#and i really hope there's a reason for the gaps bc it's not even like the 3 guys act that old anyway!

[aerithisms]

i know i wouldn't have this attitude if post-2017 doctor who had simply been good but i increasingly feel like it would've been kinder to the show's legacy to just take the opportunity to end it on the note twice upon a time sets up and lay it to rest for a while than to let it keep going as this ghost of itself that it is right now

[dilf-docs]

This Thing Upon Me, Howls Like A Beast

professor!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: to cover some social hours and as a favor to your recently fallen-ill friend, you become your research methodology professor's TA. but here's the catch: you've got history, and what you really mean is beef; good, pure, unadulterated loath.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, pwp, rivals to ??, hate sex, p. in v. (do i even wrap it atp), degradation kink, daddy kink, lwk exhibition kink bc this happens on his office (rip to the furniture), bit dom!pedro + brat taming (again?? stop it mayor we get itttt omg) sprinkled here and there, fingering, squirting, creampie (everyone got invited to the party), reader is a loud-mouth (who's this divaaa), pedro's kind of an asshole and a perv in this one (ooc sorry), don't expect a second part this is literally just self-fulfilling filth without a storyline

word count: 6,451 words

side note: hello! this won the poll. am i the only one with this fantasy? pls tell me not; i feel insane looking some of my professors like a fucking starved drooling dog. giggling as we speak, bc the movie's got everybody insane between marvel renaissance, gif dump, new content, husband!pedro material and professor wet dreams out there... this piece of work is the last. hope you enjoy it, citizens! ps. jin of bts makes an appearance bc i love my seven men and i'm currently sick so he is sick too lmao (ah pero para escribir cochinadas ahí sí estás sana verdad)

It's your fault, really, for opening it in the middle of the class. It was a link, and you should've saved it for later, but then your thumb clicked into the blue underlined text your friend sent, and the reel popped up on your screen.

Your laugh erupted before you could cover your mouth, your professors' words hanging mid-air.

"Who did that?"

Everyone looks at you. Those sell-out, ass-kissing, boot-licking dicks.

His eyebrows furrow until they seem to melt into one, a big angry scowl on Mr. Pascal's face.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Y/n?"

His voice reverberates on the class' walls, sounding even scarier.

You shake your head, tone quiet as you let out a small, "No"

"No?" he repeats your words, mocking your insecure demeanor, "because with that loud ass laugh, it seemed like something important enough to dissrupt my class. So please, share. You can't leave us wondering in here"

People cough and avoid your gaze while you wish the building would collapse and kill everyone inside, you included. Oh, that would be good. But no, you're stuck on a space that now feels too small and his persistent gaze cuts right through you.

"I-It's not important-" you stumble over your words.

"Can't speak anymore? All that boldness, suddenly gone"

"Mr. Pascal" you plead. God, you had never even begged for anything in your life. But there's always a first.

"I said share" his voice menacing, like he's got not an ounce of sympathy in that sturdy body that could fit plenty. No, wait. Focus!

He grows impatient at your lack of movement, practically growling his next words:

"I won't repeat myself"

"I-I I don't know how to-" you cut yourself off, cringing at how pathetic you sound. "It's a video, so-"

"Then cast your phone and project it" he clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying this. What a sadistic motherfucker.

"I-I can't-"

Can Jesus please hurry up and come fast? Even better, immediately take this one to hell, please.

"Aw, you poor thing" he tuts, mockingly. No one dares to speak, and you'll learn later that he's got his own reputation. For a reason.

"Don't worry, I'll help you myself"

Turns out, the fucker made you and your shaky legs stand up and walk the walk of shame. Then, you had to proyect the silly video, which in handsight, wasn't funny anymore. While some of your classmates laughed, that didn't lessen how humilliated you felt.

It had happened during your first year at university, on a subject you really couldn't care less and when you were still (practically) a baby; freshly eighteen. But now you were twenty, almost finishing your career, and the shaky insecure teenager was long gone, replaced by a secure (albeit a bit of a bitch), confident woman.

That had been your first encounter with professor Pascal.

You have to give him some credit: he is kind of the reason why you did a full 180 on your personality.

But life always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"What do you mean you're sick?" you scoff, "we were supposed to go to Dave's party tonight!"

Your friend lets out a cough that sounds borderline animalistic.

"First of all, don't come closer. I'll pass it to you" Jin speaks up, voice rough from the earlier death-threatening cough. "And second, do you think I care about a stupid party? I'm dying here"

"Don't be so dramatic" you roll your eyes.

"Hello? Didn't you hear that cough?!" he sounds offended, reinforcing the feeling by throwing one of his used tissues at you. You dodge his lame throw with a yuck. "I think you're devoid of empathy"

"Well, thank Mr. Pascal for that"

Jin wasn't your friend when that happened, but when you became buddies, he eventually came to know about your beef with the older man. Yes, beef, because after the Reel Deal (as you both have come to call it), he made your life impossible. If it weren't for your skills and intelligence, you'd probably fail his subject. Mr. Pascal gave you the hardest time ever: be it pairing you with the absolute worst students or making your assigments more difficult, for an "unknown" reason.

Eventually, even after such a traumatic experience and subject being way behind, it became a staple in your duo to bring him up everytime something negative happened or was mentioned.

("You're so funny!")

("Thanks, a professor pushing fifty made my life impossible when I was eighteen")

But here's an even funnier thing: for unknown reasons, Jin became his TA last semester. Probably he didn't know that you were friends, and that has to be the reason he's actually a decent human being towards the younger boy. I'm telling you, Jin would insist, the whole mean asshole shtick is propaganda!

"Talking about him..."

"Stop" you raise your hand dramatically, "enough bad news today"

"You can still go to the party, you know?" he giggles, earning another cough that practically leaves him voiceless. "Why do you insist on taking me? I don't know this people!"

Jin was two years older your senior.

"But it's not fun without you!" you insisted on dragging him around everywhere after you met because he tutored you. "Who will I bore with all my failed flirting attempts?"

"Thank God, not me" he ignores your pout. "Besides, wasn't like Marcos insisting you went with him? There's your chance!"

"But Marcos is boring..." you draw out, "and I need a man who makes me laugh"

"You can't really ask for that much in this economy"

Okay, here's the deal: there's another reason you can't let go of the Mr. Pascal subject, and it's not because of the beef. Hell, Jin can't know about this or he'll never let you live.

The answer is quite simple: as infuriating as he is, Mr. Pascal is hot. Like, middle-aged hot, with the greying hair and face marked by lines that tell time. If it wasn't for him you'd probably never discover your preference towards more... aged meat. You should be furious, and you were, but during all your petty arguments over topics or slides that didn't deserve to be reviewed for more than five minutes, the fire that ignited in your lower belly? You've never felt it before, and if that managed to get you more hot and bothered than a fresh boy ready to kiss your lips, neck and below? Well, that's a serious issue.

But it was his voice, that treated you with such vitriol, a deep and rich sound reserved just for you, or be it the way his auburn eyes seem to catch fire whenever you opened your mouth, dark forests burning in flames that threathened to reduce it all to ashes; yo were eager, anticipating the burn.

He saw your defiance, and instead of putting you in your place, he matched that wild rageful spirit of yours that refused to be tamed.

And that you liked, despite the history of hate between you.

"What about him?" you appear nonchalant, while retouching your makeup for the party.

"About him who?" Jin quips, "we just talked about two fine men-"

"The much older man"

A weird smirk forms across his lips. "Sure, of course"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. But it will be fun, nonetheless" he sits up straight from his previous surrendered position on the couch. "So, remember how I'm his TA, right?"

"Yes?" you pause. "Wait, if this is for me to help you check again more homeworks, no. I am not helping you read a hundred papers again for free"

"They weren't a hundred!" he barks. "Besides, it's not that"

"Then?" you press, not admiting how interested you were.

"Do you see my poor state?" you nod, not understaning where he's going. "Then, you're aware I'm not capacitated to do said task as of right now"

"I'm aware" you repeat, "what I'm not, is what does that have to do with me?" you resume your activity, going for your eyeliner. "So much mystery when you could've just said it in a pass"

"I need you to cover up for me"

The liquid eyeliner paints a line across half of your face. "What?!"

He laughs at your reaction, "You heard me"

You leave the mirror, now focusing your attention on him. "It's not April Fools yet, Jin. Heads up, it was a terrible prank"

Even if it made you hot to have such dynamic with your former IM professor, you weren't exactly keen on seeing him again. For you, he had turned into a memory slash fantasy at some point: an asshole that got your panties wet and pussy slick when you touched yourself at night, on behalf of all the dumb uni boys who couldn't reach that sweet spot of yours. What a dirty girl, his velvet voice on your head would say. Why are you touching yourself to your supposed foe, a much older guy? Fucking slut. Yeah, there was no way you'd go back to the real thing for the real him to taint the image you got off almost every night to, so he could say your name in that animosity that leaked with a barely contained rage and poorly disguised distate that left a bitter taste on your mouth, ego and self-steem on the ground. Because the truth is, no matter how much you argued back, he always won. You had just found your voice, but all efforts to bring him down seemed powerless, and he had won every single battle: even if he didn't have the last word, just with a look, he made you feel small, stupid and meaningless.

Nope. Not going back.

"And you have a terrible way of coping" he's quick to counter back. "Listen, it's not so bad. You just have to do meaningless tasks and pretend to be interested. Simple, right? Look, those extra credits could be useful, you know? And you excelled the class, y/n. Easy!"

"You're making it sound trouble-free as if the man doesn't hate me"

"He's definitely forgotten about it!" he waves his hand, dissmisively. "Probably jokes about it, like us!"

"Mr. Pascal doesn't seem the type of guy to have humor"

"Humor me, then" Jin sighs. "Do this for me, yes? When have I ever failed you?"

You wish for some sense to get into his skull. Had he forgotten every single anecdote?

"Think of all those times where I've taken you home, carried you drunk. Or the sad heart breaks I've been through with you, remember? Brought you ice cream and watched your favorite movies. Or when I used to tutor you? Or-"

"Enough of your emotional manipulation, Mr. Kim" you shake your head, dissapointed, all to avoid the quiet rage to settle in. "I thought better of you"

"It's for a week. Days if this pills do a miracle" his big black eyes look at you, pleading.

"Jin, you're not being a very good friend"

"It's just this one favor" he sighs. "Look, I can't loose this thing, okay? I get the credits I need to finally leave this shithole. If I don't show up, they'll hand it to someone else. You may not believe it, but it's very demanded"

People making lines to be emotionally abused by your former IM professor? Sure thing!

"Can't you tell someone, though? I'm sure they'll understand and you can go back once this cold is gone"

"I already did so, and they told me to show up or quit, due to the wait list of people applying for the position" you roll your eyes at your university's antics and their bullshit policies. "I don't trust anyone else to not fuck it up, but you. You'll just have to tell him about this minor inconvenience, and Mr. Pascal will understand. You know, I'm kind of his favorite guy in there..."

Great, just what you needed.

"Sorry to break it to you, but as soon as I walk through that door, all that pretty boy privilege would be gone"

"Please, y/n. Please"

"You'll never ask me any other favor?"

"No" he looks rather desperate; it's funny. "Hell, you can use the lake cabin for your birthday bash if you-"

"Deal"

Were you that easy to buy, huh? What does that say about you? Fucking ass sell-out.

Okay, but a birthday party in that all glass modern cabin with a deck and a jacuzzi does sound tempting. Who could be blamed? Not you, who will have to face her biggest foe in exchange for one wild bash.

You take a deep breath, imagining the lake water splashing and champagne on the deck (ugh, Jin's parents had a waterbike too. They were loaded), before knocking on his office. The door flings open, almost hitting you in the face, and there he is: Mr. Pascal, with his brown hair with white on the sides, loose curl over his face. Your fingers definitely don't itch to touch it, of course.

He's sporting a grumpy look (when doesn't he?), his big hands (you had forgotten how big they were) holding a bunch of papers (great, work!).

"Goddamn it, Jin. I was about to call you for standing me up, you know I hate when people don't tell me-"

He stops on his tracks, and that all too familiar scowl deepens his face.

"You"

Seethed with such venom, it's quite scary. Your legs tremble, yet your pussy clenches.

"Yes, me" you can't help but let out a little laugh at his antics. What did Jin said about him not remembering you? Well, can't be blamed; you weren't easy to forget.

His jaw clenches while looking down at you, but this time, you don't dare to flinch.

"What are you doing here?"

"See, Jin is my friend-"

He interrupts you, body frame resting on the door with a relaxed posture, but his shoulder looks tense.

"Oh, I liked him. Liked, as in past tense" he emphasizes, like a child throwing a tantrum. "How can a kid like him be friends with you?"

"We're best friends, thank you very much. As a matter of fact, I'm here as a favor" you hand him Jin's written apology, that may have one or two sneezes over it. "He's sick, and I'll cover him for a week, just so he doesn't loose the position. Said you would understand"

"I do" he replies on an instant, "you I don't"

"I passed your subject. With honors, even after you made my life impossible" you reply. "I'm the best candidate, face it"

He's rendered speechless for a moment, before he bites back:

"What makes you think I won't do it again?"

Now it's you who doesn't know what to say. It's infuriating how he still keeps winning.

"That's right" a wicked smile adorns his face. "Stay and find out"

Boy, don't you love a challenge?

So you stayed, much to his surprise. The bastard probably thought you were still the same scaredy mouse from first year.

Oh, it was delicious the way his whole face fell at your entrance next morning, how he quickly replaced it and introduced you in a clipped tone.

"Where's Jin?" a girl sitting in the front row had asked, more students joining to ask for his absence. You wonder if your friend's popularity stems from his brain or looks.

"He's sick" you answered. "But don't worry, he'll be back soon"

"Thank God" Mr. Pascal voices out loud.

You shoot him a look. He wasn't joking about not making it easy, was he?

"Oh, I didn't take you as a man of faith, Mr. Pascal, but you're right. It's important to thank our Lord everyday. So, thank Him for this week where I get to offer my suffering. In reward" you turn to face him, all the class silent as they take in your weird exchange, the atmosphere tense, "I'll never see your face again"

This time, you weren't going down without a fight.

"We'll see about that"

There it was: the fire to your gasoline.

So you pushed back, and argued everytime you disagreed, things that weren't part of your work but you still did because well, if he was still hellbent on making you suffer, you weren't going to make it easy for him this time.

If students argued against him, you took their side; even if just one did, you had their back.

You finished grading, but when returning the papers, you'd let them fall with a heavy thud over his desk, not even daring to look back.

At the time he'd talk to you, you wouldn't answer, instead just doing so, but no words to be uttered his way, as if he wasn't worth the effort. Not even a clipped okay.

And you enjoyed this; savored how he'd take every one of your petty actions with his full chest, eyebrows furrowed and face red in anger, but never answering, just silent, like deep in thought, a cold and calculated look overtaking his brown eyes.

Then the veins on his neck would pop as the ones of his tight white-knuckled grip on his mug. He'd speak up, and his voice had your legs shaking for some friction, wet spots now more often on your lingerie.

That he didn't know.

All he did was you were now more than a pebble on his shoe: a huge fucking stone, going down the hill, ready to squash him.

But boy, didn't he love a challenge?

It's Friday, aka last day of Torture Week.

You drop the quizzes for next Monday on his desk with the same harsh movement you had done all week.

"And it's over" you announce, papers plopping next to him, who is writing something. Mr. Pascal's hand moves, his L much longer than it should be. He looks up at you, annoyed, but his eyes flash with a hint of amusement.

"I see you can talk"

"Well, you already know me, Mr. Pascal. So you should be aware of what I can do"

"Love if you'd enlighten me"

He leans back on his chair, arms resting behind his head. It's hard not to take a brief glance to the flexing muscles, or how he's rolled up his sleeves, arms bulking up with the action, the fabric tense. It's hot in here. Wait, or has it gotten hot? Your face feels red, and when he catches your lingering gaze, he smiles devilishly.

"Like what you see, Ms. Y/n?"

No. You refuse to let him win this again, so close to the end.

"The release from prison?" you regain your posture, "very much"

"You may be a loud-mouthed brat, always knowin' what to say. I'll give that to you" he props himself to the front, elbows now resting on the desk as his eyes scan yours with a shade of dark covering them. "But a good liar you ain't"

You try to remain still, face emotionless, but your professor is a man of experience; an expert on his field. He who investigates, who has majored to be able to notice every small detail that can contribute to a hypothesis, has now formulated his.

You want this as much as he wants to.

You, with your wobbly legs and nervous eyes, glancing up at him with a hungry gaze that matches his own, despite your angry posture and irritated tone. You, that picked up petty arguments just to rile him up, because you liked the command for power on his voice. You like this, didn't you? Feeling small and weak, fangs pointy, just barely gracing the skin; the edge what set your skin on fire.

He isn't one to hold grudges (he's just mean all the time), but Pedro is willing to show you he hasn't forgotten about the years, and he'll be more than willing to fuck that bitchy attitude out of you.

"Hello?" you snap your fingers in front of him, "are you there?"

