eyes, prominent nose with a set of perfect pearly whites.

Deciding that you needed to stop being silly, you splashes some water on your face and took a deep breath before exiting the ladies room.

“Our deserts just arrived, darling.” Professor Snow smiles,gesturing towards the rich dark chocolate cheesecakes set in front of your place settings.

“Oh, you didn't have to wait for me, Professor Snow.” You tell him, feeling a bit embarrassed that he's been sitting and looking at his cheesecake instead of eating because he was waiting on you.

“Nonsense, Y/N.” The platinum blonde picked up his fork. “My Grandma'am taught me that a gentleman always waits for a lady arrive to start a course.” Professor Snow scoops a piece of his cheesecake with his fork while you reach for your own fork. Bringing his bite of the chocolate desert to his lush lips, he smirks, “That includes desert.”

You're using your fork to dig into your own desert whenever your professor pulls the fork from his lips and tells you, “Please, call me Coriolanus.” Digging back into his cheesecake, he adds, “Or Coryo, if you'd like.”

In between eating your desert, you ask, “Is that allowed? I'm your student.”

“I can't see why we can't be friends outside of class. We're two adults that can manage a friendship, aren't we?”

“Yes, but you're like 30.”

Coriolanus narrowed his icy eyes; his mouth sourly puckered as he tarly told you, “Oh, darling, don't age me. I'm a Scorpio; I’m only turning 28 this All Hallows Eve.”

“Oh, you're the same age as my older brother.” You blurt out, causing Coriolanus to just let out a silent huff.

Honestly, he already knew that. He knows that your older brother's Rein Halvir. He remembers the idiot from their days in the Academy. And, frankly, he's glad he hasn't run into him since being back in the Capitol.

“Yes, I believe I attended the Academy with him.” Coriolanus said, pretending to take his brain for your sake. “Is he faring well?” He asked, his eyes lighting up with a slight sparkle as you reached for your win glass.

You think it's nice that Coriolanus asked about your brother. So, of course, you answer his inquiry with, “Rein’s an officer in the peacekeepers. He's stationed in District 12; has a girlfriend and two kids.”

“Capitolite or?...” The cerulean man asks, his deeply smooth tone falling of a cliff of a silent question. A question of District.

“Ashlie's from District 12- the Seam to be exact. Their kids were born on PK Base-D12 so they're registered as Capitol citizens.”

“Aha.” Coriolanus lifts his nose up, in both superiority and disgust.

Coriolanus once spent the summer of his 18th year of life in District 12 as a peacekeeper grunt while foolishly fancying himself in love with the songbird victor of the 10th Hunger Games. Unfortunately, it didn't end well. Sometimes he'd wonder if things could've been different, but then he remembers that him and the songbird were too different to ever work. And that if she truly loved him she wouldn't have betrayed him; try to poison him with a snake and leave him to die.

No, he's much better off without that Covey frontrunner whore in his life. Her love was toxic, made him feel like a fool. And if things had worked out with her then we would've never met you.

Coriolanus is without a doubt certain that you're the girl for him. Innocent, beautiful, young, and intelligent. Oh yes, he's surely met histch in you. And he's certain that you'll never betray his love.

No, not with how kind and gentle your smile is.

“My family's proud that my brother followed our father's military footsteps, but they're not too fond of his girlfriend or their kids.” Your father's still pissed that his grandchildren are half-District. “Believe it or not, I'm the family disappointment.” You admit to your professor, even tho a part of you knows you shouldn't, before taking a large sip of your wine.

Your admission took the platinum haired professor a back. He was quite befuddled by it. How could you, a smart and innocent angel of a girl be the family disappointment? It doesn't make any sense.

Scratching his chin in a pondering way, Coriolanus asked, “Why would you be a disappointment?” Resting his elbow on the table and curling his hand into a fist, which he rests his jaw against, he remarks in a stunned baritone, “You're my best student and I'm sure you're excelling in your other classes as well.”

Yes, Professor Snow just couldn't fathom why you're not good enough for your family. In his eyes, you're absolutely perfect. But yet again he does have an obsession with you that's just crossed over a dark line; maybe even a sick one too.

“I'm studying Political Science instead of enlisting in the Nursing Core or taking my place in society as a socialite.” You wanted to go back to eating your desert, but you were suddenly feeling a bit odd. You felt as you were getting a bit hazy. Maybe it was too hot in the restaurant? “My mother told my father to just let me study politics as a way to find myself an aspiring politician to marry.” You add, concluding your explanation of why you're a disappointment to the Halvir family name.