He snaps back to reality, your face covering his vision. In his position, he gets rewarded with a delicious peak at your breasts and the nude lingerine hiding them. He can imagine the perked nipples and the rosy plush skin he'd love to trace his tongue with, because even when you speak in a harsh voice, your eyes speak another thing. Fuck, he thinks he can even smell your arousal.

"I was talking to you" you don't even give him room to reply; snotty ass. "Said I was already leaving"

He thinks of himself as merciful. So he stands up, your bodies barely brushing against each other for a second, before he's opening the door, towering over you. He's so close, you can see the grey hairs mixed with the brown ones on his beard and mustache. God, you can smell him: coffee, cigarrettes, sandalwood and leather.

"You're free, Ms. Y/n" he follows your line of joke from before. "Just, humor me with one last thing"

You glance over at the clock above his desk. It's barely noon.

"Yes?" as dry as possible.

"Why did you accept?"

It's a simple question, really, but it manages to catch you off guard.

His tone is so different, maybe that's why: it's low, impossibly low. For less attentive people, it could even pass as a growl. But you hear, the amusement and dare laced within the velvety tone.

"Because I'm a good friend" you manage to speak, his body caging your smaller frame against the door.

This is ridiculous. You can leave at any time. Hello? Have your legs not gotten the memo?

"I didn't think you were capable of good things"

You huff, annoyed. "Well, I passed your subject, didn't I?"

He clicks his tongue.

"Many before you, and more after you have. Doesn't make you special, y/n"

Your name alone leaves a savory and toxic sweetness on his tongue.

"But how many of those you remember?" Mr. Pascal shots up an eyebrow, confused. "Tell me, how many can you name? That's right. I changed your life, whether you like it or not"

He's quick to reply. "Bullshit"

"Bullshit" you mock his angry tone, "but you recognized me the moment you opened the door. It didn't even take you seconds, hell, you hadn't even fully seen me and you knew who I was. Doesn't take a great investigator to figure it out, does it? So I take you missed me"

He can't believe your fucking mouth.

But then Pedro's remembering the way his pants tightened when you started to stand up to him, getting even worse when he still managed to shut you up. Fuck, the way you had smirked when you approved his subject during your last project delivery. He let you, because well, you had earned it: for the way your image had been the perfect companion for his hand pistoning his cock will full force, thinking of that loud mouth of yours gagged with it. Or when you walked past him in the hallways, wrapped in your own little bubble, your carefree laugh erupting and bouncing off the walls, tickling every hair of his body.

Part of him had accepted Jin to be his TA if that meant having a piece of you, even if a small connection, to you. Did you think he wouldn't know? That he wouldn't see you walking by in those small skirts that rode over when you bent? He noticed you; after all, you were in the same place most of your day.

You had excelled his subject after all, hadn't you?

So of course you'd notice his stare lingering in your back like a hand over your ass. How his eyes would dart to the skirts you wore on purpose, attentive to the moment you'd drop a pen on accident and your panties would be on sight, a wet spot in the middle you hadn't even noticed that smelled. Fuck, and wasn't it sweet?

You really feel like you have won this, don't you?

"Miss you?" Pedro hisses the words out. "I didn't miss you. What I think is happenin', is that me missing you is what you want"

"And I think you're repeating the same words and fumbling thoughts because you're a big egocentric prideful asshole who can't admit he's got the hots for his younger student"

"God. Don't you have such a filthy mouth, baby?"

Before he can register and you've fully let the nickname sink, your hand slaps his face with a potent movement that reverberates across his office's walls.

"You're a fucking piece of work, Mr. Pascal" but instead of being offended (or you don't know, fight back?), he remains silent. "You dirty old spoiled prick. Think I would never fight you back? That you can get away with whatever this is?"

"Whatever this is?" he chuckles, a sound rumbling deep from his chest. "Well, pretty girl, ain't you started this?"

He looms over you, hot breath carressing your face softly.

"Me? Unbelievable" you scoff. "You're one to talk, humiliating a poor freshman"

"Poor? You were distracted, in my class! Did your parents never teach you manners?!" his words leave droplets of spit that land in your face. "I had to put your stupid ass in place; that'll teach you something"

"Like what?" you taunt, recklessly, chest up and down with uneven breaths.

"I see it didn't work" his body language does an immediate switch. You remember a predator ready to strike their prey. "Maybe I should've tried harder"

His eyes do a wild dance over your body as so do yours.

Lip. Eyes. Skin. Cleavage. His tight pants. Biceps. Legs. Hair.

Before you can register, he's got you pinned against his desk, door closed in a loud move. There's a click sound somewhere in between, but you're too busy feeling his big hands grabbing your face roughly, as if he wants to consume your skin and feel your very bones on his calloused tips.

His lips are impossibly wet and eager, hands needily gropping your body. He pushes all his weight over you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue now inside your mouth, making you falter.

You let out a breathy moan when your back hits the desk, the wood digging your skin, but he swallows it whole, making it impossible for you to talk.

"Mmph-"

"Mmph?" he mocks between kisses, not giving you the chance to take a breath, or maybe he was scared you would get the time to think and would push him away. "Just my mouth got you all worked up, baby? Can't even speak"

Your fingers run through his hair for support, curls between your fingers. They felt soft, like they were meant to be combed through over and over again. He dives his head in your neck, hot mouth wet with its trail of kisses, making you squirm.

"I see" his breath ghosts over your reddened skin, "you wanted this just as much, don't you? This boys aren't enough for you?"

Every hair on your body prickles, his mouth claiming every spot he could, bites and hickeys all over your skin. You whine, pouting your lips, missing his already.

"It's okay, baby" he laughs, "just gotta show them who's enough for you" he grunts, "a man"

Mr. Pascal takes off your shirt, well, basically rips the poor thing, his hands relieved to finally touch your breasts. He roughly grabs one of them, and you bite your lip so hard, you almost feel the bitter metallic taste in your mouth. He lowers himself, despite his aching joints, to play with your hardened nipples, lapping them with his warm tongue, sucking and swirling until they turn swollen.

Your hand finds its way to his formal pants, fingers gracing over the fabric, feeling his cock straining against it. Just like you imagined it: big, like his presence. If it could, your pussy would jump in excitement, realistically just throbbing and leaking.

You untie his belt and buttons so you can begin to rub over his boxers. You can feel him trying to meet your touches, grinding onto your palm. He groans, deeply, enjoying your hungry stare, steady beat, parted lips and wet cunt.

He bucks his hips against you, propping himself on the wall behind his desk, which had moved from its original position thanks to the mayhem.

"You clearly don't know what you got yourself into, baby. But don't worry, I ain't letting you go just yet"

He pulls the skirt up, revealing the damp panties and mess between your legs. He licks his lips before rough digits find your wet folds. His fingers carress your impossibly tight walls, coating them with your slick.

"So fucking tight" he groans against your collarbones, "thought of yourself as uptight but I can fucking smell you dripping, you dirty slut. Could tell you loved provoking me becayse that's the only way your snotty ass can get off"

"F-fuck you, Mr. Pascal" you manage to choke out.

"Where are your manners? After how I've rewarded your big mouth, you bitch" he takes off your panties with skilled practice, the piece falling to the floor with a weak sound. Your bare cunt makes you shiver. "You think you're smart, baby? You think you can play these games and face no consequences at all?" he tuts. "No, Ms. Y/n, you know I hate wastin' my time, so be a good girl and don't make this harder for you, get that?"

You whine at his words, but refuse to shut your mouth.

"Oh, I'm smart" you laugh, "smart enough to have you on your knees for me"

An ugly grin spreads across his features.

"I will never bend for a bratty pretentious slut like you" he grips your hair with force, leaving your neck exposed, "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, stupid cock hungry whore. You wanted my attention? It's all yours"

Then, with a low, almost feral growl, he grabs your hips and hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sweeps the papers and books onto the floor with a clatter, setting you down on the edge.

"You better behave, baby" Mr. Pascal bites your lower lip, "don't want people to know what we're doing in here, do you? Or would you want them to know just how much of a slut you are, spread on my desk as your cunt drips for me?"

He steps between your legs, pushing them further apart, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He leans in, his face inches from yours, voice low in a threatening rasp.

"I'll behave, I promise" mind in blank.

"No loud mouth bitchy stuck up attitude?"

You free his cock, hands scouting his shaft, his base, and balls. You fondled them while his fingers lingered closer to your pussy.

"No"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked stupid and used for my pleasure? Well, get ready, because I'm not going to stop until I've had my fill of this sweet little cunt"

He savors at the sight of your glistening folds.

"Let me-"

He laughs, seeing how you desire to guide his cock towards your entrance.

"Eager, little one?" he teases.

"Yes" you whimper, "I need you so badly, papi"

Your plea mixed with Spanish sends him on edge. His eyes darken with a primal, almost feral hunger at your desperate plea.

His voice is strained, rough with barely restrained lust.

"Fuck, you needy little thing. You want to take my dick until this desk breaks?"

He rubs the swollen head of his dick against your dripping slit, coating it in your arousal. Then, with one powerful thrust, he slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, hot cunt.

"So tight" he groans, starting to move and setting a brutal pace from the very beginning. The desk shakes and creaks beneath you with each forceful thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the empty office. He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He sets a relentless, punishing rhythm, determined to fuck you into oblivion.

It's a goddamn view in here: him above you, droplets of sweat falling to your face, pristine hair now disheveled.

At this point, you were clenching so hard it hurt, walls fluttering around his massive girth. But he's greedy, and he's pushing himself deeper and deeper.

"Runnin' your mouth but now all quiet as you take all of me, hungry greedy whore" he digs his fingers into your cheeks harshly, but you find pleasure in the sting the pain causes. "Bet this is all you been thinking since you started talking back, huh? Don't worry, daddy's got you"

Surprisingly, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a dominating kiss, tongue invading your mouth. His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly, a silent reminder of who you belong to.

"God. You're wet everywhere, baby"

His sweaty chest presses itself onto your tits as he forced his cock deeper within you, the plaid shirt sticking with sweat to his ablazed body, temperature high.

"T-the desk" you protest numbly; mind-fucked.

And oh, boy, doesn't he enjoy this view? Your fluttering eyelids, hazy eyes and trembling body.

So he keeps fucking you: pounding into you, rolling his hips skillfully, taking up all the space within you.

"I don't give a damn fuck about the desk, Ms. Y/n. I'm gonna fuck that attitude of yours until all you know is my name" he leans down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. His hands grip your hips with bruising force, pulling you harder against him with each violent thrust. "Gonna break the desk, hell, fuck you on the floor if necessary, but you ain't leaving this office until my cum drips from your legs and everyone knows your tight little cunt is mine"

The desk groans and wobbles beneath you, the legs scraping against the floor as Pedro fucks you with wild abandon. The sound of your moans and the crude, wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the room.

His pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust, the rough friction sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the desk.

He feels your walls starting to flutter around him, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. Mr. Pascal leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Why don't you be a good girl and tell daddy how good he's making you feel? Show me and everyone else what a desperate little slut you are, waiting for me to fill you up nicely with my seed"

He makes out of you a loud mess, a series of sweet sounds falling from your lips. You clench and he twitches, his digits holding your waist, keeping you in place for him.

"Good girl" he praises, "now you're gonna take it all, milk me dry, you greedy cocksleeve"

His thrusts become erratic and sloppier. The older man can feel your walls starting to flutter around him, body tensing as your orgasm approaches. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Will you be a good girl?"

"Yes!" you cry out, "don't stop!"

You hated this humilliation, how easy it is for him to fuck you with his big cock. You fucking hated him. But didn't he make you feel so good.

"Then come on my cock, bitch"

You didn't think it was capable, no, but you did. A first, another first when it came to Mr. Pascal.

You squirt. You fucking squirted.

Pedro lets out a feral roar of triumph when your pussy spasms around his pistoning cock, your release gushing out and soaking his dick and the desk, papers and shit beneath you (no, not the quizzes! You had printed them this morning). He savors the way you throw your head back, eyes rolling until they turn white on your fucked-out face.

"Such a sweet cunt, baby" he praises. "Milk me dry, come on"

Your slick walls milking him dry pushes him over the edge, clenching around him, and he knew it was over. He snaps, arching his back as he roughly moans. With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls-deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come. Thick, scorching ropes of cum paint your insides, flooding your womb with his potent seed, still pushing the remnants inside when he grinds against you, his pelvis pressed tight to yours as he rides out the waves of his intense orgasm. His grip on your hips tightens, fingermarks surely to be left in the soft flesh as he holds you in place, ensuring you take every last drop of his release.

"That's it, pretty baby. Can't even speak, can you?" he captures your mouth in a deep, dominating kiss. Like he owns you. "As you can see, I'm a man of my word"

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and intense, filled with a primal, almost feral satisfaction.

It's humilliating, really, how your lips search for more. You need him, badly, despite how shit he treats you and how wrong all of this is. Is this a win or a loose?

"Good girl" he repeats, his sweaty forehead clashing against yours. The desk creaks yet again. You love when he praises you, and you whine on instintic, making him laugh. "Learned your place just yet? Listen carefully, Ms. Y/n: no matter what you do or say, I'll always win, get it? And you'll be nothing but a needy uptight slut who begs for my attention and cock"

He pulls out of you slowly, his softening dick slipping from your well-used hole with a gush of their combined releases. He tucks himself away, doing up his pants with quick, efficient movements. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, smearing a streak of his cum across it.

"Go on. Taste it, and tell me how it feels"

Your tongue does a lazy movement, making your lips moist thanks to the saliva and his cum, like a fucking gloss. You shouldn't enjoy this, really, but your body shivers when you feel the taste of him going down your throat as you swallow.

"Good" you manage to speak, salt on the tip of your tongue.

"Good" he repeats, voice low and menacing, "because we're just getting started"

[catboybiologist]

I'm 3.5 months in progesterone. Did it make my boobs grow? Let's look at some data!

So. This data has problems, of course. I've added disclaimers at the bottom. This isn't science, this is personal curiosity.

But anyways.

My HRT progress has been in three distinct stages:

1, sublingual pills, with on and off spiro. Suppressed T, E struggling to get up. Month 0-7

2, Injections, no progesterone. E goes to appropriate levels very quickly and fluctuates within cis female ranges. Month 7-13.

3, all that plus progesterone. Month 13-16 (current).

For the purposes of simplicity, lets look at breast growth only.

Let's take a look at some of those sublingual numbers:

All in freedom units, bc I hate myself.

I mean hey, not bad! There was absolutely some growth and breast bud formation as well. I pretty clearly got to tanner 2 here. But there's an obvious, clear plateau in growth. We can see it graphically as well:

Ignore the blue line, that's different data (waist:hip)

So what broke the plateau? Well.

The blue measurements are taken when I'm on injections and good levels, and the green one is as well (it was my progesterone start date). Apologies for the data jumping around, there were gaps. Also worth noting that I was ~20 pounds lighter on that final measurement.

So after plateauing with sublingual, my E around 100, the only thing that broke through that barrier was dropping spiro, switching to injections, and keeping my E at 200-400.

It is at this point I added progesterone (data in green).

holy FUCK

I genuinely would not have believed it myself if I didn't have pictures, as well as measuring myself now, and also y'know. Lived all of this.

Lets see that graph, shall we?

You can so clearly see the three stages here. The sublingual plateau, the injection bump upwards, and the progesterone fucking moon rocket. The gap in data is when I was backpacking- on injections, no prog. I think the drop in my W:H is also because of the weight I was losing.

Also yes, linear regression is kinda stupid here. I was just curious.

Anyways. I think I might be plateauing again, just based on how my breasts have felt a little less sensitive recently, which is also what happened on my sublingual plateau. But its absolutely wild to see what progesterone (probably) did in such a short time.

So in conclusion:

Yes. Absolutely. And so did injections, and proper levels.

When I encourage people to take an active role in their transition, this is what I mean. Keep track of your levels. If you're plateauing, think about what might be happening. Make sure to coordinate closely with your doctor. Amazing things can happen because of it.

Disclaimers and admissions of data sloppiness below:

This data is sloppy, and rounded to the nearest half inch most of the time. I've also fudged it based on what I reasonably thought was error in retrospect- eg, at one point I thought my underbust had shrunk a tiny bit due to variation in fat and coastal cartilage, but it's all just flickering between 35.5 and 36", so I just put it all at 36 bc that's likely more accurate.

The measurements don't really cleanly correspond to clothing measurements- I've been doing it wrong since the beginning, and kept doing it wrong for consistency. don't infer my cup size based on this lol. This is for internal comparison and trends.

The rounding also makes it more susceptible to "jumping", and there's several instances where a rounded down data point to a rounded up data point makes a more dramatic leap than it would in practice.

And of course, I'm measuring myself, this is one data set, yadda yadda. It's gonna be sloppy.

But yeah. The trends are clear enough that I hope they can be taken as trends at least, even if they're not exact numbers.

[raestromboli]

𝒢𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒮 𝒲𝐸 𝐵𝒪𝒯𝐻 𝒜𝐼𝒩’𝒯 𝒮𝐻𝐼𝒯!

ᡴꪫ 𓂃 chris finally commits to a relationship! he swears up and down that he’s happy . . . but his girlfriend isn’t the reason why.

cw. ┊ 18+, not proofread, cheater!chris x milf!reader, smut, established relationship but not between reader, cheating, vulgar language, pet name usage, age gap﹙chris is 21, reader is 29﹚, gfs name is eve, persuasion, mild manipulation, cunnilingus﹙he eats it from the back﹚, spanking, backshots, overstimulation, creampie, y’all almost get caught, mdni.

⌗ the age gap between chris and r is not gonna align w the gf bc i feel uncomfy writing chris any younger and i am NOT gonna write the reader as an old ass woman 🤍 hope y’all get it

chris doesn't even have a damn clue on why he’s currently standing in front of his girlfriend’s mom’s residence when he knows his girlfriend isn't even inside the house.

though, all he wants is to see is her mom . . . her fucking mom.

it's kind of ridiculous, he thinks, how he has a crush on his girl's mom and calls her a milf in his head. he feels sick and twisted for even thinking of those lewd and perverted thoughts, but it’s almost addictive. you’re addictive. he really doesn't want to admit it, but chris was obsessed with comparing his girlfriend to you.

your curves, your pretty tits, your waist, your oh so soft thighs, and your lips. oh fuck, your lips. all he could think is . . . why couldn't your daughter take those features?

knocking on the door twice, the door immediately swings open to be met with your doe eyes staring up at him, worry settling in on them, "oh, chris—what’re you doing here, sweetie?" you pout sympathetically, noticing how chris looked so disheveled; hair sticking up in awkward places and little beads of sweat forming on his upper lip, “are you looking for eve?”

chris decides to play innocent, nodding his head and pouting at you.

“‘m so sorry, honey. she just left.” your voice was so smooth and comforting. he could only imagine how you’d sound when you’re getting your back blown out by him.

he raised his brows, pink lips forming into an 'o' as an attempt to look oblivious, " o-oh, shit. my bad." he huffs out a nervous laugh, turning around to begin walking off.

"wait!" you suddenly yelled. if chris didn’t know any better, you might’ve sounded desperate.

he looked so flustered and parched, so the least you could do for the sweet boy was to nurse him back to hydration . . . right? when chris stopped in his tracks, you didn't get to see the wicked smirk on his face before he turned around, meeting your eye.

“yes, ma’am?”

you frowned, "please don’t go back out there. i know you walked over here, poor boy."

fuuuck, you’re so caring. it makes his dick hard.

you widen the front door and chris immediately gives in, grinning and thanking you while heading inside your home. he’s been in your house before, but something about being just the two of you, alone, made everything feel special. just thinking about it made him feel like a perv—he was getting off to it, though.

chris eyes you the whole time.

you make your way into the kitchen, leaning down as you open the fridge door and pull out a pitcher of lemonade. you’re completely oblivious about the two blue eyes that ogle at your tits, or your ass when you bend down. that just makes it funner for chris. you pour the liquid in a tall glass and slid it over to the boy who sat himself down on the kitchen island.

while doing so, you couldn’t help but wonder if he really all this way to your house.

“chris, did you really walk all the way over here? if you wanted to come over, you could’ve called me, sweetie. i would’ve drove you.” chris took a few seconds to answer, a little busy chugging down the refreshment. some of the liquid slipped past his lips and ran down his chin.

his adams apple bobbed as he finished the last of the lemonade, setting the glass down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "yeah, sorry. i will next time." chris giggles lowly, eyes boring its way into yours.

you smile at him when you both went quiet, “do you, uhm, want me to call eve and tell her you’re here?”

“nah, let it be a surprise.”

you teasingly coo at him, a coy grin playing at your lips when chris meekly shrugs, “she’s so lucky to have you, y’know.”

that makes him smirk, “yeah?”

“yeah.” it’s your turn to act shy, crossing your arms under your chest nervously. you spot chris’ eyes traveling down your chest, but you don’t say anything.

“soooo, you don’t have a man or somethin’ like that?”

“. . a man?”

he shrugs again, but with more confidence. a cocky smirk plays crooked on his lips while he continues, “like, someone you can depend on?”

“i guess not,” you huff out a laugh, “i’ve been too busy raising eve that i’ve never really thought about that.”

oh, but you have.

it’s so wrong, so disgusting and immature of you, but you think about it . . with chris . . . a lot. of course, you just wouldn’t admit it. you pushed those thoughts aside before you could get too carried away.

“damn,” he purses his lips, “you ever get lonely?”

you playfully furrow your brows at chris, “that seems a little inappropriate to ask that about your girlfriend’s mother.”

“is it?” he smirks while sliding his tongue over his bottom lip, “i just wanted to know a little more ‘bout you.”

you notice the atmosphere change in just a second. it makes you nervous.

“what do you wanna know?”

“i dunno . . .” chris then shrugs, maintaining eye contact with you as he walks past you. his hands paw at your waist to move you aside, purposely grinding his bulge against your ass. he hears you suck in a shaky, deep breath and a grin blooms across his face, “would you fuck a younger guy?” he turns the sink faucet on, so he’s unable to hear the shocked gasp that slips past your lips.

“chris! that’s h-highly inappropriate!” your head whips over to your left to stare at chris in bewilderment, eyes widened like saucers and lips parted.

you watch chris turn the faucet off, wiping his wet hands on his jean clad thighs before turning to face you, “sooo, no?”

“i-i can’t answer that—“

“why not?”

he can’t be serious.

you scoff at him, your eyes straining a bit as you try not to stare at the obvious bulge poking from chris’ jeans. he leaned against the sink counter with his arms crossed over each other, looking at you with his eyes darkened with lust.

“please don’t make me say it.” you can’t even muster yourself up to care as you beg chris. you’re just hoping all this was just one of those wet dreams you’ve been having of him lately.

chris knows you won’t say it, so he takes the cake for you, “what eve doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

you feel more lightheaded each step chris takes toward you, the potent smell of his cologne invading your senses. he’s even more prettier close up—your head’s so fuzzy, “i-i can’t do that to her, chris.” you whisper.

“no?” chris’ sympathetic pout seems purely fake when his hard stare on you intimidates you, “you sayin’ you don’t want me?”

“chris . . .” you whimper softly.

“c’mon, say it. you’ll be my good girl, won’t you?”

you can’t believe how a younger man like chris could have so much power over you. his suave voice immediately makes you fold, along with his piercing gaze that leaves you cowering.

two hands wrap around your waist to pin you against the counter, his bulge pressing against your bare thigh.

“i . . i want you.” you managed to spit it out with chris pushing his body impossibly closer to yours, his chest smushing against yours and his breath fanning over your face. he smiles at you, and it almost seems innocent before he leans in and locks his lips with yours.

it’s been so long since you’ve kissed someone, let alone been with a man this close to you. so you expect chris to pull away and sneer at your sloppy motions, but instead he sighs in almost relief against your lips.

chris’ kisses are messy and uncoordinated, but somehow in the best possible way. he sucks on your bottom lip, whining nasally while he lets you explore his mouth. your lips are coated in a glossy sheen with his saliva when he pulls away, panting and staring at you with low eyes—almost like he was high.

“. . . you’d let me fuck you? hm?” he mumbles as his head lowers down to hide himself in your neck, starting to attack the sensitive skin on your pulse point immediately. that action makes you keen and paw at his shoulder.

“uh huh, please.” you whine desperately, your hand rising up to fist chris’ soft hair as he grazes his teeth against the bruise that started glooming on your neck, soothing the sting with a kitty lick. you barely recognize yourself; you’ve become so needy for your daughter’s boyfriend that you can’t even think about any of the consequences. and in some way, it makes the whole situation just seem better.

you don’t know how you’ve landed in this position, nor how you’ve ended up in your bedroom; you, with your face smushed against your pillow and your ass up high, kisses being placed all over your thighs. it’s been ten minutes since chris has had you in this position, soaked panties pooling at your ankles while he teased you everywhere except where you needed him most.

“chris,” you whimpered, lifting your head up to glance over at him from your shoulder, “please.” you both know what you’re begging for, but chris wants to hear it.

he wrapped his hands around your waist to maneuver you closer to his face and spit directly onto your drooling cunt, smirking as you squeal, “what do you want, then? tell me and i’ll give it to ya’.”

it wasn’t a lie that chris brought out the slut in you.

“i want your mouth . . and your fingers.” you whined quietly, pouting while you wave your ass around when the throbbing in your clit started getting unbearable.

your brain cancels out whatever comes out of chris’ mouth next the moment he finally hovers his mouth over your sopping clit, he gently strokes a thumb up and down. opening you up slowly, he creates a single slow lick to make you whimper. it doesn’t take him long to succumb his need as he dives in, tongue lulling out to lick a thick stripe from your clit and to your hole. a groan emits from him as the taste of you spreads throughout his tastebuds. it’s like your pussy was a drug. he’s addicted to you from just one taste.

you could feel his stubble scratch along your thighs as he eats you out with vigor, his chin and the tip of his nose slick when he practically stuffs his face in between your thighs.

“oh m’god!” you squeal against your pillow as chris wraps his plush lips around your puffy nub, sucking on it like a pacifier and humming like you were the best meal he’s ever eaten.

chris finds it so amusing how you responded to his touches. whether it’d be him grazing his hand across yours, or he’d be tongue deep in your pretty pussy. you’re so sensitive and he knows you’re just seconds away from coming undone, but he’s just getting started.

he’s so messy and sloppy with your pussy; letting you coat his face in your essence and groaning lewdly while he shook his head side to side with his tongue flat against your clit. he also lets you shake your ass in his face to grind your weeping cunt the way you subconsciously liked.

“chrisss,” you whined, gasping, “‘m gonna cum.” but he’s already one step ahead, hands holding your thighs done and pulling away to spank your ass.

“nah, you’re gonna hold that shit. i’m not done with you.” and when you start huffing and whining, you get another spank, but on your pussy. a high pitched moan slips past your lips at the sting, cheeks heating up as you hear chris chuckle behind you.

when your daughter’s boyfriend puts his mouth back to work on your needy pussy, your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasp. why was chris so good at eating you out?

the knot in your lower stomach already starts forming when his lips wrap around your nub once again, thighs shaking around chris’ head as your orgasm quickly approaches.

“oh!—i can’t hold it. i-i gotta cum.” you huff nasally. you wrap your arms around your pillow and hug it tightly against your body, the motions on chris’ tongue gradually getting more calculated. and when he doesn’t respond to you, you take it as a sign to let go.

chris let his tongue circle your clit at a relentless pace before then he felt it; he heard you. a cry of his name. you coated his tongue, muscles clutching as your ass practically shook against his face. you were shaking—your legs couldn't stop twitching. if it weren't for his firm grip on your thighs, you wouldn't have been able to withstand so much.

with a final lick to your sensible core, he drew out a whimper from you. you had to reach out and push his head away when you started getting overstimulated.

it’s been so long since you had a proper orgasm, and you could barely take it. you’re whining under your breath as you try to come up from your high, face shoved into the pillow to avoid chris seeing you so slutted out.

a large hand comes up to cup your butt, squeezing the fat in his palm before letting go to give you a slap. he bites away a smirk when you gasp and look over your shoulder with a glare.

“think i’ll be able to fuck you better than men your age?” you know chris was challenging you, but frustration had been bubbling up inside you ever since his nonstop teasing.

you sneak a small smile at him, “maybe? i’m not sure.” and when you hear the shuffle of his zipper and his belt unbuckling, you couldn’t be too sure that you’d grow to be right.

“yeah, we’ll fuckin’ see ‘bout that.” he mumbles, scoffing out a small laugh as he strokes his leaky cock and huffing under his breath. chris uses his free hand to cup your waist when he thrusts forward to come in contact with your puffy cunt, his pink mushroom tip moving in languid motions over your sore nub. your brows pinch together at the feeling of his heavy dick being hugged in between your folds, so lost in the euphoria that you fail to hear your phone ringing until chris leans away to grab your phone.

“wha—“

a wicked smile forms on his face as he taps you on your shoulder, bringing the screen splayed out as your daughter’s name up to your face. when you lock your eyes with it, you gasp and hurriedly place your palms flat against the bed, shooting up and attempting to grab your phone from chris before he pulled it back from you.

“don’t answer it!” but it’s too late.

“hello? mom?”

your eyes widen as chris snickers quietly behind you.

“o-oh,” you clear your throat, fighting a small moan that dared to slip out when he starts to create soft, chaste kisses near the inside of your neck. you nearly backed your hips up against him, but you knew if you did, you wouldn’t be able to stop, “hi—hi honey.”

“umm,” eve stutters out a laugh, “are you okay?”

your words get caught in your throat when chris reaches down to fist his dick and tap his leaking tip against your drooling pussy, squeezing your eyes shut as you pray that the wet pat pat pat didn’t pick up on the other line.

“‘course i am . . . w-why wouldn’t i be?”

“okayyyy, if you say so,” she snickers once again, “but could you facetime me? i want to show you this top i’d think you lik—“

“no!” and when there’s a long pause, you continue hurriedly, “sorry, baby. i just mean . . i can’t right now.”

“uhh, okay. i’ll just buy it for you some other time.”

“yeah. thanks, honey. i’ll s-see you later, ‘kay?” you tuck your lip between your teeth as chris uses his dick to play with your needy pussy.

“. . . sure? bye m—“

chris ends the call for you, throwing your phone somewhere across your room with a cocky smile.

he chortles, “jesus, you’re bad at lying. just tell your daughter you’re ‘bout to get fucked by her boyfriend.”

you glare at him, immensely bringing your brows into a furrow, “no, i’m not gonna say that. are you crazy?”

“maybe.”

your eyes rolled—yet part of you felt like he wasn’t exactly lying. after all, he could probably be insane. perhaps he was. who would even seduce their girlfriend’s mother anyway . . . ?

to be frank, you couldn’t really care. all you really cared about was getting pleasured—riding out orgasm after orgasm with him, and that’s exactly what you ended up doing for hours on end.

you would find yourself with your ass perked up high in the air, arms folded over each other as chris mercilessly pounds into your sweet pussy, relishing in how you squealed and whined at the pure stretch and length of his cock. you’ve always known he’d be big; those grey sweatpants gave him no mercy on him, but to have him deep inside you, he felt so much more bigger.

“look at you, takin’ my cock like a big girl.” it’s ironic, considering how he’s almost a decade younger than you, but chris really was proud of you. the minute he started sliding the head of his dick near your slick entrance, you were immediately running away and gasping that he wouldn’t fit. but with a little work, he’s got you moaning and all fucked out for him.

chris playfully brings a hand to feel near your tummy, his fingers plucking the fabric of your tanktop and sliding it further, further and further until his thumb brushes against your perky nipples. of course you just happened to not have a bra on.

“c-chris,” you moaned, body shaking and bouncing with every hard thrust your daughter’s boyfriend gave you. it’s so sudden—in just seconds, he’s had you with your back flush to his bare chest, his hand around your throat and your palms flat on your bed to fuck you impossibly deeper. you felt your back arch off his back and it didn’t take long for him to reach that particular spot. once you felt his tip prod against there—way past inside the orifices of your cunt, you let off a sweetened whimper.

“feel good, honey?” chris mocks lowly against your ear, using a hand to cup your bouncing tit and lightly pinch your nipple. he wraps that arm around your torso to keep you steady before his free hand slithers down in between your thighs to catch your clit in his fingers. he rubs soft motion on your sensitive nub and immensely watches your face contort into something pretty and fucked out, “take this dick like a good girl, baby. c’mon, i know you can.” he groans against your ear.

he keeps fucking you like that until your arms give out and you can’t hold yourself up anymore, letting you hide your arms under the pillow and lay your chest flat against the bed. chris leans down to watch your sweet cunt swallow up his cock each time he pulls away, a creamy white ring forming on the thick base. he grabs onto the fat of your ass and smiles in awe as he gawks at the way you fuck yourself back onto him eagerly, your ass clapping against his pelvis noisily.

eyes roll into the depths of your cranium so far back that your vision was pure black. squelch after squelch—it was so erotic, the build up of your incoming release yet again.

it was so slow and tense, you felt your thighs ache and tremble the more you were arched all over for chris; the most sluttiest arch he’s seen in a while.

you found yourself whining out his name as if it was a lewd mantra. over and over again. to chris, though, it was purely music to his ears.

“chris—chris!” you cried out with a squeal, practically a warning before you tense up, hips rapidly twitching as you cum around chris’ dick. white floods your vision when he fucks himself into slower and deeper, letting you ride out your orgasm until you calm down and grow lax against his hold.

god, this was so wrong.

“fuuuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” chris groans as his eyes roll to the back of his head when your hole tightens around his cock. his release vastly approaches and just within seconds, you’re getting filled up to the hilt. your cunt was practically overflowed with such dumps of his cum—you’ve never felt more filled. he shook a little, a hand gripping your ass as you slowly whined your hips to milk him for what he’s worth.

“atta girl.” chris purrs, that same sly smile pressing against his lips as he leans down to kiss you from over your shoulder. his gaze was so hypnotizing. such pools of blue that looked like it had a story to tell . . .

maybe that story is ready for another day though.

thankfully you didn’t get caught.

or did you—you both left your bedroom, you limping down the stairs with chris’ help. but what you don’t realize is how your daughter is already home, sitting down on the couch and busying herself with a movie.

eve spots you both with a smile, you and chris both scrambling apart with bewilderment sketched across your faces. she snickers at you.