“I once had political aspirations, but alas it wasn't meant to be and I'm a political professor for the great University in all of Panem instead.” Coriolanus said with a bit of veiled excitement in his smooth timbre.

Oh, Coriolanus was internally giddy. His plan was perfect. Just a few more minutes and he'll have you right where he wants you.

“Are you alright, darling? You seem a bit flushed.” Coriolanus asked, fake concern in his baby blues, as he placed his fork down on his plate.

“I'm not sure, Coriolanus. I feel a bit hazy.” You honestly tell him. Oh no, are you tipsy? You can't be, it was only a glass of wine. “Maybe the wine was too strong?” You offer as you begin to feel as if the room's going to start spinning.

Coriolanus’ brows knit as he gives you a worried look. “I think we should get the check and leave, Y/N. You really don't look well and I'm a bit concerned.” Your professor suggests, making you believe that he truly was concerned about your well being.

“Okay.” You nod, feeling dizzy and drowsy.

You must've passed out because the last thing you remember is feeling dizzy and drowsy while getting ready to leave the restaurant and then the next moment you're waking up in a strange bed. You automatically start panicking as you sit up. But before you can scream or scramble off the bed, a voice next to you sounds out with, “Oh, you're awake. Are you feeling better now, darling?”, and kills your fight or flight reactions.

You're with Professor Snow- uh Coriolanus. And he's not in his three piece suit anymore, instead he's in lounge pants and a casual shirt. What the?...

You look over at him, only to discover that he's laying on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle with his back leaning against the headboard. A pair of black frame glasses are perched on the bridge of his prominent nose as he reads a book. A book that’s cover looks well worn and battered.

“What happened? Why am I in bed with you?” You ask, feeling a bit confused.

“You don't remember walking out of the restaurant and falling out in the parking lot near my car?” He asked, closing his book and setting it on his nightstand before taking off his reading glasses and placing them on top of the book.

‘No.” You shake your head. “I don't.”

“Well, my darling,” Coriolanus gave you a sympathetic, but pointed look with his icy eyes, “Since you blacked out before I could get your address I brought you to my Corso penthouse.” Placing a large hand on your knee, he gave you a closed lip smile. “I don't want to startle you, but I took the liberties of changing you into a shirt of mine, for comfort.” Raising his hand up, to stop you from even thinking about opening your mouth, he said in a gentlemanly tone, “Don't worry, I didn't cross any lines; your underwear is still on.”

You should be creeped out, but instead you find it endearing that he was worried about your comfort and changed you into one of his shirts while you were passed out. Oh, no. Now you feel so embarrassed and stupid blacking out after a glass of wine. What's wrong with you? The wine couldn't have been that strong, could it?

“Thank you.” You murmur, casting your eyes down to stare at the hand that's on your thigh- Coriolanus' large hand. “I guess the wine was too strong for me.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.” The platinum blonde man next to you nodded. “I was worried about you; kept vigil by your tipsy side.”

Pushing his hand off your thigh, you tell him, “Thank you, but I should probably dress and catch a cab home.”

“Darling, you don't have to leave. You can stay here til you regain your senses; you'll be safe with me.”

“I'm fine.” You assure him, tone a bit snappier than you meant for it to be, as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Knowing you’d be dizzy and at risk for another blackout, Coriolanus leaned over and took your arm in his hand; stopping you from getting up. When you turned around to look at him from over your shoulder, his icy eyes had a hint of something guileful in them.

“Don't go, darling. Please.”

“Profes- Coriolanus, I can't stay here. You're my professor; it'd look bad and you could get into trouble.”

“Why would I get into trouble? I'm just letting you rest after getting tipsy off of some very strong wine.” The imposing man, who's more dangerous than sinai poisoning, pointed out while quickly taking a seat right next to you. Taking his hand off of arm and placing it on your chin, tilting it in a way so you'd be able to look him in the eye, he huskily asks, “Or are you afraid to stay with me because you want to get fucked by your cold, stoic, and oh so serious Professor Snow?” His face inches closer to yours as he asks, “I know I'm quite a handsome man, Y/N. So, I must ask, do you get all hot and bothered for your teacher?”