“why were you guys upstairs?”

you glance at chris, who somehow had a solemn look on his face, and back at your daughter, “i, uh . . . i was showing him the bathroom.”

“oh . . okay. wellll, i bought you some clothes, i’ll go put them up in your room!” and then she’s getting off the couch, walking up to chris to cup his cheek and place a kiss on his lips. it momentarily brings disgust to you, but you swallow it down when he glances at you.

“you good?” chris chuckles under his breath.

you smile back at him, “. . yeah.”

you don’t know if you’re starting to regret it, or if you want more, but you don’t get more time to think it through when your daughter calls your name from upstairs.

“erm. mom? is this shampoo—? what’s this white stuff on your bed? doesn’t look like shampoo.”

the both of you share the same frozen expression, impish smiles fading before chris nudges you to speak after long seconds passes.

“huh? oh, that’s, uh, mayonnaise. i forgot to clean up after myself.”

eve giggles, “aren’t you allergic to mayonnaise?”

you mentally facepalm, feeling yourself break into a sheepish sweat before you let out a low, “i guess not that brand of mayonnaise.”

“right. riiiight,” your daughter mutters, hearing her footsteps across the floor. it was abrupt, and you felt something fall—adding a followup of her yelling out her boyfriend’s name, “wait a minute . . .” and she glances down near the floor. “aren’t these your boxers, chris?”

[bugflies00]

sorry this is referencing a few month old post/s you made about the dream situation and a question you’d asked about dream stans, you can delete this msg if you want since it’s not as relevant anymore. Again I’m sorry if this is weird or you don’t gaf (that’s fair bc who does lol)

TW for grooming and dream being fucking gross. You can just scroll fast and delete if you don’t want to read or deal with this, I understand that

-

To preface Im about Tommy’s age now, when I was 15-17, used to be a huge dream stan, and I was very vocal about defending him online. —I was extremely parasocial and weird, and looking back on it I really regret how I acted.

So. Idk how much people who weren’t stans of his saw, but dream- as stupid as it sounds- was our friend.

He had bath calls with us, sleep calls with us, he told us in depth about his personal life and his health issues and his trauma and his moods and his habits and just basically everything. Most of his interactions with us was through his discord, and then someone in the fandom would stream his discord calls for people who weren’t there. A running joke was that dream had a parasocial relationship with us. there was absolutely no gap between creator and fan, he followed me more than once, he brought fans onto his discord streams and talked with them and he knew a good amount of us by name. He called us cute and talked about how much we all (as individuals) meant to him,

when drama happened he’d usually either do a space/call or go on his private and vent to us, there were I think two separate times he’d have full panic attacks over drama happening, and we’d have to talk him down. He also would, when responding to callouts or accusations, use arguments that his fans were making.

He did this during almost all his pitfalls, including the grooming allegations, his wording was often taken word for word from tweets by people I was friends with. I dropped him after the initial allegations, but for a while after i still checked in bc i was really hoping he’d be innocent (he wasn’t) and i can confirm he still does this. He also regularly dmed his fans, mostly his black fans, to ask for “help” on being less racist.

I don’t use the word “grooming” lightly, but dream was and is absolutely grooming his audience. Thats why dream stans seem so cult-like these days. The amount of guiltripping, lying, forcing an us vs them mentality, and manipulation I saw this man pull was actually sick. He’d frequently, privately, to us, vent about tommy or quackity, and about how “all his friends hated him” and “we were all he had left” (legit, not joking). He is extremely good at emotional blackmail, he is good at making his fans hate other creators and turn on them, he is very good at utilizing his tears and using wording that he knows will make his mostly teenage fanbase think he’s a good kind person.

He wants to impress on his fans that he really was just a kind person, the only kind person and the only voice of reason. That’s why when the Cantu thing happened, he started posting “messages” of him being so kind to the Uber driver. He needs his fans to think he’s a kind and loving person, and that Tommy and quackity and literally everyone who’s pulled away from him was just a fake friend who couldn’t be trusted. He somehow was always, always the one being fucked over.

I remember when I told my friend about dream (this friend had a completely neutral opinion on him and barely knew the guy beyond his manhunts) and he told me that sounded like grooming.

He gradually isolated his (primarily young, female) fanbase using private accounts, discord calls, Snapchat, and whatever else. He got extremely personal with us far beyond the level any creator should be, he used kindness and flattery (like calling us “mature”. Also legit) to make us feel genuinely loved by him, again, NOT in the way a creator loves their fans. In the way a friend loves their friends, even in the way a partner loves their partner. He lashed out at us and had panic attacks when we did criticize him, he used tactics to make us think he was always right and good, and more than that, make all his detractors seem like terrible people out to get him AND us, he played himself out to be the perpetual victim and used carefully cut clips and emotional manipulation (like how he brought up his ~poor innocent family~ when harassing quackity. Weaponizing trauma like that was something he did ALL THE TIME to us whenever he was criticized.) in order to use us against people he didn’t like, making us take the bullet for him.

He uses his kindness and supposed goodness as a weapon, he used Tommy’s own trauma around doxxing against him when Tommy dared to criticize him (“I supported you when you were getting doxxed, yet you won’t do the same for me?”)

He used trauma to relate to his audience, making us feel like he was the only person who got it.

It’ll sound stupid, but it was genuinely really scarring. The way he made me and my friends feel was so confusing. I often found myself feeling used and violated, but also like I was in debt to him. I dreaded when he’d have fans on call, I dreaded him but also he felt like all I had. The tone of him and the fandom was that “we have to defend him at all costs, they’re out to get him and we’re the last line of support he has”. It was embarrassing, it was stressful, it was horrible. I wasted so much fucking time and energy on him.

it was really traumatic and distressing, especially as a teenager who’d already been at a vulnerable point and used him as an escape originally. I know that sounds melodramatic but I mean it.

He is a groomer through and through. He’s barely getting any new fans, but he’s barely losing any either bc the grasp he has on them is so tight.

Worst of all, if you leave the fandom, you’ll lose your friends and become an enemy. He encourages that behaviour and that mentality. He encourages harassment of his ex-friends, he encourages harassment of anyone who doesn’t like him. He wants you to feel like he’s the only good person, and like he’s the only one who will care about you. And I know at least in my experience that the way I acted when I was a fan of his did genuinely cause me to feel alienated in my social life. I lost friends, I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone “safely”. That’s how he wants his fans to feel, because at some point he really is all you have.

And that’s why dream stans are still sticking around. It’s at the point where the only way they’ll leave is on their own volition, and the more publicly fucked shit he does, the less hope I have that they’ll do that.

i don’t have much to add but i agree, and several people i know who used to be big dream fans also agreed that there was a heavily insidious ‘us vs them’ atmosphere

[zevrra]

JJK.3

synopsis: random hc’s for the men of jjk; college/frat boy edition!

tags: 21(+) only, tw for drinking/being drunk, age gap, some aged up characters, modern au, college au, jjk headcanons, all sfw, short & sweet, ask box open, jjk x reader

creator’s notes: i plan to turn all of this into a multi-chapter series so give me some ideas for what the “mc”(reader) should be! or just overall drop some ideas for it in my ask box that would be cool :3

CHOSO—

forensics major with a minor in chemistry and music

only knows gojo, geto, and nanami through volleyball

supports the team solely bc his freshman brother, yuji, plays

is not in the frat but gets invited to every party

also because he's the best dj any of them know

doodles on himself with a pen

has all the piercings

his ears are decked out with mostly studs

has a right eyebrow piercing, bridge, septum, and snake bites

probably has his nipples pierced too (he lost a dare)

hangs out with geto so they can share nail polish when he paints his nails

is the quiet one at parties who's awkwardly sitting on the couch while he sips his drink

once he's drunk he's entirely different, way more open and talkative

would talk your ear off about music if you let him

or the several different ways blood can splatter and how it'll never look the same twice

is a LIGHT WEIGHT!!

sleeper build

is an alt/grunge boy through and through

is a drummer!

TOJI—

is the frat's “overseer” and the volleyball coach

is actually a decent coach but really he just got lucky to have a great team that makes him look better than he is

gets noise complaints all the time about the frat

does not care, he's at the parties too

is a horrible, horrible influence

probably acts more like a bouncer than anything

provides the alcohol

does not let a single soul under 21 in though

is the hot dad every girl wants

sweatpants and tight shirts all day everyday

has beef with gojo

only because gojo ends up damaging the house and getting into wayyy too much trouble

takes everyone out to eat after games, has too many beers, puts the tab solely on gojo and dips

is a very, very handsy drunk

has to be watched at parties when he gets too drunk cause he’ll hit on all the girls

NANAMI—

a business major with a minor in biology, hopes to open his own small time clinic one day

plays on the male volleyball team, is a middle blocker

works out all the time, has a schedule for everything

is known for his "dark academia" style

hates large parties

the only reason he's ever at a party is because he was dragged there by gojo and geto

you can find him in the other room petting the dog

doesn't drink a lot at parties, will maybe have one if he's in the mood

is the rightful dd!!

literally the only voice of reason

always gets you your fav food after parties when he knows you're a little tipsy

would 1,000% rather be home reading

if he ever gets drunk, has to be inside his own home

he's a sleepy, "admits to everything" drunk

you've strictly forbidden gojo from being anywhere near nanami when he's drunk

probably in charge of all snacks for any party

considers gojo a friend but not a friend you’d invite to your wedding

would invite choso to the wedding though

is def saving himself for “the one”

GETO—

double major in psychology & philosophy, has a minor in art(sculpting)

doesn't do any sports but goes to every one of his friend's volleyball games

he and gojo 100% have matching tongue piercings

contacts during the day, wears reading glasses at night

wears nothing but baggy, oversized clothes

def has a streetwear aesthetic

sleeper build 2.0

is an orphan but was adopted into a very well off family

got into college solely on scholarships though

has known, and been best friends, with gojo since childhood

can drink gallos of alcohol and hardly feel tipsy at all like he’s a heavy weight!!

can out drink anyone, even toji

a flirty, flirty drunk

bi king!!!

participated in an orgy once

has the highest body count out of all the men (besides toji ofc)

an instigator especially when it comes to gojo

gojo and him are in charge of inviting people to the parties

also has his nipples pierced but no one knows, not even gojo

covered in tattoos, def has a throat tattoo along with full sleeves and even some on his thighs

him and choso hang out just to paint their nails and drink tea together!!

GOJO—

majors in astrophysics, minors in astromath

plays on the same team as nanami, is a setter/spiker combo

still is addicted t to sweets

has to have sweets to study

is 50% jock and 50% nerd

thinks math and science is so cool

has a matching tongue ring with geto

has a style that screams "old money" (he def came from old money tho)

def think he could pull a “surfer” style off too

a nepo baby too

a horrible influence especially when he’s drunk

“I’ll give you $20 to break this antique vase.”

when he gets drunk-drunk he is just as flirty as geto but is a little more shy

tipsy gojo, talkative, flirty, comedian!! runs all over the place, makes friends easily

absolutely drunk gojo, timid, gets quiet and watches everything and everyone, would 100% tell you in a quiet voice that he loves you before he HIDES

not a light weight at all he just constantly goes over his limit to end up black out drunk

turns bright, bright red as soon as alcohol hits his system

questioning bi!! (experimented with geto once when they were younger)

lost a dare and had to get a horrible tattoo on his ass

the tattoo is squid doodle from spongebob but really badly drawn because a friend def did it

[certifiedsexed]

is it weird that my little brother and i still bath with my little sister?

for context: my brother (16) is about two years younger than me and we’d always bath together when we were little. to my knowledge, nothing sexual happened - our parents gave us what i’d consider a good understanding of sex ed when we were young, and all either of us can remember is playing together and such with like bath toys and stuff.

but the thing is, we never really outgrew that? like, we don’t routinely bath together anymore, because we don’t fit into the bathtub lol, but we're comfortable being naked around each other and the like, and i’ll often ask him to get stuff for me if i’m the shower and vice versa. but when we’re on holiday and usually somewhere with a bigger bathtub, we’ll often share a bath or two with my little sister (8) so that we can all play with her with her bath toys, bath crayons, etc.

this sort of thing has always been normal in my family — i’ve never felt sexually harassed by them, and we’re all comfortable being naked around each other and know that our boundaries would be respected even if not. my brother and i don’t have any sexual intentions and don’t do anything sexual towards my younger sister — all we do in terms of touching her is to, like, put soap on her back, and we’ve never made any sexual comments or unwanted touches or anything.

but i’ve been starting to think this is weird because of the gap in our ages now. is it? is it something wrong/should we not be doing this? i genuinely don’t know. it’s always been normal and no one has ever expressed any discomfort, and to my knowledge no lines have been crossed, but i don’t want to be missing something if that makes sense? bc like, ive got friends whose parents never even changed in front of them, and i’m worried that my family, not having any of that sort of social stigma against non sexual nudity, is maybe doing something wrong — but i don’t know if we are, yk?

Look, people can find a reason for anything to be weird but siblings bathing together is actually quite common in some cultures and as long as none of you are being forced into it, it's fine.

Nudity in of itself is not an inherently sexual thing. Clearly, this is the culture your parents have raised you in and so far at least, you've all enjoyed it and are quite comfortable with it.

You've not described either of your parents trying to harass you in connection to nudity, none of you are doing anything sexual with each other, no one is being hurt, everything here sounds good!

If your sister were to say she was uncomfortable and you continued doing it, that would be a different matter. But this in of itself just sounds sweet, Anon.

Just because you and your brother are older doesn't mean you can't still play in the bath with your sister or change in front of each other if that's what you want to do.

Honestly, this all sounds fucking adorable and I wish you all the best!

Hope this helps, Anon. Let me know if you have any other questions! <3

[mickyschumacher]

hi! I love the way you write and I’d love to see some Daniel Ricciardo or Oscar Piastri content!! Older brother’s best friend and something including model!reader or figureskater!reader. I also cannot begin to describe how much I love your Taylor song based fics. I was hooked on Style and Dress, thank you, have a wonderful day :)

[I CAN SEE YOU!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you don't have much in common with oscar piastri other than three things: you're both rare talents, you know each other through your older brother, and that, unknowingly, you both really like each other.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: older brother's best friend trope! (although not heavily enforced), suggestive but nothing crude, poor ice skating knowledge, mentions of the spa track, crashing and DNFing, reader likes to blame things on alcohol, lily (oscar's current gf) is his ex (oops), slight diss of tsitp, jealousy!!!, scene of harassment and a creepy man, a physical altercation in which oscar gets physically hurt, attending the wounded scene! (sobbing rn), a cute and horribly cheesy, fluffy ending!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x figureskater!fem!reader, arthur leclerc x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5k+ (um srry hehe)

𝐀/𝐍: i wanted to this was oscar but since he's kinda young, i did a one year age gap bc the territory of 'the older brother's best friend' for piastri is alarming to say the least. i also assumed it was a female reader due to my other works, hope that and this whole piece is okay!!

𝐏.𝐒: if you couldn't tell, it's loosely based off of taylor swift's 'i can see you' bc i ended up losing track lmao. sorry for taking FOREVER but coming back from holiday, going straight back into uni, and having writer's block is the worst combo 🤧 as usual, poorly proof read!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

In a world of billions, quite strangely yet only logically, there were many talented people across the globe. But very few were be a World Champion let alone the opportunity. You were part of this few. The Youngest World Champion in figure skating in history, a two-time World Champion and the 2022 Olympic winner.

You were a living legacy in your town.

Of course, you couldn't do it without the support of the people you loved. Your parents attended all your competitions. In fact, your father was the one who had brought you to the ice when you were three. And your brother, no matter how much of a menace he was, he was your number one fan. Despite all the things he had to do, he was always there for you.

Your brother was one of those Australian boys who had turned their passion for dirt biking into a career for motorcross racing.

Naturally, he had found a friend who was also very interested in racing. However, instead he loved driving a open wheel single-seater formula racing car at crazy speeds. That friend was Oscar Piastri. A childhood best friend of your brother's and a sort of acquaintance slash family friend of yours.

It worried you two see some of the most important people in your lives risk death almost every day but you enjoyed watching them do something they loved.

You could see it in their eyes when they raced. It was the same passion you had for the ice. The slivers of ice that occasionally touched your skin thrilled you was the same excitement that coursed through the two Aussies when they felt their engines rev.

It was odd. You could've sworn a few days ago, you were all kids playing in the backyard of your house; your brother riding his toy bike while Oscar raced him on foot and you commentated in Oscar's favour to piss your brother off. And now all three of you were leading your careers: you were a competitive figure skater, your brother was slamming the MXGP and Oscar was one of the best rookies introduced to F1 in a while.

Where time had gone... you could not even begin to wonder. Heck, once upon a time you were staring down Oscar in the school hallways because for some reason you could only talk to him outside of school. And now... well, it was complicated to say the least.

You had always liked Oscar. It was difficult not to. He was always around you. The boyish charm, the small smiles, the puppy brown eyes, his offers to help you with your homework, you visiting him when he raced... everything had built up inside you. It was festering.

But that's how you liked it. You didn't want to cross any lines. As heart-racing and flustering as your crush on him was, you could not bear the idea of telling someone who was brotherly to you that you liked him.

It was repulsing.

And as far as his dating history could went, Oscar didn't like you. Oscar wasn't a player but he definitely didn't like being single from what you could tell.

To be honest, considering you didn't see him that much due both of your schedules, nothing between the both of you would've ever happened if you're annual family holiday hadn't happened.

Your family and the Piastri's took time out at least once a year to relax together. And this year, your brother and Oscar's breaks overlapped, and you had persuaded your coach for two weeks off. That was all the both of your parents needed before booking a trip to Greece. Everyone wanted to go when they were younger and now they could finally go.

Two weeks... not much could happen. At least so you thought.

The moment you saw Oscar in Greece, your heart thumped against your chest like it had never before and you knew you were screwed. It was ridiculous. How after all the time did you still like this stupid driver? He was the root cause of your lonely love life. Which for most figure skaters was not a big deal... you had prospect lovers falling left and right. Especially the guys in pair skating. But no... you were head over heels for Oscar out of all people.

With the firm boundaries you had made, you ventured to not make a big deal about what you were feeling and pushed it to the side. But the thing about pushing things away, they have a funny way of coming back up.

━━━━━━━━━━━

On the first night of your much needed vacation, you had found one of the most popular restaurants in Santorini while endlessly browsing through social media and decided to get everyone out of the lovely AirBnB you had rented. Upon arriving, your parents and Oscar's were cooped up on one side of the dining table, leaving the 'kids', as your mother calls you three, on the other.

You released a sigh of content, feeling the crisp breeze dance past your skin in the warm summer evening air while your sip of assyrtiko (Greek white wine) slipped past your throat far too easily. Thank God you had chosen an outdoor restaurant tonight. Every time you were on holiday, you couldn't be more grateful to get away from all the stress. If you could live like this every day, with the warm breezy evenings and the amazing architecture, you would.

"So," your mother started, her voice hitting your direction. You flickered your gaze over to her, raising a brow. "How are my kids' love lives? Are you getting down?" She waggled her eyebrows behind her glasses.

A wave of heat pricked your skin at your mother's words. "Mom!" You hissed out in disbelief while your father and Oscar's parents chuckled.

"What? You guys never tell me anything anymore! I used to be the holder of all your secrets and now... now I am an old woman!" Your mother cried, wiping an invisible tear off of her cheek.

You and your brother blankly looked at her and then towards each other. To say your mother was a character was an understatement. She enjoyed her theatrics far too much for anyone's liking, more specifically you're liking.

Oscar grinned, reaching out his hand to hover over hers. "You could never be an old woman. Always young in my heart."

Your brother snorted at Oscar's cheesiness. After you and your brother, Oscar was your mother's son and Oscar was a suck-up. He liked being in the good books, especially that of your mother's.

"Of course," Your mother chuckled softly, patting Oscar's hand gently. She sucked in a sharp breath. "What happen to you and Lily? I heard you two broke up? I thought you liked her a lot?"

You could see Oscar tense at the mention of his ex, your own body rigid. It wasn't a surprise to you but you actually hated hearing about Oscar's love life. Unrequited feelings were already a bitch and you didn't need to make it any worse.

Oscar cleared his throat, a small smiling tugging at his lips. "I thought I did too..." He trailed off, falling into his own trance momentarily. Suddenly his eyes flickered around his surroundings before they landed on you. "I guess I just saw something I else I liked a lot more."

A slight shiver crept down your spine and your heart travelled towards your ears. You pressed your lips tightly together, furrowing your brows.

What the fuck?

You snapped your eyes away, firmly placing them on your empty plate that suddenly held your entire world. Oscar had never ever looked at you like that. Any time you looked into those puppy browns, they were usually some mix between happy, anger, annoyance, sadness, humour, and the God forbidden 'I-see-you-as-my-sister' type love.

But this... this was something else entirely. The softness of his gaze, his words, the timing of it all; a perfect execution of sorts... it was a first.

Maybe you had taken one too many sips of the wine. It was the only reasonable explanation behind your obvious hallucination.

Sooner or later, the sun would set, a main reason behind your picking of the restaurant. The parents and your brother were at the front of the house, arguing about who paid for tonight's dinner. You were more than happy to wait it out on the balcony and revel in the last few rays of light, eyes closed and the breeze dancing across your skin.

"Well don't you look happy," Oscar voice stated, nearing you.

You opened your eyes, slightly turning your head to the side only to look back a few second later. Oscar and sunsets... you enjoyed that combo far too much for your liking.

"That's because I am. Sometimes being off the ice is refreshing," You told him, taking in a breath of the fresh evening air.

Out of your peripheral vision you could see Oscar tilt his head, eyes raking over you with a small grin tugging at his lips. You ignored the pace of your heart as he nodded at your remark, settling in next you with his hands on the balcony bar, a mere inch away from your own.

"I hear that," Oscar sighed, looking out at the horizon.

You forced yourself to look over at him, trying to read his mind after hearing the burdened sigh he released. "Oscar... I hope you know you're doing well in F1 right now. You're doing pretty good compared to Lando's rookie year."

Oscar smiled gently. You knew him far too well. "I know. I just... I feel like everyone's expecting so much more of me. Podiums... race wins... like everything else I've done. And then Spa came along."

You winced at the mention of the track. Oscar had collided with Carlos on the very first lap. Carlos said Oscar was too optimistic about making that turn and Oscar said that he didn't even know what Carlos doing; that the Spaniard turned as if he wasn't even on the track. Nevertheless, the collision resulted in both of them DNFing.

You snorted. "Spa is a shit track," You dismissed Oscar's current pessimism with a wave of your hand.

Oscar chuckled at your crudeness. He couldn't disagree with you. Spa was one of those tracks which felt auspicious to any driver. The one where you hoped you at least passed the finishing line. It didn't matter what your position was... as long as you passed it, you were okay.

"Guys come on! We've finished paying," Your brother called out.

The both of you turned around. Oscar pushed himself off of the bar, heading towards your brother. "Who won this one?" He asked in amusement, hands gliding past his waist. Ever so gently, in his walk, he teetered towards you, letting his hand brush past your own, sending a tingle down both of you.

You gulped at the racing feeling, immediately pulling your hand closer to yourself. This hairs of your body stood straight and your fingers felt numb. Heck, you felt numb.

Damn, you thought, this is some crazy good wine.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The thing about your inclination to blame everything on the alcohol you consumed was that it only actually worked if you consumed alcohol. You were lucky if you could extend to the remaining bits by a day with the claims of a hangover.

But right now, you were sober as hell.

An unfortunate event, to say the least.

"Y/N, wake up," Oscar's voice pounded against your blanketed, muffled ears.

"Ugh, no" You groaned, cocooning yourself into your blanket and pressing your head further into your pillow, savouring the warmth.

You always had such early mornings when you trained, waking up at ungodly hours only to workout before heading to the rink. Being on the ice was the only thing you loved. Your fans were sweet but everything else after that, the press, the workouts, the food, sucked. So you cherished the late summer morning in Santorini. And no person, let alone a boy who announced his F1 team to you by saying "I'm driving for a papaya", was going to ruin this for you.

Oscar put his hands on his hips, eyeing you with a twitch in his eye. "But breakfast is ready. I cooked!"

You laughed into your sheets lightly. "Oh boy, that's even worse!"

Oscar looked at your peeking head and humoured eyes blankly. "That," he started to say as he began to literally pull you out of your bed by your arms, "is very very rude thing to say to the chef."

"Oscar, no! Let go!" You begged, hands flailing to attach themselves to anything. Falling on the hard cold floor was not the ideal morning for you.

At least not alone.

You jutted out your leg, nudging Oscar's to the side, making him stumble over his steps. As he quickly realised he was losing balance, he threw his body under yours, creating a soft landing for you as you both fell to the floor.

You were laughing too hard to realise Oscar's one hand had even moved to your waist and the other to your head, as if it was to protect you from getting hurt.

"Oh my God! You should've seen your face! It was like–" You turned to mimic his expression but you couldn't find the words. All the air around you had been seized, your throat was dry and you were breathless.

When had Oscar's face become so close to yours?

You couldn't remember the last time you were this close to him. Probably as a child. He was cute back then as well. But growing up changed the both of you. The most apparent reminder of how old you were was the tiny short hairs from his chin that he always tried to shave off. His eyes were still as brown as ever, less big because he grew into his face. And his lips... they were kissable.

His face was also littered with freckles here and there. You didn't even realise your finger had shot out to play connect the dots with them until you could feel his faint warm breath from how close you were.

Your eyes trailed up his face to find his gaze firmly planted on yours. Suddenly you could feel where his hands were and your skin burned at his touch. The current heatwave in Europe had left you in some thin pyjamas. You didn't regret it last night but you definitely regretted wearing them right now.

Hypnotised, you found yourself leaning in naturally. Oscar's head also nudged forward. Your lips were barely a centimetre away from each other. You could hear your name slip out of Oscar's lips as the faintest whisper. Like it was a struggle to say your name because he couldn't think.

His woody and amber scent engulfed you and for a second, you couldn't think.

Not until you could hear your brother scream both of your names from the kitchen, demanding you to come to breakfast.

You blinked, falling out of your trance as quickly as you fell in.

Oscar felt you jerk in his arms suddenly, pushing yourself out of his hold and attempting to stand up. "Y/N, I–"

No. God, no.

You weren't ruining a friendship over this.

You could pretend. Yes. Pretend. You can't see him.

"We're coming!" You yelled back, feeling your cheeks redden with embarrassment and annoyance; both vexing feeling for yourself.

God, what a day to be sober.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Honestly how this holiday had gone from zero to a hundred was beyond you.

Pretending like nothing had happened in your room was harder than you thought. Not when Oscar looked at you with these burdened eyes and like he had something to say to you, right on the tip of his tongue.

You considered avoiding him. But doing so on a family trip was easier said than done. Besides, it would've been pretty obvious to everyone else and knowing your family, they would've made a big deal out of nothing. Because that's what it was: nothing.

But alas, you have a brother. And normally, he's stupid and self-obsessed to the point it bordered on unhealthy. But as your brother, it seemed he had some sort of sixth sense for these sorts of things. Something about the older sibling being superior or whatever lies he convinced himself with.

"Why are you being weird with Oscar? Your brother asked you while you ate some ice cream and caught up with the new season of 'The Summer I Turned Pretty'. At first, you couldn't fathom watching a character called 'Belly' out of all things but somehow you got hooked.

You paused the scoop of ice cream you put in your mouth, letting it slowly melt away as you stared hard at your nuisance of a brother. "I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"Ha, nice try. You're supposed to use 'literally' when you deny it the second time," Your brother smiled at you smugly.

You pressed your lips together, feeling your teeth slightly grind against your spoon. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to smack the shit of your brother with a spoon or bury him in a six-foot deep hole.

"Come on, lil sis, you can talk to me. Everyone's out of the house right now," He partially jested while being entirely serious.

Burying him in a hole it was.

"I have nothing to say to you," You stated, eyes reverting back to your show.

Your brother narrowed his eyes, grabbing the remote to pause the episode. Ignoring your exclaim of annoyance, he sat down next to you and took your ice cream and spoon away from you to dig into the pint for himself.

You shuddered in disgust. You were not having that flavour for a while.

He pointed your spoon at you. "I know you think I'm stupid, which I may be, but I'm not entirely an idiot. What happened with you and Oscar? You were all happy buddies a few days ago. Now he looks like a lost puppy and you look like you saw Pennywise in the hallway."

You bit down on your lip to prevent yourself from laughing. You couldn't actually let him know he was funny.

"Did he do something to you? Y/N, if he did something wrong to you I swear to God... just tell me and I will end him."

Your eyes widened at the sudden change of the conversation. Sitting up, you waved your hands in urgent dismissal. "No! Oh my God, nothing like that! Holy shit."

Your brother let a relieved exhale fall from his mouth before furrowing his brows. "Then what happened? Is it your stupid crush on him?"

"I–what?" You asked dumbfounded, looking at your brother incredulously.

"Your crush? Like the one you've had since you first laid eyes on him. You know everyone knows right? It's kinda obvious. Well, everyone but Oscar," your brother said nonchalantly.

You blinked blankly at him. "Before I throw myself off of a cliff, I can give you the generous choice of how you die? Personally I'm thinking asphyxiation, arson, or murder."

Your brother gulped, slowly putting away the ice cream. "Okay, first off stop watching Criminal Minds so much. Second of all, you don't need to feel embarrassed. All of us have been secretly rooting for you. Especially mom and Oscar's mom. You should've seen how happy they got when I told them Oscar and Lily broke up. It was seriously creepy."

You sighed, falling onto the couch. "It doesn't matter how creepy it was. We almost kissed! And then you called for us. Any later, I would've ruined our friendship. What's the point anyways? He doesn't like me. I'm gonna die in the friendzone," You dramatically sobbed out.

"Well you can start by not turning the other direction when you see him. Poor guy looks like you killed his dog. Do you think a guy who's dog was killed has any guts to speak to their murderer? And that's beside the fact that he may like his murderer."

Where was that shovel again?

"You know what you need to do? Do something that makes him talk to you. I got it! I could set you up with Arthur! He's in Santorini too! Oscar would hate it."

"Oh my God... do you want me to die?" You asked, slightly horrified at the look of pure joy on your brother's face .

Your brother grinned. "Of course, I do. Would I be your brother if I didn't?"

━━━━━━━━━━━

For as long as he could remember, Oscar was a peaceful guy. He didn't really get angry quickly. He was usually calm and usually could think before he acted.

But all those characteristics were thrown out the window, well into the air of the music festival everyone decided to attend, when he saw you walk into the event with Arthur Leclerc. His former teammate out of all people.

"Is that Arthur? Why is he here?" Oscar asked your brother.

"Hmm?" Your brother turned around, pretending to squint at the two of you briefly before catching your piercing gaze. "Oh yeah... that is him. He told me he was in Greece. Guess he found Y/N first. Makes sense I guess."

Oscar looked at your brother dubiously. "I... what does that even mean?"

"I don't know why but I always got the feeling he liked Y/N," your brother shrugged.

Oscar blinked. "You're taking the fucking piss..." He huffed in disbelief.

"What? Oh? Here they come."

Truth be told, Arthur was more than happy to oblige with your brother's game. He hadn't seen Oscar in a while because they were in different championships now. Getting the opportunity to play with him a bit was a hard offer to turn down.

"Ozzie!" Arthur cheered, bringing him into a hug.

Oscar raised a brow at you. That pet name originated from you when the three of you decided to become superheroes for a day and you decided to name eight-year-old Oscar, 'Ozzie the Mozzie' after he got bitten by one. No one else on Earth called him that but you.

"I was telling Arty here about that mozzie that bit you and he really liked Ozzie the Mozzie," You chuckled softly.

Arty...

God give him strength because Oscar wasn't sure how much longer he could bear this.

To be honest, you weren't much of a music festival type of person. It was always crowded, hot, and filled with some sort of drugs even if you couldn't see it.

But aside from that, you enjoyed the serenity it could bring; the indie music that was well on it's way to becoming pop; the calming breeze; the warming sun.

Well you would enjoy it more if a certain Aussie wasn't staring daggers to the side of your head–Arthur's head.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you turned around to see a stranger. A somewhat attractively creepy stranger but a stranger nonetheless. You raised your brows and gave a small smile. "Yes?"

"I know you don't know me but I just saw you from over there and I wanted to say you're really pretty!"

You blinked, feeling the three boys around you stiffen at the compliment. You nodded slowly, putting on a grateful smile. "Oh, thank you so much," You responded, laughing awkwardly.

A moment of awkward silence settled in the air as the guy still remained in front of you.

"So... I was wondering if I get could get your number?" The guy asked with an odd glint in his eyes.

The alarms were ringing in your head and an uncomfortable shiver went down your spine. "Uh, I'm sorry. I... I don't really want to. But thanks for your offer," You politely declined.

"Oh come on. I called you pretty... that's gotta be worth your number. Come on."

Oh.

Honestly, you were speechless. Your number which for him was the leeway into your intimate life was worth a compliment.

"Yeah, I don't think so," You quipped sharply, gritting your teeth.

"Come on, baby girl. Let me show you a fun time." The guy stepped forward, his hand reaching towards your body.

You froze at his words. You wanted to move but you couldn't.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Oscar, Arthur, and your brother step in front of you.

"Mate, fuck off. She doesn't want you," Oscar pushed the guy away from you.

Your brother snorted. "I don't think anyone wants him."

The guy sneered, making you wince. He raised his hands in a feigned defence, beginning to turn away from you. Thank God. "Fine. I didn't want a girl like you anyways. All these guys around you... a whore."

Arthur and you, as the pacifists you were, watched in silent horror as your brother poked his tongue in his cheek and Oscar's head quickly whipped towards the guy.

"Oscar..." You warned meekly as Arthur tried to get your brother's attention.

The last thing any of you needed was famed athletes on the front page of ESPN, cited as the cause of a brawl.