“You shouldn't be asking me this.”

“No, I shouldn't.” Coriolanus agrees with you, his lips ghosting over yours.

Your brain's in a fog and you're beginning to feel a bit woozy again whenever Coriolanus’ lips press against yours in a kiss that's a bit hard and hungry. A kiss that makes you feel lightheaded. And when you attempt to pull away from him, to break off the kiss, he places his hands on your cheeks and pulls your face into his.

His hands, so large and strong, hold your face still as his lips press against yours over and over again with messy enthusiasm. You gasp for air, parting your lips slightly, but it's all Coriolanus needs to deepen the kiss. His tongue slips effortlessly into your mouth, exploring it, as feelings of both dizziness and pleasure wash over you.

Honestly, you don't know how to feel. Your brain's like scrambled eggs right now. You can barely think, can barely tell what's up and what's down right now.

All you know is that your head’s spinning and your body feels like it's on fire; that your professor’s making out with you on his bed as if you've been lovers for years instead of barely knowing each other then inside of his classroom.

“Coryo-” You say when he ends your kiss, allowing you both to catch your breath, but you don't say anything else since that feeling of falling into a dark abyss threatens to take over you once more.

Your eyes grow spotty causing you to blink them in an attempt at clearer vision. All the while, Coriolanus is tenderly stroking your cheeks with a strange look on his face. “I know you're a bit tipsy still and as the older one amongst us I should do the honorable thing and let you rest, but after that kiss we shared I'm afraid I can't be a gentleman with you anymore.”

Coriolanus knows that you're about to lose control of your senses, from the spiked wine you drank, but he needs to have you agree to what he wants to do. He has to get you to say ‘yes’ so that he can remind you later on when you're fully functional that you want him; that you agreed to spend the night with him in his bed- fucking.

Yes, he might be a manipulative bastard that's a tad bit possessive and obsessive, but he's not a monster. Coriolanus does want you to trust him, despite that trust coming from his own tongue weaving a silver tale for you to believe and feel comfortable with.

“You want me, don't you, darling?” Coriolanus asked, softly running his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks while cradling your face in his large hands. Gazing into your eyes with his icy orbs, he demanded, “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Your a bit light headed and Coriolanus' words float around your head. It's as if you're underwater and his voice is just a garbled echo. Your ears seem to be ringing and you feel dazed.

All you can manage to do is give Coriolanus a lost look. You're feeling a bit wonky, can barely even make out what he's saying.

Coriolanus’ chest heaves and he internally chastises himself for being a bit heavy handed with drugging your wine. Yes, he wanted you pliable and to his will, but he doesn't want you blacked out the entire time he has his way with you.

Deciding that he needs to do something to sober you up, Coriolanus slaps you across the face. “Snap out of it, Y/N!” He orders in a deep, loud shout.

That seemed to stir something inside of you. Yes, you still felt a bit hazy, but the slap across your face paired with Coriolanus' loud shout seemed to cause your focus to return to you for a moment.

“I'm sorry, did I space out?” You ask your professor, whose baby blues are burning like hot coals with desire.

“Yes, baby, you did.” Coryo told you, soothingly stroking the cheek that he had just slapped. “I asked if you wanted to be with me; wanted to fuck me, but you just stared at me with glazed over eyes.”

“Coryo…” You sigh, feeling an unbearable heat cross over your cheeks. “We shouldn't do anything.”

“You haven't done anything before, have you?” The platinum blonde professor asked knowingly while subtly guiding you to the middle of his king sized bed.

“No.” You shake your head. Wringing your hands in your (his) shirt, you avert eye contact with him and add in, “Not really.”

“You're very special to me, Y/N. I've never met anyone as beautiful, bright, and innocent as you.” Coriolanus reveals in an eloquent speech that has your heart beating fast against your ribcage.

Truthfully, your heart's probably beating fast due to the drugged wine in your system, but since you're unaware of your state you just assume it's a romantic effect from his words. His carefully woven words.

“There's nothing wrong with us taking pleasure from each other, my darling.” He tells you like the master manipulator he is. He's working his magic on you, making your resolve start to crumble under his smooth and amorous words. Pressing his forehead against yours, he promises, “I’ll stay with you and I'll protect you, baby. I won't hurt you like those pervy boys your age would.”