"What did you say?" Oscar raised a brow, ignoring your pleas and walking towards the guy. His tone was dark and the total opposite of what he normally sounded like. He was raged.

"The truth," The guy chuckled. "I said she's a whore. Why? What are you gonna do about it, little boy?"

Yeah see, the guy most definitely had a couple of inches on Oscar and you brother. You weren't really keen on seeing them get pummelled to the ground.

Oscar said nothing in response but raised his fist, slamming it into the side of the guy's jaw.

Oh for fuck's sake.

As if the guy had lightening reflexes, the guy quickly pulled his head back up and got a hold of Oscar, getting into a cycle of punches.

Your heart dropped at the sight. Your brother, thank God, and Arthur quickly realised that Oscar wasn't winning anything here, stepping in to push the two men apart. A small crowd began to gather, some thankfully aiding in trying to stop whatever was going on.

Arthur pulled Oscar away and towards you. You held Oscar against you, clutching him tightly as your heart raced in your ears. Somewhere in the muffled sounds you could hear your brother.

"We're going home. Now."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your brother and Arthur had decided to go explain the situation the both of your parents who were out having lunch because you couldn't blame all those bruises and dry blood on Oscar's face by saying he fell. This left you to clean up Oscar to reduce the risk of your parents having a heart attack.

You clenched your jaw, holding the first aid kid and a wet cloth to your side as you walked towards the seated racing driver who had found a lot of interest in the floor all of a sudden while icing his face.

"I can't believe you," You mumbled in annoyance, taking a seat next to him. You gently grabbed his chin, putting side the ice bag, trying to decide on where to start cleaning but you could only wince at his face. His bottom lip and his brow was slightly torn, the side of his jaw and the top of his cheek had started to bruise, and his nose was a blood fest.

All the pain Oscar felt began to disappear as he felt your hands gently graze past his skin, scouting all the damage that had occurred. He looked at your pained eyes and internally sighed. He hated seeing you in pain. "He was disrespecting you. I wasn't going to just let it go."

You rolled your eyes, slowly wiping away the dry blood. "He was like six foot two, Oscar. You're like five foot. He could've ki... he could've really hurt you," You jested before your voice fell into a bare whisper.

Oscar's heart clenched as you went back on your words, watching you grab some antiseptic with shaky hands. He grabbed your hands, holding them with his own and softly looked into your eyes. "But he didn't. I'm fine. See?" He smiled widely before wincing at the pain shooting through his face.

You snorted. "As if."

"Hey, you're talking to a guy who crashes at most craziest speeds. Bet that guy can't do that," Oscar shrugged nonchalantly.

You narrowed your eyes. "If you weren't already hurt, I would've smacked the shit out of you right now. Just so you know."

Oscar grinned at you. "Ah, there's the ever kind Y/N I love."

You rolled your eyes before processing what he had just said. As friends. Friendly love. Right. You shook your head out of your trance, removing your hands from his and returning back to the stupid first aid kit next to you.

Oscar mended his brows together. "Hey," he tapped your thigh, "you heard what I said right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," You said idly, opening the tube of antiseptic cream.

"What? I..." Oscar sighed, taking the cream out of your hands before pulling you closer to him. His hands held your face, looking you dead in the eye. "I said I love you, Y/N. You know... the type where you look at someone and all you know is that you can't breathe without them? The one in your books?"

Your mouth felt dry. You blinked blankly. Your hands felt clammy. You chuckled nervously. "Pfft, what? You don't love me. You mean as a friend, right? I think you need some medicine. Maybe there's some in this kit." Your eyes darted down, frantically looking around the box as your heart thudded against your chest.

"Hey, hey," Oscar called, using his hand to turn your chin towards him. "I don't. I mean, I do love you as a friend, but no. I love love you."

"Well... what about about Lily?"

"As I said... I realised I loved someone else more," Oscar told you, letting his confession sink into your mind. "You know... if your idiot brother didn't call us that day, I definitely would've kissed you."

Oh.

Well.

That was something.

This was real. You weren't dreaming. You hadn't died. Oscar, your childhood best friend and your brother's best friend, was confessing to you.

"Huh... well, if it's any consolation, I probably would've kissed you too," You retorted, trying to keep your quirking lips at bay before you began smiling for too much for anyone's liking.

"Probably? That kinda sucks. Are you sure you wouldn't have definitely kissed me?" Oscar grinned, grabbing your waist and seating you down on his lap.

"Hmm... I mean maybe. This current environment is nowhere near as enticing as my bedroom. I mean what is sexier than me waking up, am I right?" You joked, trying to cover up the fact that you were dying at the proximity between you two.

Oscar pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek, holding your jaw while his thumb grazed your lips. "Well, I can think of a few other things."

You silently watched as Oscar leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His lips were softer than you could ever imagine.

You blinked, taking a mere second to register what was going on. Oscar Piastri was kissing you. Holy shit, Oscar Piastri was kissing you!

You kissed him back, feeling his hand wrap around the back of your neck and the other holding you steady against him. Your skin burned at his touch, feeling his fingers snake past the hem of your shirt and rest on your hot skin.

Oddly enough, despite your heat, goosebumps sprawled across every inch of your skin as his tongue darted out, exploring your own, giving you access to his mouth.

You could've sworn you were walking on fire. One more step and you could've combusted. Your thighs clenched at the moan that slipped from Oscar's mouth as your teeth tugged on his bottom lip, your hands roaming around his chest and his arms.

Oscar's hand wrapped around your hair, enjoying the softness he had wanted touch ever since he realised he had feelings for you. His pants felt tight as he felt your hand brush against his bare torso. Fuck. You were going to do him in. He fell back further into the couch, holding you tighter against him.

The desire you had was blinding you. Your other hand fell to his cheek, forgetting about his injuries till Oscar murmured an "ouch".

You retracted your hands, pulling back from his lips, a move Oscar clearly didn't enjoy as his eyes followed your lips. "Shit!" You exclaimed, "the antiseptic! Sorry!"

Oscar paused in his trance, realising what you were talking about. He smiled softly, lips widening even further when he saw your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

You carefully applied the cream to his brow before moving to his lips. "The diagnosis for you Mr Piastri is no more kissing for you," You grinned.

Oscar looked at you dumbfounded. "I–what? For how long?"

"Mmm... a week?"

"A week?" Oscar repeated in exasperation. "There is no way I can last that long. Not after this. Besides I'm pretty sure kissing actually helps you heal faster."

Your skin warmed further at his confession. You cleared your throat and held his hands. "I am confident that is not scientifically true."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. "You need to read better medical journals, doc."

You tilted your head to the side, leaning in further. "I think I have an alternative."

"Yeah?" Oscar's eyes danced across your face, smiling softly. "What is it?"

"It's less practical, more theoretical. Confessional, if you will," You shrugged, letting your forehead rest against his.

Oscar shut his eyes, enjoying the warmth of you. "Oh really? Don't let me stop you."

"I love you, Oscar. I've loved you since we were little heroes running around in the backyard."

Oscar opened his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist. He smiled widely at you. "Are you sure you said a week?"

You rolled your eyes, hitting his chest playfully. "I'm sure."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[joelsgoldrush]

swore i heard you whisper that you preferred us like that

joel miller x f!reader / 5,8k words

summary: you ask joel –the quiet, distant joel– to teach you how to ride a horse. they say the eyes are the window to the soul, and it must be true, because when he really sees you, it´s like he finally understands what you feel for him.

warnings: smut 18+ let’s pretend joel never left jackson, porn with plot, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel is 56), grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, pet names, unprotected p in v (don't try this at home ok), dirty talk, soft!dom joel (sort of???), a bit of angst/feelings, joel gets all babygirl around reader, ellie appears for like a minute, mediocre attempt at recreating joel's southern accent (sorry in advance)

a/n: hello??? well this is my first fic ever so bear with me, i'm still new to all this. also english isn't my first language so i'm afraid there may be mistakes (mostly when it comes to collocations bc i hate them and they confuse me), buuuut i'm learning obviously and if you find anything that should be corrected PLEASE TELL ME thank you :) i'd appreciate if you told whether you liked this story (idk what to call it tbh) but if you don't it's more than fine! anyways thank you so much for reading if you come across this fic, i hope you like it! i've spent a week writing it bc finals season is killing me &lt;///3

here's my masterlist in case you want to read my other works :)

"Oh, my drunken southern star / How you tried to hide in darkness / Slipped from orbit / Now you’re dangerously close / Come out, come out from all your hiding out / We’ll dig in our heels, salute the battlefields / Where our broken hearts were born."

What is it that he has?

You used to ask yourself that question every night as you went to bed. On some occasions, you couldn't manage to come up with an exact answer. There were too many reasons that disclosed why a man like him lingered on your mind, even in those moments that were supposed to be for you and only you. Sleeping more than three hours a day was definitely something you needed tremendously, but still, the not-so-rational voice inside your head kept on bringing his name up without fail, disturbing your rest.

Joel Miller. Was it possible to feel like this? Like you knew somebody without having exchanged more than five words with them? Sure, there wasn't a single person in Jackson who wasn't aware of his existence. From whispered rumors in the streets to stories that intended to give his reserved personality an explanation, Joel became a real talking-point among those in the commune. Years ago, when the world was still just a floating ball in space, he would’ve frightened you, being the kind of person your parents used to warn you about as you started to grow older.

He walked a certain way, as if he were holding the suffering of many lives in his hands. Always on guard, prepared to fight those who defied him. Hidden knives in his pockets, a gun between his fingers, the trigger too tempting to be pulled at any time given. His hair was a mixture of brown and gray, and you swore that the latter was only becoming more prominent as days went by. 

Suddenly, your pillow felt too uncomfortable, your hands fisting the fabric of your t-shirt while you kicked the blanket resting on top of your bare feet. A sigh escaped your lips, the taste of something you couldn't even distinguish on your tongue, your unsteady breath being the only sound to be heard in that noiseless night. 

You were having a hard time figuring out how you felt about Joel (if there was anything to feel in the first place, since he barely remembered your face and there you were, fantasizing about him instead of sleeping.) Maybe you liked how he presented himself, how bossy and persistent he looked the times you caught him patrolling around the zone. Or perhaps it was his character what charmed you in the first place, and the fact that, deep down, a different side from him remained completely unseen.

He was handsome, too. Tall, broad shoulders, aquiline nose. His arms looked majestic in every single piece of clothing he wore, his tanned skin shiny enough to reflect the very same sun. And his legs… you were sure they were muscular like the rest of his body, because of all the physical effort he did. You had  heard that he worked as a contractor before the pandemic, which made a lot of sense. Once or twice you had paid attention to his hands and–

Then, a familiar feeling sinked in. Warm began spreading through your belly, your thighs involuntary clenching together. “Fuck,” you muttered in a low tone, keeping your hands glued to your sides. Another motive not to think about Joel: he made you feel… things. Certain things that you hadn't felt for anyone in a very long time. You preferred to think that it was probably due to the fact that you were touch-starved, and not because you found yourself deeply attracted to him. Never had you ever been a sexually active person, so why now? Why did the mere image of Joel in your mind turn you on? 

He’s strong. I’m alone. I feel the need to find someone who’s willing to protect me. That’s it. No other reason.

Your internal monologue was lacking in arguments, but it was definitely something you could work with. As if on cue, you found it hard to keep your eyes open, your limbs not feeling as if they were yours anymore. Next thing you knew, you were asleep.

That night, you dreamt with Joel.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

In a small cabin, you taught children how to paint and draw. Maria believed it to be helpful for their psychological development or something like that, and you had agreed to do it. A good way to spend your free time– that’s what it was. Plus, you liked children; some would even choose to include you in their drawings, and that small gesture just warmed your heart.

There, you met Ellie, a teenager whose basic vocabulary consisted mostly of profanities. 

And boy, you loved Ellie.

It was hard not to, actually. She was like a breath of fresh air, with her jokes and instant charm. You two became attached in a short time, and she reminded you of a younger version of you, just a lot braver. Although in this world it brought her benefits, you sometimes wished she wouldn’t have gone through all that shit. Those eyes, which squinted as she laughed if you tickled her sides, were the cemetery of many buried memories. You wondered how she managed to put a smile on her face despite her past and the horrible things she had seen, hoping it was genuine and not a mask.

“Look!” her voice brought you back to reality. Blinking in her direction, you realized the amount of paint you had dropped onto the floor, a red stain already forming on the carpet. “Are you okay? You seem off.”

“I’m fine! Just a bit sleepy today, that's all,” you got closer to where she was lying down, her fingers moving the brush you had gifted her in different directions. Squatting a bit, you placed a strand of hair that didn’t make it into her ponytail behind her ear. “So, what are you painting?”

She smiled warmly, and her teeth catched her lower lip momentarily. “It’s not finished, okay? Don’t freak out. I know you’re a perfectionist.”

“I’m not…” you tried to explain yourself, but ended up choosing to be defeated. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, may I see it?”

The canvas was in your hands a few moments later. Ellie spoke beside you, her words mixing together in a sign of embarrassment. “It’s for Joel. Figured I could do something nice for him, you know? I don’t– I think I need to start over. His eyes look kind of strange, don’t they? They’re so close he looks like a cyclops.”

“Don’t say that, kiddo. This is… it’s beautiful,” your index finger traced the lines framing his jaw, the shades of his skin perfectly achieved. You held the painting even tighter, afraid of breaking it for a second. He wasn’t frowning like he normally did; Ellie had painted him smiling, and the crinkles by his eyes matched his age. Surely you must have spent more time than necessary staring at it, ‘cause then Ellie continued talking.

“Well, you know what they say: The student has become the teacher.” 

You handed the canvas to her, a smirk taking place on your face. “Yeah, I guess I’ll stop teaching you if that’s the case.”

An hour or so later, someone knocked on the door. As both of your hands were occupied (a more formal way to say that they were dirty with paint), you screamed “Come in!”, and Ellie covered her painting with an old, muddy curtain you used to clean the tables in which the children worked. You were about to ask her why she had reacted in that way, until you turned around and saw him.

Joel was there, as every other Wednesday. In your cabin, standing right in front of you. And you didn’t even look presentable. His hair looked messy, a couple of locks stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Hi,” he said shortly, meeting your gaze and attempting to shake your hand, but you avoided contact.

Showing him your hands, you held your palms in the air as an indication of the still fresh paint on your skin. “Sorry. If I were to accept the gesture, I’d leave you a stain.”

He retrieved a bit, adjusting his glove. “It’s okay. Safety first.”

That was supposed to be a joke, you noticed tardily. The silence in the room persisted until Ellie appeared from behind your back, already putting her coat on.

“You were supposed to pick me up in half an hour, asshole.”

His mouth snapped shut for an instant. “I missed you too. How was the class?” 

Ellie lifted her shoulder in a half shrug, looking in your direction and proceeding to jerk her thumb toward Joel. She didn’t want him to see the painting. “Fine as usual.”

“Can I see what you’re–”

“No fucking way!” she accentuated the word fucking, drawing him closer to the door. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not done.”

“But–”

“No more questions, Joel. Let’s go! Say bye!” Ellie handled him like a baby, which made you giggle.

Though you saw Joel raising his eyebrows, so you stopped laughing. 

Soon, they left and the cabin returned to its familiar quietness. A sigh erupted from your chest, and you allowed yourself to fall on top of a chair.

At least you could say you had actually talked to Joel for once.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

It didn’t surprise you that you wanted to see him again.

Not in the “you-turn-me-on” way, but in the “you-seem-interesting-and-i-need-to-find-out-why” one.

He had something. Something so magnetic and indecipherable that kept pulling you towards him. Something that made you look for his presence in every crew, and not sensing what it was only made your wishes to dissect him grow bigger. There was a tiny probability that he was an idiot with a pretty face. Who knew? You definitely didn’t, and that needed to change. You deserved to know if pining over that man was worth it or not.

That chain of thoughts led you to look for him the next day, almost trembling with eagerness as you asked him the most stupid and unexpected question you could have imagined.

“Would you teach me how to ride a horse?”

He looked at you as if you were out of your mind, opening his mouth a few times and then closing it before he actually replied to you. “You’re tellin' me you don’t know how to ride a horse?”

“Tried it a few times, but failed and now I really want to learn to do it properly,” you swore his eyes were trying to decipher if you were saying the truth or not. “Ellie told me that you could probably make some time to teach me?”

“So Ellie's in charge of my schedule, I suppose?” you froze on the spot, and he must have noticed it because then his expression dulled. “Sorry, sweetheart. It was a joke. I've been told I'm not the best humorist.”

Sweetheart. You could’ve died a happy girl.

“Look, why don’t we meet up tomorrow after lunch? I'm sure it won’t take us much time. Not a difficult task, y’know?” he stroked his beard, apparently thinking you understood what he was talking about. 

“Sure. Thank you, Joel. My name’s–“

He didn’t let you finish. “I do know your name,” and before leaving, he repeated: “I’ll be here tomorrow. You know where to find me.”

To say that you slept without interruptions that night was an understatement. Each hour seemed to become longer the more you glimpsed your watch. Your heart drummed inside your chest violently, and you feared that someone else would be able to hear it if they got close enough to you. 

After having lunch in the same spot as every other mundane day, your legs took you to the stable. You took a shaky breath, expecting him to appear out of thin air, but fifteen minutes went by, and there was still no sign of Joel. Pressing your forehead against the wooden door, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “What was I even thinking?” 

“Hey.”

You looked to your side and– there he was, already getting inside the stable and inviting you to follow him. Joel petted one of the horses, clicking his tongue. His fingers caressed the animal’s back, and when he shot a glance at you, he didn’t ignore your disturbed expression.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” you laughed awkwardly, eyeing the horse, which stared at you with those big and strange eyes. You raised your hand to mimic Joel, but that just made the animal move further away from you. “I guess it’s mutual. We don’t like each other.”

Joel smirked, guiding you outside. “It’s a damn horse. I don’t think you can tell whether he likes you or not. You gotta change that attitude of yours,” he murmured as he got on top of the horse, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Treat him well and he’ll be nice.”

At first, Joel taught you the basics: how to position yourself for balance, get your legs in the right position, hold the reins properly. A little bit of help coming from him was needed for you to mount the horse. He got down on one knee, patting it as if it were a mounting block. “Come on. Step on it.”

No need to ask me twice, you thought as you did what you were told, and once you were grabbing on those reins for dear life, you observed him with curious eyes. “Now what?”

“Now…” he pressed his hand into one of the horse’s sides, and afterwards, the horse began to fucking trot and you cried out, a high-pitched shriek slipping from your mouth. Joel laughed maliciously, almost hypnotized by the scene. “Now is when you learn how to ride a horse!”

“This isn't funny!” you screamed, the horse still very much entertained with the way you were jerking on top of him. “Stop!”

You couldn't believe how he kept… cracking up. Joel touched his stomach, shaking with laughter. “You’re a natural, can’t you see it? I’m havin' the time of my life here.”

“What I can see is that you’re an idiot! Cut the cackle and help me!”

But he didn’t move a single muscle. Instead, he remained still, that smug look never abandoning his features.

The bastard. “You’re gonna make me beg? In this situation?”

Crossing his arms while teasingly grinning at you, he added: “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Joel Miller, will you help me? Pretty please?” your hair was getting in the way, and you could taste it as you insisted. “Is that enough for you?”

It was, actually. He helped you get down from the horse, his thick fingers digging into the mushy skin of your waist. It shouldn’t have felt that good, but it did. You were supposed to be angry at him for setting you up and still, by touching you for a microsecond, he had transformed you into something malleable.

Sadly, that feeling didn’t last much longer. “Didn’t know you were a man of manners. Should’ve told me beforehand.”

“Didn't know you could scream like that. I hope you didn’t freak anyone out.”

The two of you continued to practice until nightfall. A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man. Everytime you tried to quit, he stopped you, making it impossible for you to rest. You stared at him, rubbing the back of your sore neck with a grimace. “I’m tired. Can we go back?”

“One more time.”

“Joel–”

“Trot a couple of meters just one more time, and that’s it for today. Can you do that for me?”

You tried not to pay too much attention to his choice of words, although it was basically non-viable. He looked sinful, and you longed to shut him up with a bruising kiss. Again, a hopeless option. Your hands itched to touch him, to feel his stubble, rough and coarse under your thumbs. How could you stay focused when the man you had been daydreaming with for the last couple of months was bossing you around? 

Despite your inability to clear your head of any of those thoughts, you managed to accomplish what he had asked you to do. “Well done,” he offered you his hand to dismount the horse and you accepted it, sighing as you stretched out your arms. “We should take him back to the stable,” Joel suggested, giving you the impression of being pleased as you told him you were coming with him.

Inside the stable, he relocated the horse into one of the many stalls. Unbelievably, the place didn’t smell like absolute shit, which was what you were expecting from a barn. “Thank you for the lesson,” you told Joel once he was done with the horse.

“Anytime,” he scratched his jaw, the dim light making his dark eyes look, if possible, even darker. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No. You were right,” your heart thrummed with every word that he blurted. His presence was addictive. You were never the one to have any bad habits, but deep down, you recognized that he easily could develop one. “I thought you were less talkative.”

“So did I,” for an instant, he pressed his lips together, forming a tight line, as if he had said something he shouldn’t have in the first place. “I think I didn’t ask you this before: but why now? I mean, why did you wait so much time to learn how to ride a horse? Everyone in Jackson seems to know how.”

You cleared your throat, his piercing eyes peering at your movements. “I guess I thought it wasn't necessary back then, before all this. It's one of those things that you don't even consider until it becomes inevitable. I used to believe I had a lot of time left when I was younger,” you had never talked about this with anyone else. There was something so intimate about this conversation, how Joel stood seemingly tongue-tied in front of you, as if he were taking notes of what you were confessing to him. “I remember being a kid and not wanting to use my toys sometimes because I kept waiting for the right moment. But then…”

“You realize there’s no such thing as the right moment,” he finished the sentence for you, and you bowed your head. “Life can end at any moment, especially in a world like ours. That’s why you always gotta do what you wish to. We never know what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“Live for today, hope for tomorrow? That’s your creed?” you tried to mock him, the tension in the stable far from evident, but he didn’t move.

“It’s the way I try to live my own life. I don’t like being left with the desire to do somethin’ I could’ve done earlier. Too old for that.”

Maybe you were gradually losing it. Perhaps just a little. It couldn’t be a coincidence, right? Had he noticed how you acted around him? Were you that obvious?

“So, you would advise me to just…”

“Do whatever you feel right, sweetheart.”

That raspy sweetheart made you give in.

His eyes. His penetrating, gleaming eyes scrutinized your face at the same time you closed the distance between your bodies. From there, you were able to see every freckle, every small detail that you hadn’t previously acknowledged. He parted his lips, as if to speak, but no words other than your name came out. One of your hands made its way up to his cheek, cupping it, feeling the warmth his skin radiated. His head immediately leaned into your touch, like a moth into a flame. 

You kissed him, unable to keep waiting. It took him what felt like ages to kiss you back, his fingers tangling in your hair. He absorbed your whimpers, pressing your back against the nearest wall. Maddening– it was the perfect word to describe how being kissed by Joel felt like. When you thought he was going to draw away from you, he just held you tighter until your lungs implored for some air. Your knees had never felt this weak, and you found yourself grabbing onto his shoulders, already feeling the places where his stubble had left its trace in flames. 

“Joel…” you mumbled against his lips, detaching your mouth from his. Your erratic breaths seemed to sync together like a melody, and you tugged at the collar of his jacket. 

He knew, could see it on your features. “Wanna go to yours?”

Joel took you home. The moment you set foot in the cabin, he closed the door behind him, his hand lingering on the handle as he contemplated you from a distance. You took your coat off first, starting to unzip your pants. There was silence long enough to hear crickets in, the moon up in the sky being the only bystander of your meeting. His eyes roamed the newly exposed skin of your legs and you observed him gulp. 

“Did something happen?” you asked him, a flush crepting up your face. Taking a step forward, one of his hands came to rest on top of yours.

“No, it’s just that– Are you sure you want this?”

Crinkling your nose, you uttered: “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just too old for you,” he warned you, running a knuckle down your cheek. “You should be with guys your age, y’know? Not with an old man like me.”

“I want you,” reassuring him, you got rid of your t-shirt, and the fact he was still dressed up from neck to toes lit some kind of fire inside you. His calloused fingers fiddled with the strap of your bra until it slipped off your shoulder. “This is what I want. Please, Joel.”

It turned out that Joel Miller certainly was a man of manners.

You couldn't help but moan as he grabbed you by the waist, dragging you to the couch by the window and straddling his lap, his hard-on finding its place beneath you, pulsing and in need of more. His tongue brushed yours ever so often, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his teeth latched onto the skin of your throat. Joel groaned, the sound, low and primal, having its desired effect on you, your hips involuntarily grinding against his in a delicious but tormenting rhythm that already had you on the verge of tears.

“Joel, please,” you managed to plead, not knowing precisely what you were asking for. His hands cupped your ass, imprinting his fingerprints on the soft flesh, forcing your hips to go harder and harder. The harsh fabric of his pants was definitely going to leave a mark on your cheeks, and thinking that helped you realize that you were the only one –almost– naked. You reached for the buttons of his denim shirt, your lips hovering over his. “Take your clothes off?”

He did the rest himself, throwing his jacket to the floor. When he got to his jeans, he cocked his head. “Why don’t we move this to the bedroom, if you’re so goddamn needy?” The few guys you had been with had never been very talkative during sex; there was even this one specific boy who had asked you to not make a sound while he fucked you. 

But Joel wasn’t like them. It was just starting and you had already realized that he had a dirty mouth, an expectant look on his face every time he waited for your reaction to his words. “Now you’re quiet, huh? Thought you wanted me to fuck you, darlin',” one of his fingers pressed down on your clit, stimulating it through your underwear. He sighed, stopping his movements and pressing the damp pad of it against your lower lip, urging you to taste yourself. “You’re wet, baby. So fuckin’ wet. Have you been like this all day? Bet you would’ve let me take you right there in the forest.”

“Oh my God,” you whined next to his ear, your whole body trembling with desire. “Take me to bed,” you begged him, and next thing you knew, he was grabbing you as if you weighed nothing and heading towards your room. 

Not knowing how, you kept your hands to yourself until he placed you on top of the bed. Joel shoved his jeans down and you didn’t think twice– you stroked his length, the fabric of his boxers only making the slow drag of your hand more satisfying. His long fingers circled your throat, and you moaned as you kept eliciting exquisite noises from him. “Let me take care of you,” his dilated pupils carved holes in your being, his grip doing nothing to cease the ache between your legs. “Please, baby. I need to make you feel good. Been thinkin’ about this for so long.”

“What?” you slowed down your pace, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “You wanted me?”

“Why do you think I began to pick Ellie up from your classes, huh? Because I’m a good, generous man?” Joel parted your knees, getting closer to where you required him the most. “I’m sorry to ruin this, but I’m far from good. Just wanted to see you and your pretty face. Didn’t know if we were on the same page until you came lookin' for me, askin' me to teach you how to ride a damn horse,” you hadn’t noticed your bra was missing till he cupped one of your breasts, flicking your nipple between his fingers. “I’m sure there were many other people you could’ve asked to teach you, but you chose me, didn’t you?”

“Don’t want anybody else,” your lips chased his, a drop of sweat already rolling down your temple. “I didn’t– didn’t know you noticed me.”

“How could I not? If you could only look at yourself like I’m doing right now… You’re a sight, sweetheart, all spread out for me,” removing your panties, he kissed the skin where your inner thighs met, his tongue darting out to draw imaginary figures on your flesh. His mouth was just inches away from your cunt, and you had to tell him.

“Joel?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never– nobody has ever done that for me.”

He seemed to understand what you were referring to. It made you tense a bit, despite the fact that you were completely naked in front of him, basically begging him to tear you apart. Still, the realization that you weren't as expert as him hit you out of nowhere. Yeah, it was all fun and games, kissing and touching probably the hottest man you had seen in your almost three decades of life. But said man was a lot older than you, and he had lived his best years in the real world, not this fucked up version you grew up in. You were sure he had been with many different women, which wasn’t a problem– you two were nothing.

“Nobody has ever tasted ya’? That’s what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” you nodded quickly, shoving a strand of his graying hair back away from his eyes. Joel chuckled languidly, squeezing your hips. “Do you want me to? It’s okay if you don’t. We can try somethin’ else.”

“Please,” you’d have time to embarrass yourself later, thinking about the amount of times you had repeated that word. But certain moments were to be lived only once, and though you hoped it wasn't the case, you had to take the chance. “I want you to.”

Four words. It took Joel four words to disappear between your legs, licking a hot stripe up your folds. You nibbled on your bottom lip, a loud moan filling the void of your dorm. He drew sweet patterns in your cunt, discovering a part of you that no one else ever had, and you couldn’t help but to grind against his face as he dipped the tip of his tongue into your entrance. Breathing wasn’t a necessity anymore. You felt as if all the air in the world was being punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter the more Joel spent his precious time keeping you entertained.

At some point, he focused his attention on your clit, circling it over and over again, making you shudder. Suddenly, the pad of his middle finger tested the waters, and he slowly slid it into your cunt, earning a strangled whine from you. Burying your hands in his hair, your glossy eyes looked for him for a second. You shouldn’t have done that, because as you took in the sight of Joel with his own eyes closed, browns knitted, your nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was even possible to want somebody that much.

“Joel, wait, I’m– fuck,” your jaw went slack and you scrunched up your face, two of his thick fingers nudging that spot that made you see stars. “I’m close.” 

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart. Don’t know why you say it in such a dry tone,” his mouth curved into a smile, his chin and stubble shining with your slick. 

Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “I don’t want to come yet.”

“But you will.”

A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man.

“Joel–“

“I’ll make you come with my mouth, and then with my cock,” dizziness was starting to blur your vision, your eyelashes fluttering with every hard thrust of his fingers. You glanced up to the ceiling, tears filling your eyes. “Think you can do that for me, be my good girl and come twice?”

You bobbed your head. It was official: he was going to make you come.

Drawing in a long breath, you could feel the unbearable pressure in your core. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips, chanting it in the same way some people expressed their devotion to a certain God. You had your own personal deity, whose tongue accomplished to push you to the limit, licking every drop of your release as if it were a special kind of forbidden elixir.  

Your shoulders sagged and you relaxed under him. Joel kissed you, an open mouthed and filthy kiss crowning that moment as you panted. Through the cotton fabric of his boxers, you felt his hard-on poking your thigh. Shoving his underwear down, you took him in your hand, hot and just big, stroking him for real this time. You twisted your wrist at the tip, and he slumped forward, almost crushing you with his entire body weight, his breath dampening your neck. “Wanna fuck you, baby,” he croaked, his hips chasing your touch.

Out of all the scenarios you had ever imagined, none of them included being split open by Joel. You had a very vivid imagination, but no amount of creativity would’ve prepared you for what his cock would feel like inside of you. He bottomed out, his arms shaking where they rested on each side of your head. Joel’s breath quickened as he pulled out, just letting the tip, and then thrusting into you again.

“Fuck,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It was even hard to decipher if you were still alive or dead from how magnificent he felt.

“So good, sweetheart. You’re so good, such a good girl,” he groaned, fucking deeper into you. His cock pulsed inside you, your cunt squeezing him. “Can’t believe how– how tight you are. You’re gonna make me lose my f–fucking mind.”

It was just too much. You hadn’t even recovered from your last orgasm before Joel started pounding into you like his life depended on it, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin ringing out in the room. 

“You gonna come, huh? Gonna make a mess?” you could sense he was also close, his pace faltering as seconds went by, words slurring together. He pressed his forehead against yours, clenching his fists and taking in a sharp breath. “Fuck. I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

Come inside, you wished to tell him, to feel his seed dripping out of your greedy hole, painting your walls. But you weren't on the pill; it was also the first time you were sleeping with Joel, and you didn’t know how he would take the… suggestion. “Close,” you yelped instead, tears shimmering in your eyes as Joel’s body hovered over you like the most perfect eclipse. 

His thrusts became more frenzied, if possible. “That’s it, darlin’. Come for me,” your gaze fixated upon him, his eyes flickering with hunger. “Wanna see you when you soak my cock.”

Your body went limp, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. Soreness took place in your throat as you moaned his name through the aftershocks, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. Going rigid, you let go of Joel’s shoulders. He pulled out, mumbling something you didn’t quite catch. You fisted his cock, trying to give him the release he so yearned for. Joel kissed you, messy teeth and saliva taking part of it. Heavy on your hand, his dick twitched as you squeezed the base, roped of his warm cum splattering your belly. The scene reminded you of a painting; he was the talented painter, and you his blank canvas, waiting to be signed with his name.

It was the turn of silence now. None of you said anything for a while, until Joel used his boxers to clean up his cum from your stomach, smiling apologetically at you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” your fingers delicately traced the contours of his chest as he reclined, enveloping you in the embrace of his strong arms. “Will you stay?”

Please say yes.

“Only if you want me to.”

Moral of the story: learning how to ride a horse can actually be nice if your teacher happens to be Joel Miller.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Ok but imagine like older Eddie he's like 50 and he's still in corroded coffin but they only got big around Hawkins and surrounding areas but like you meet him ajd you're 23 and he's selling merch and you donf think he's in the band and you're in town for the headliners band which is a bigger more well known band bur yiu and Eddie start flirting and you're wearing your usual concert outfit a tight cropped tank top and short shorts and you guys takk and you wnd up buying merch for the band you think he's just selling for jusf bc you needed a reason to talj to him and then you go to your seats and the opening band is Eddie's bandand yiu see him and your jaw drops and you're in shock and he's so so giddy and flirty wven while he's playinf but only ti you and he feels like a teenager again and his hormones are racing and after the set you don't even stay to watch the headliner you go and talj eith him more and one thing leads to another and yiu guys ya know get filthy 🥵🥵🙈🙈🙈

This is such a great request! I did change the age gap because it’s a little too large for my liking so I hope that’s okay!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) fingering, grinding, age gap (reader is 25 and Eddie is 40)

You entered the crowded venue and smoothed out your skirt before heading over to the merch stand of the band you were most excited to see. You had worn your best outfit, hoping to get some action from the lead guitarist, even though he was definitely old enough to be your father. What could you say? You had a thing for older men and didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.