Coriolanus pulled his forehead away from yours, only to press a kiss to your lips. A kiss that was soft and sensual. A kiss that he meant to be persuasive.

Time was ticking and Coriolanus knew that you'd be going back into lala land soon. Either he got you to say yes or he'd just tell you that you said yes once you came to later. But either way he's fucking your tight cunt.

“You want me to fuck you, right, baby.” The platinum blonde with a regal air around him told you, not asked.

You felt yourself begin to grow hazier by the minute. Your limbs even feel a bit heavier. Your tongue began to feel dry and heavy in your mouth and all you could manage to do was nod your head.

You felt as if your head was plunged back underwater. You felt everything around you feel muddled, but you did see Coriolanus give you a Cheshire grin before eagerly shedding his shirt and kissing you. A kiss that you barely felt due to the feeling of falling into an abyss.

You blink your eyes and seem to come back to your senses once again as Coriolanus, your handsome professor, is naked above you, thrusting his cock in and out of your pussy.

You couldn't help, but wonder how drunk you got to agree to this. Yes, you find him attractive, but Professor Snow's your teacher at University. This violates so many cod of conduct ethics.

“Oh my God!” You blurt out, causing Coryo to smirk at you.

“My big cock feels good in your tight cunt, huh, baby?” Coriolanus asked as he snapped his hips in a certain way that had his cock pressing deep against that special spongy spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good. So fucking good ‘round by cock, darling.”

Your cunt’s dripping wet and every movement Coriolanus makes causes you to shudder. It does feel very good. Hell, it feels better then all of the times you've ever been fingered.

“It feels good, Coryo.” You admit in a wispy moan.

You try to move your arms, but they feel a bit heavy. As if they're asleep. Coriolanus notices you trying to move your arms and just takes his hands off of your wrists and laces his hands in yours, all while telling you the saccharine lie of, “You're still a bit drunk, baby. Just let me hold your hands while we fuck; you can hold my back or something later."

He brings his face close to yours. His breath fans against your lips as he tells you, “You’re my good babygirl with such a sweet, tight cunt.”

“Coryo…” You whined as you felt pleasure begin to wash over you.

“That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum right now like my good girl.” Coryo ordered in a husky tone as he pounded your pussy with such force that your body was moving up and down the bed.

His hard and fast thrusts had you cumming harder then you've ever cummed in your entire life. His name's spilling from your lips; your legs shake and spasm from your orgasm as you soak the sheets.

“Oh, I knew you were perfect.” Coryo groans at the sight of you squirting. Watching your juices gush out of you, only to roll down your crimson coated thighs has him in overdrive. His cock’s even harder and his balls are twitching; begging to empty their cum deep inside of your cunt.

Coriolanus wants to grab your legs and bend you like a pretzel so he can fuck you into his mattress, but he's afraid that you might try to lift your arms again. The less you move (without his help) the better. He can't have you realizing what he did to your wine, now can he? So, he settles for just using your laced hands to brace himself as he digs his knees into the mattress and fucks into your cunt as fast as he can.

Your limbs feel tingly as Coryo pistons into your cunt mercilessly. You feel a bit overwhelmed, perhaps even a bit oversensitive. “Coryo, it's too much.”

“You're getting oversensitive, baby. Just be a good girl and take what I give you for a few more minutes, yea?”

“Coryo, please.” Feeling a bit overwhelmed from everything, you cry. “Please.”

As sick and twisted as it sounds, seeing salty tears leak from your eyes and roll down your cheeks has Coryo shooting thick ropes of his hot cum deep into your puffy cunt while moaning out your name.

Coriolanus lets your hands go, only to slowly pull his cock out of your cunt. His icy eyes roll back into the back of his head at the sight of his white cum dripping out of your abused hole alone with a trickle of crimson- the proof that he took your virginity.

You're all his now...

He lays down next to you and pulls you into his side. “Don't worry, Y/N. You're my girl now and I'll take very good care of you.” He assures you while covering you both with his duvet.

“I'm your girl now?” You ask with an arched brow.

“We'll talk more about it in the morning when you're a bit more sober.” Coriolanus kisses you, making you think that when you were in the thick of your tipsiness you must've agreed to get involved with him.

Oh hell, how strong was that wine to make you so tipsy that you became Professor Snow’s girlfriend?

“Just rest, baby. You're safe here with me.” The platinum blonde, whose arms are protectively wrapped around you, coos in his deep baritone; lulling you back to dreamland.

A place that you've been in and out of all night.

And as you doze off Coriolanus looks at you with obsession shining in his cerulean eyes and a manic grin spread across his face. The darkness in his soul's quelled with the thought that you're his forever now.

Oh, yes. Now that he's got you in his penthouse he's never letting you go. But before he can truly begin to be the doting and devoted boyfriend to you, he needs to get rid of Festus Creed- the old Academy friend that gave him the drug he spiked your wine with. Well, Coriolanus supposes that if he poisons him at a teahouse and drinks the poison as well, but in a smaller dose, he'll be able to kill two birds with one stone.

He'll get rid of Festus before he can talk and he'll get you moving into his penthouse to take care of him after a near death experience.

Snow lands on top. And who knows, maybe one day with your father's backing Coriolanus might be able to wiggle his way into politics. And if not, well he has you.

And that's all that truly matters, isn't it? It should, considering what dark deeds he did to get you into his bed.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

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incorrectbatfam · 9 months ago

Note

Superbat hcs?

They're constantly referring to each other as "colleagues" even after all this time

One time Bruce comes home brooding more than usual and when asked he's like "I got into a disagreement with someone at the office"

Or Clark triple-checking that his suit and tie look right because he doesn't wanna embarrass himself at a work dinner with Bruce

Clark randomly laughs in the middle of the day at the Daily Planet because of something his co-worker from his second job sent him (it was a picture of Ace)

Bruce randomly buys gifts for Clark for "networking purposes," like Belgian chocolate or a diamond watch band

When Clark is stressed over a deadline Bruce will talk him through it over the phone because that's what colleagues do for each other

When other people ask where they see themselves in 10 years they always mention wanting to be each other's "business partners"

They once shared the same bed at a hotel on a "business trip" because getting two different ones would "go over the budget"

After a particularly bad Justice League mission, Bruce and Clark go for a long stroll together to "regroup" and "think up a new strategy"

They also coordinate Wayne Enterprises and Daily Planet lunch breaks so Clark can fly over to Gotham with the pie that Ma specifically made for Bruce

The Justice League does a holiday gift swap and Diana rigs it so Bruce and Clark get each other, but it backfires on her when they keep separately coming to her for advice as they're panicking about picking the right present

Bruce saved Clark in his contacts as "Colleague <3" and claims the heart is to differentiate him from all the other JL members and WE employees

One time Dick asked Bruce where he was going and Bruce said it was another work meeting with Clark, and Dick was like, "A work meeting in a horse-drawn carriage through the park?" To which Bruce said it was being paid for by Wayne Enterprises and therefore was business-related

Their families got together on Kent Farm for a summer barbecue after they said they had some "big news" to share, which turned out to be the merger between Wayne Enterprises and the Daily Planet. More than one people were left disappointed but Bruce and Clark couldn't figure out why

Clark flies over to Gotham in the mornings to bring Bruce coffee from a place they both like in exchange for Alfred's breakfast pastries

When Bruce is in Metropolis, he sneaks into Clark's office and waits until Clark gets back

Wayne Enterprises branches into the jewelry industry and Bruce gets himself and Clark matching gold rings as part of the "product testing" procedure

On slow patrol nights, they'll meet up on a random rooftop and just talk because "regular updates are vital to business communication"

They practiced how to waltz with each other so they look good in front of others at an upcoming gala

The other heroes have a running bet on how long until they get together, and of course Diana is in the lead

#bruce wayne #batman #clark kent #superman #superbat #superfamily #justice league #batfamily #batfam #batman family #dc comics #headcanon

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gothicflowers · 6 months ago

Note

Domestic Price headcanons!! ON MY HANDS AND KNEES!!!

Domestic!Price x F!reader

WARNING MDNI (+18 ONLY)

Warnings : tooth rotting fluff, some sexual references.

Word Count: ? So many

Sorry this took me forever to write, the past month has been insane. But things are finally getting better and I’m feeling creative.

Domestic!Price isn’t someone that many are familiar with. Especially those he works with. When price joined the military he was a teen who was in the punk scene and he couldn’t hold a job for more than a month. The man was running from the cops and passed out at random houses half the week. By six pm there was liquor on his breath. His dear mom had enough one day and kicked him out. When he stumbled through the front door she had a suitcase full of his good clothes packed and handed him a small amount of cash. He told her he didn’t care and he didn’t need her. After two months of couch surfing and working odd end jobs for cash he seen something about enlisting in the military. Free housing, consistent pay and a uniform. John knew he could pick up girls easily with a uniform on, easier than his charming personality already could.

Six months later he’s in basic training regretting his decision to join. He came into basic training more out of shape than he thought. He hates reading and is having to study and sit through classes when he’s not being drilled. But by week five somehow he’s leading the class. Perfect scores on test, marksmanship skills are undeniably good, and maybe that mandatory haircut doesn’t look too bad.

He graduated top of his academy class with flying colors. Five years later price has slowed worked his way up the chain. He’s still a cocky bastard but nobody can deny his knowledge of strategies and tactics. He’s a hard ass to new guys but ensures they are well trained, after all John is a firm believer that you’re only as good as your weakest guy.

After two years of being in he realized his mom was right. So on one of his days off he showed up to his moms with flowers and sweets and apologized and thanked her for giving him the push he needed. Even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

John Price has finally got his life together. But he’s still a playboy who doesn’t see the point in setting down with a nice lady. He has time right?

Before he knows it LT John Price in his early thirties. Nobody to come home to every night actually sucks. Too much beer gives him a headache and he’s not much for parties anymore. He’s picked up a few hobbies like leather-working and fishing, but there is still a void in his life. Price is… alone.

John didn’t fear commitment, but young John didn’t see how keeping a woman by his side would benefit him then. John wishes he could go back in time and smack himself for all the times he turned down sweet kind women who wanted to settle down. He broke so many hearts, all because he thought he had time.

That’s when he starts daydreaming. Thoughts of walking through the front door and being greeted by his lover and maybe even a dog or two. Summers nights stargazing rather than slouched on the couch with a beer in hand. Having purpose, a life outside of his job. So he put the effort into making a dating profile and goes on a few dates. A few horrible dates. So he deleted the profile and slowly gave up.

Then one day you cashed into his life, well... technically he did.

Literally.

John wasn’t paying attention while backing his car out at the supermarket and backed right into your car. Your bumper was deeply scratched and your taillight cracked. You both pulled back into your parking spaces to look at the damage. Before you knew it the idiot driver that backed into you was next to you profusely apologizing. The man had tired eyes and looked defeated at his careless actions. You couldn’t deny that the idiot was incredibly handsome.

“I’m so sorry, I should have looked in my mirror and I didn’t and I-“ John rambled.

“Don’t worry, this car has more scratches than I care to count” you replied giggling.

John was clearly struggling to talk as he was distracted by your beautiful face “I completely busted that taillight. Ma’am I’m so sorry. I can get my insurance and we can get this sorted”

“Well it’s a rather old car, so I have a better proposition” you smiled watching the mountain of a man remove his beanie to rub his hair.

“What would that be” he asked.

You smirked “Well there is a cafe on the corner. You look like you could use a coffee and so could I. We go have a nice cup, sit down like old friends and chat. Look online for a taillight replacement instead of getting insurance involved”.

You pleasantly surprised John and he agreed to your idea. Firstly because he hates dealing with paperwork and secondly because this beautiful creature wanted to actually talk to him. Somehow you two just clicked.After two hours of nonstop chatting and learning about each other John received a call from work demanding him to come in on his day off. Unfortunately closing your time together.

“Well I quite enjoyed this. And if you’re comfortable with it I can install that taillight when it comes in. I would hate for you to do it yourself. And maybe after I can take you out to dinner” John said, getting a little shy with his last sentence. He was praying he didn’t misinterpret and scare you off.

“What a gentleman. I would love that” you eagerly answered. You wrote down your number for him on a napkin.

(000)-000-0000

Y/N xoxo

A broken taillight is the beginning of Domestic!Price

About a week later John arrived on your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, a tool bag and a new taillight. He was a tad bit nervous hoping to make a good impression.

Domestic!Price is the definition of chivalry.

He opens all doors for you and is quick to lend you his coat if you show the slightest signs of a chill.

Before you know it John brings you fresh flowers every week. Your grandmother always told you the stronger the intentions the longer the flowers will last. And the flowers John brings you live for what seems like an eternity.

As much as John wants to move fast he forces himself to slow his pace. He feels the need to prove he’s the gentleman you deserve. Especially after learning about your shitty dating experiences.

Even when he brought you home from your first date he only left with a kiss. Granted it was a long passionate kiss, but just a kiss. He’d desperately wanted to tear your clothes off in that moment, but didn’t want to give off the impression that he expected it. He said goodnight and left. You were kinda shocked that you two didn’t fuck, you took an everything shower and had lingerie under your outfit. But it was actually refreshing to find a man that was satisfied with just a kiss. He wasn’t putting on an act the whole night to get lucky, he was genuinely interested in you.

His good morning texts always arrive to your phone around 5:45AM. John did warn you beforehand that he frequently is away from his phone during meetings and trainings so you never worry about him ignoring or long awaited responses.

John will wake up before you regardless of the day. He’s usually found making coffee/tea and breakfast somewhere around 08:30. He usually brings it all up to bed on a tray. Heaven forbid he lets you lift a finger this early. Every morning you both snuggle with your coffee and listen to the birds chirping outside the window.

Domestic!Price is not very good at cooking, breakfast and desserts are the only things you let him make. Mostly because he’s surprisingly good at making them. You always tell him if he leaves the military he should be a pastry chef. Price likes comfort food, hardy meals that almost make him fall asleep afterwards. He’s in denial about gaining 15 pounds since he met you. But he feels that the extra pounds are just the extra love you gave him to carry around. He had to go down a notch on his belt because he’s got a little love handle to him now. You feed him well.

Football is his thing. Price is very passionate about it but thankfully he’s calm about it, he knows you don’t do well with yelling in the house. Usually takes you to a couple games a season. You two have matching jerseys, yes he had them custom made.

He hates messy. When he first joined the military he had two roommates that never picked up after themselves, neither did he. Until one day he found a molded plate in between the couch cushions, he started to become a clean freak after that. He moved out a few months later when his roommate’s wouldn’t clean up their mess.

Nowadays Domestic!Price loves a clean home. He made a chore list for both of you. He always helps you with your chores despite you telling him to relax. He loves candles and the smell of fresh sheets. Price wasn’t very organized before he met you, thankfully you managed to get the home organized and he can find everything now.

IKEA who? Never head of her. Domestic!price likes wood working. The kitchen table, cabinets, china hutch and so much more was all hand made by price. But the most elaborate thing he’s ever made? The bed frame. It has some… flair as he called it when it was finally put together. The frame has secret pockets for rope to be tied to. Specifically so he can tie you down. And let’s not forget that makeup vanity he made you, that mirror is a lockable cabinet containing a whirlwind of things. Vibes, clamps, ropes, differently shaped dildos, paddles, you name it it’s in there. Why is there two smoke alarms in your bedroom? Well… one of the is just a cover for that ceiling hook so he can suspend you.

Domestic price doesn’t mind vanilla sex. Lots of times you two disregard the kinky objects and are just wrapped in a passionate embrace. John’s not one for staying quiet, both of you could be heard from the front door when you’re together. He will be soundproofing the room if you two decide on kids.

Speaking of kids this man has the biggest breeding kink known to man. It’s not seeing his cum dripping out of your hole that fuels the fire in his belly. It’s the sheer thought of you both sitting around the dinner table with your kids asking each other about their day. Dance recitals and little league games. Watching you being a loving parent and having everything you need. That’s what he desires out of life.

Domestic!Price craves domestic life. Where there’s no threat, no bogeyman in the closet, no sound of gunfire, there’s just you two and the home you created.

John always drives, you’re a passenger princess. If it’s a nice day he takes you out for a drive in his classic car he restored himself. Windows down while 2000’s dad rock plays. Speaking of music he likes to collect vinyls. His collection grew heavily when he started buying records that you like. He plays Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors album weekly.

Domestic!Price likes slow dancing with the lights dimmed late at night. He’s a fan of 70’s music and it’s his usual go to for dancing. His father heavily influenced his music taste.

Price doesn’t care for the term boyfriend. After about a month of you two dating he promoted himself to husband. John said boyfriend “sounds childish at our age” when you asked sweetly what that was about when he introduced himself to your coworkers. He said he wouldn’t do it again if it made you uncomfortable to which you promptly said you liked it and much preferred the idea of being his wife rather than his girlfriend. That night he started looking at rings.

He went through your jewelry taking note if you wore gold or silver more. What types of jewelry styles interested you. The man was on a mission for the perfect ring. And what doesn’t it matter if you two have only been together two months? His grandparents met and married after three months and they were the definition of true love.

And yes he did propose at only four months. It was better than you could have imagined. He planned a whole weekend getaway and you never suspected it. He had rented a private boat for you two and brought champagne and charcuterie. He proposed a toast to you two and got down on one knee. You were both crying tears of joy when you said yes.

Unlike most men who buy their significant other jewelry he doesn’t buy you stones. Pearls, he buys you pearls. Expensive ones too. There’s just something about them on your neck that drives him wild. He hasn’t made the connection but it feeds into his housewife kink. There is something about him coming home from a long day and seeing you in a dress wearing those peals and an apron. A hot meal and the table is already set. You take his coat off and asking him about his day. Perfection.

Domestic!Price doesn’t share much about work. You know what he does and the stresses. He listened to your advice and does some therapy to help deal with his stress levels and the things he’s gone through. He slowly starts thinking about transferring to a job that won’t put him in the field.

He invited the boys over for dinner and his men were quite shocked. John didn’t give them much notice or anything really other than “don’t be late”.

Gaz who showed up in a tracksuit was under the impression this was a boys night with pizza and beer was shocked to arrive at a beautiful home with a perfect garden of roses. Ghost knew of your existence quite well as price loves to talk about your cooking and how much he misses you when they deploy. Soap… well… he said some things in Gaelic that you didn’t understand but surely they were those of surprise. Soap felt like a dumbass for wearing jeans and a cutoff tee.

John met them at the door and welcomed them in. The boys were rather impressed by the decor and how cozy it looked. The men half expected the home to be bare as they never took price as one for decor. But the biggest shock to Soap and Gaz was you, a woman slightly younger than Price who was in cooking in the kitchen is a pretty dress, heels and pearls. Even though Ghost was aware of your existence he was floored at how Price could pull such a beautiful woman.

Price proudly introduced you with his are around you lower back. After pleasantries they all offered to help you finish cooking, to which you laughed and said no. Even price shook his head because he knows you have your process of cooking and don’t like extra hands because it overwhelms you. And when you brought them a tray of neatly made drinks you have sworn Soap about died. No wonder Price always comes to work in a good mood, he’s got a pretty bird like you at home.

After seeing what his captains life is like outside of work it gave him some hope, maybe it’s possible to have a stable relationship with this job. Soap made a joke about “sharing”. That was the first time Price ever thought of beating Soap into the ground. Price is too proud of the life he daydreamed about to let another man or woman come into the picture. Just the thought of losing you or your lips kissing anyone but his will send him into a spiral. You’re his world. His to love, fuck, and protect.

Domestic!Price likes to slow down when he’s not at work. Life at a slower pace is more enjoyable. He can take in the sweet moments and the sunshine. He slowly starts bringing Simon and the boys around more and they too realize this.

Domestic!price doesn’t fully understand social media. He isn’t on any, most because of his job. Plus he doesn’t like how fake people are on it. He lets you post pictures of you two together but his face is always uniquely hidden, for your own protection of course. The first picture you posted of you two was actually from your wedding. You both walked together hand in hand as he was kissing your temple. After that you received several calls and texts from old friends and distant relatives asking when did you get married? Who is he? Where did you two meet?

Speaking of yours and prices wedding domestic Price was very involved in the planning. He found the most beautiful venue and really liked picking florals. I mean this man went over budget because he wanted the most elegant and elaborate flower arrangements. If you have any cultural customs John was very adamant that your customs would be met to your specifications.

Unfortunately John’s family is a handful and wanted to plan the wedding, his mother thought it was her big day. John sat her down and had a long conversation about boundaries and respect towards his soon to be wife. She actually apologized as she didn’t realize how much she was overstepping. Your mother was shocked that John was very involved with the planning, but it made her adore him even more.

You both have relatively large families but decided to keep the guests list under sixty people. Only close family and friends. This ruffled some feathers but it made for a perfect day. John is very good at controlling his emotions but when he seen you walk down the aisle his eyes welled with tears.

Domestic!Price can’t wear his ring to work. He wanted to tattoo a ring or your name somewhere on him but still feared it could be used as easy leverage. So he has a large chest tattoo that incorporates your favorite flowers and bird. In fact he starts slowing getting tattoos about you. It’s his way of keeping you with him when he’s gone.

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