You pulled your shirt down just enough to show your cleavage, even though your bra was very visible through the tight material and made your way over to the merch table where you knew the band hung out before their set.

You looked around at the other tables as you went and stopped when you saw the hottest man you had ever seen at the stall right next to the one you had your eye on. He was staring directly at you, his eyes looking directly at your tits that were practically spilling over your tank top.

He had a beard that you were definitely into and his hair was pulled back into a loose bun which you assumed was to keep his hair off his neck in the hot venue and he was wearing a denim vest which showcased his tattoos very nicely. He had some on his torso and both of his arms were covered in full sleeves.

As you stepped closer, you could see all of his face piercing which included a hoop through both his lip and nose and a piercing through his eyebrow. He was so hot that you could have sworn you were getting wet just from looking at him.

“Hi,” you greeted, putting on your signature flirty smile and he mimicked it, his far better than yours.

“Hi,” he replied, pressing his hands on the counter and leaning forward, just close enough for you to get a whiff of him. He smelled like the perfect mixture of tobacco and whatever cologne he was wearing and it was intoxicating.

“Corroded Coffin?” You asked, looking down at the shirts that were displayed both behind him and on the table he was leaning on. You knew practically every band in the genre so you weren’t entirely sure why you had never heard of them.

“They’re newer,” he responded, his voice sounding raspy and low, making your cunt even more damp. “It’s their first big show outside of Indiana.”

“That’s really cool,” you smiled. You always loved supporting smaller bands and eyed the CD that was next to him, displaying what you had assumed was their album.

“You should check them out,” he said, handing you one of the CDs and a shirt that he assumed was your size. You reached for your purse, but he just shook his head.

“No need, sugar,” he winked. “It’s on the house.”

“Well thank you-” you paused, realizing you didn’t know his name.

“Eddie,” he responded and got thought the name suited him.

“Eddie,” you repeated and he loved the way it fell from your pretty glossed lips.

“And you are?” He asked, leaning even closer and his scent entered your nose again, making you want to smell it forever.

“I guess you’ll have to find out when you find me later,” you gave him a wink of your own and grabbed a sharpie from your purse that you had brought for autographs and grabbed his hand before scribbling your number on it. With that, you turned on your heel to head to to head into the seating area, making a beeline for a spot right in front of the barricade, the whole reason why you originally showed up in the first place as your mind wandered to Eddie.

Not long after, you received a text from Eddie which had been an eggplant emoji and immediately saved his number before sending him the water droplets back.

After about an hour of making conversation with the people around you, the lights went down and the first band came on. You watched as fog moved across the stage as the curtain slowly rose to reveal the band, a gasp escaping your lips as you realized that the front man was Eddie.

“How we doing San Francisco?” He asked as he adjusted his mic. His eyes locked on yours and you smiled, giving him a flirty wave. Everyone erupted in cheers and you joined them, clapping your hands together and cheering as loud as you could.

“Good to hear it. May I say that I am doing fantastic. I think I’m gonna start off with a fan favorite. Is that alright?” Everyone cheered again and you were curious to see which song they were going to perform.

The song started off slow, but you didn’t miss the absolutely filthy lyrics that were spilling from Eddie’s mouth. He was watching the entire time, almost as if he was dedicating the song to you. He then stepped away from his mic, you reached your hand out to him and he took it, pressing a kiss to the skin, looking directly into your eyes as he sang about wanting to fuck you like an animal.

As you watching Eddie perform, you let your mind think about all of the things you’d let him do to you. The way you’d grind against him while he sat in the passenger seat of your car as he took what he wanted from you as he kissed you until you were both breathless. He’d then stick his hands underneath your skirt and finger you, stretching you out so you’d be ready for his giant cock and he’d fuck you until you both orgasmed, the windows fogging up from your moans mixing together in the air.

You honestly hadn’t been paying attention their entire set after the first song. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to see Eddie naked and just how much you wanting to run your tongue along his lip ring while he pounded into you, making you moan like you never had before.

You sent Eddie your location as you got to your car and he met you there pretty quickly, still in his outfit from before, his torso glistening with sweat that you found yourself wanting to lick up.

“So, you gonna tell me your name now?” He asked as he took a drag of the cigarette he was holding.

“I’m y/n.”

“Oh, I’m gonna love moaning that,” he responded then his eyes widened. “That is why you asked me here, right?”

“What did you think the emoji meant?”

“I just wanted to be sure, sugar,” he took another drag from the cigarette and blew it through his lips. “Just wanted to make sure the feeling was mutual before I did anything. And I also wanted to make sure that you were of age before we did anything. You’d be surprised how many minors try to get with me.”

You pulled your ID from your wallet and handed it to him. You had been younger than he thought and a couple years younger than the half your age plus seven rule but since it was only two, he supposed he could make an exception. You were just so hot to not take the opportunity.

He gave you your ID back and without hesitation, his lips were on yours in a filthy kiss as he set you on the hood of your car, spreading your legs so he could step between them to get closer to you. He licked into your mouth and laid you down onto the hood, neither of you caring who was around. You were just so desperate for each other that you couldn’t waste any time getting into the car.

His tongue roughly scraped against yours and you let out a moan at the feeling which made his dick harden which you felt against you, making you even more wet. Eddie’s hand slowly moved down to your skirt and moved up it. His fingers were rough and his rings were cool against your thigh as he slowly moved his hand up it. His cock hardened even more once he realized you hadn’t been wearing any underwear.

He shoved two of his fingers up your pussy as his lips moved against yours and you moaned into his mouth at both the sensation and his cold rings brushing the sensitive skin.

“Oh,” you moaned and he pulled away, wanting to see you come undone at his touches. Your eyes closed as he got both fingers fully inside and then he pulled out, pumping in and out and you moaned louder as he moved harder and faster, your legs giving out at the pure delight that was coursing through you.

“Look so pretty around my fingers, sugar. Bet you look even prettier around my cock,” he said as he pulled his fingers out of you as soon as you reached your orgasm. He licked the slick clean off his fingers and looked down at you with a grin as you gasped at the action. “And look at that, you taste even better.”

Your legs were feeling like jello as you were sliding down the hood of the car. Eddie caught you and helped you to the passenger seat. He got in first and you climbed on top of him. He slammed the door and as soon as you were in the privacy of the tinted windows, your lips were on his, the kiss rough and hot as you leaned the seat back as far as it would go. Once it was situated, you moved your hands to Eddie’s vest, pulling it down his shoulders. He leaned up so you had more ease removing it and eventually, it ended up in the backseat as he pulled the bottom of your shirt out from your skirt. He could see the red bra underneath it pretty clearly, but he wanted to see it without the shirt being in the way.

You lifted your arms and he removed your shirt in one quick motion, tossing it into the back seat before taking a moment to get a look at you. You looked so fucking hot on top of him with your kiss bitten lips and your tits that were practically spilling out of your bra. He didn’t know what he had done to be able to be there with you in that moment, but he was definitely going to consider himself fucking lucky.

Eddie’s fingers ran along the lace that was attached to the tops of the cups and you felt your nipples harden as his fingers touched your bare chest as his fingers moved. He kissed you again and stuck his hand down one of the cups to squeeze your tit. He licked into your mouth and you began grinding against him, the slick of your sopping wet cunt seeping through his jeans, making the fabric wet as well.

You felt his hard dick against your entrance as you continued to grind on him and he groaned into your mouth at the feeling. Eventually, his hands moved to the back of your bra and he unclasped it with ease before tossing it to the back to join your other discarded clothing.

“God, fuck, you’re so hot,” he practically whimpered as he caught sight of your tits.

“Oh, you like them?” You asked, moving to the left and right, causing them to move with you. Eddie swore he was going to cream his pants right there.

“Wanna see them bounce while you ride me,” his voice was even lower and raspy than before and you swore that you weren’t going to survive if he was going to keep talking like that. “Wanna ride me, sugar?” That nickname was doing things to you that you couldn’t even explain.

“Wanna ride you so bad, fuck,” you whined. Oh, he could get used to that. You moved so he could remove his pants while you reached for a condom in your purse. Once you had it and his pants and underwear were down to his ankles. His cock was even larger than you had expected and you were not glad he had fingered you so you were more stretched out.

“You’re so big,” you told him and he smiled.

“Think you can take it?”

“Oh, I know I can.” You rolled the condom onto his dick then situated yourself onto it, the two of you letting out moans as he entered you. You grabbed onto his shoulders while his hands went to your waist. Your hips bucked as you began to ride him. Eddie watched your tits bounce as you moved and he was mesmerized by the moment, very sure that no one had ever looked that hot in that situation.

You continued to ride him as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his, your tongue moving his lip ring back and forth as your bare tits pressed to his chest. It was overstimulating, but he didn’t even care.

“Fuck, driving me crazy,” he moaned. “Can’t be doing all these things at once, sugar. My poor cock can’t take it.”

“Oh, you can take it,” you responded, your movements becoming even faster and harder, causing his back to arch, his own hips bucking against yours. His vision went hazy as he reached his peak, letting out his loudest moan yet, but neither of you were ready to stop.

You pulled him in for another filthy kiss and loved the way his facial hair scraped against your face. It was touch and coarse and you didn’t even care if it irritated your skin so long as he kept kissing you like that, his tongue swirling around and scraping against yours.

You scratched down his chest and you continued to ride him, the feeling of his hips bucking against yours causing you to come undone. His fingers were digging into your hips so hard that you swore that he was going to leave bruises, but you didn’t care. In fact, you kind of wanted him to so you could have physical proof of this moment.

Your pace slowed down as both of you orgasmed, wanting to take things slow for a bit since you had gotten there so quickly. Now you just wanted to enjoy the way he felt inside you a little longer. He felt so good and you were stalling at that point because you knew that this was just going to be a one time thing. It always was with rockstars. They were always the hit it and quite it types.

You eventually got off of Eddie and the two of you cleaned up and he pulled his pants back up which you helped him button. You then settled yourself back on his lap and leaned your head against his chest, tracing the tattoo that was right by your face.

“So, same time tomorrow?” He asked, letting his fingers gently run up and down your back and you pulled back to look at him.

“You want to?” You asked, your face lighting up at his suggestion. He pulled you into a short kiss before smiling as well.

“Sugar, if you fuck me like that again, I’d be happy to do it every night.” You pulled him in for another kiss the laid your head back on his chest to hide the grin on your face.

“It’s a date,” he responded, a grin making its way upon his face as he thought that maybe he’d wine and dine you first. That was what you deserved for making him feel that good, after all.

[hewasverycinematic]

Psychological warfare has been committed

So in-ho is my second favourite character from S2 of squid game (After the salesman cause daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn)

anyway

he's so complex and layered so I thought I'd list all the times I noticed him just fucking with Gi-hun

Sang-woo styling

So the first one has been said before many a time and it's how he's obviously styled his hair similar to Sang-woo. This works in two ways; One being that he's showing familiarity to Gi-hun, making him instantly comfortable around him, but ALSO that he should not be trusted in the same way Sang-woo definitely shouldn't have been. But also in a way that's so subconscious to Gi-hun that he wouldn't even register it. The other way this works is that the fluffiness makes him seem literally soft just from looking at him, making not only Gi-hun trust him but the rest of their little squad. So even if Gi-huns sub-conscious kicks in with the "maybe lets not trust him, he looks like that dude who betrayed me last time and he's got that same number as someone else I shouldn't have trusted" he would look insane (Rightly so.) This also makes Jung-bae not telling him he's suspicious of 001 even more painful.

Mingle

Then grabbing his best friend in the mingle game. Not much to say on this one, I originally thought it was odd bc why Jung-bae? It makes itself clear by the end of the season that he needed Jung-bae to stay alive for the gut punch at the end. It's also very clear, however, that Dae-ho would 100000% have paired up with him, so why did In-ho need to take him specifically? Well, he knows there's not being enough rooms for everyone. So he knew he would probably have to kill someone and this also makes sure Gi-hun doesn't see this side of him and cause tension/distrust early on. (He saw his reaction with Sang-woo and the glass bridge remember)

X O

He originally votes to continue the game, telling Gi-hun that he did it because of him. This really is a double blow, because he's basically shifting the blame of the games continuing onto Gi-hun. If he hadn't been there to give faith to "Young-il", he possibly would've voted X and this set of games would have ended. But he's also, once again, makes Gi-hun believe he has the power to make change and help people. The tone in which he speaks to him, whilst also being a bit told off, makes him come across as meek and clueless i.e. harmless. He does this alot in front of Gi-hun, the amount of times he apologises and says he must've misunderstood or didn't know adds to this.

The second time he votes, he changes to X. And, again, says it's because of Gi-hun. Repeating the same steps as before backwards, but getting the exact same result. Gi-huns ego is boosted (literally showing he can change O's minds) and appearing powerless as a follower.

Late night talking

Narratively, I love this scene, we get to hear directly from In-ho his motivations for going into the first game. But we also get to see how messed up he is that he's lying about something so deep and personal. Using it as a way to get closer to Gi-hun, appearing to let his guard down, I honestly think In-ho needed that conversation as he seemed to have disappeared to Jun-ho before he could properly grieve and process. Then again there's a gap in his history that we as the audience do not know about. After he won and before becoming the Front Man (I'll probably make another post on my theories for S3) In terms of Gi-hun this conversation is probably the one which solidifies his trust in 001 as he's showing he does care about someone so much he is willing to risk his life and ensure others death. The reasoning mirroring Gi-huns in the first series, they are one and the same in that aspect. But it's so evil because In-ho knows all this and uses their shared grief against him.

"We'll have to hope more of the other side died"

After the Mingle game, Gi-hun suggests counting how many people are left on each side, and In-ho responds with "We'll have to hope more people from the other side died". This instantly made me think of the scene in the first season where Ji-Yeong is mock praying that they can send more people to their deaths for their own survival. This is so on the nose that I'm surprised Gi-hun didn't pick up what In-ho was putting down. He's slowly drip-feeding into Gi-hun that he's thinking the exact way the hosts want them to. Us vs. them as opposed to us vs. the machine, which is a direct link to when the frontman tells Gi-hun that the games won't change unless the world does. He's also got a slight smirk in his eyes which is essentially him internally going "I told ya so"

"Is that really what you want?

Before the third vote Gi-hun & co are discussing how to make sure they win the vote. Whilst Gi-hun wants to go over to try and persuade them to change from O to X, In-ho says "If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote. Is that what you want Gi-hun"

And then after the tied vote and during the conversation of The Plan™ Gi-hun asks "Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want Young-il?"

This is so ironic because they're saying the exact same thing back to each other "Are you sure you want to fight?" Which has sooo many layers. Yes, they're talking about the players being split into X vs. O but what Gi-hun doesn't realise yet is that he is the O (player) and In-ho is the X (host). As In-ho says as the frontman, the games only work if there are players. And the games stop if there's no one to host (If society changes and there's no wealth disparity making VIPs obsolete).

And that's just the literal meaning of what they've said. The fact that this is the first time Gi-hun has repeated In-hos' behaviour, in a somewhat catty way and not in an "I'm just like you, you should trust me" way. It still shows how similar the two are. I think this is why people theorise that Gi-hun will be the next front man. I think the point is that during the rebellion, he already is the frontman, just to the players following his orders.

Also, can I just add the cinematography of the beam separating the two is *chefs kiss*

Repeating Jung-bae

So we all saw the jealous look In-ho had when listening in to Gi-hun and Jung-baes conversation. I, actually, think he saw it as another way to toy with Gi-hun later on as we see. In the conversation with Jung-bae they're laughing about how much of a cheapskate Gi-hun was when they were friends. In-ho is in a totally non 457 way showing he can be the same as his best friend, but with it being such a common thing to say, if this wasn't a show it'd be something to easily overlook. With it being a show, I cannot overlook the parallel.

Rebellion things

Smaller things I noticed:

When discussing the special game he only said "you" instead of "we" - "How are you going to get the guns" etc.

Until he says "Small sacrifice for the greater good? In that case, I'm with you" - Further pointing out how similar they have become.

He didn't shoot the guards when they were in the stairwell/corridor unless he was speaking. Possibly to cover up the fact he wasn't shooting - Was he saving ammo? Doubt it - Says he's nearly out of ammo without checking - Not wanting to be hit in the crossfire? Maybe

Saving Gi-hun

So he saves Gi-hun twice, once when he's about to be shot and again when he shoots Jung-bae instead. I don't believe this is just because he's grown fond of him but because, as Gi-hun said in the limo, the games are so much more entertaining for the VIPs with him in. Unfortunately, I have to speculate that him being in there has caused more money to be donated by the VIPs, further upholding the games. The reality is Gi-hun was never going to be killed. He has plot armour both for us and the VIPs watching.

The final fuckery from In-ho as Young-il is the "Are you sure" with the most suspicious look on his face. People kept saying that that was the ammo that shot Jung-bae, but it wasn't, it wasn't even the same gun. It was really the last of the ammo they had, and giving it to In-ho was just leaving them defenceless, being the catalyst to the retreat and end of Jung-baes life.

Other sass

Joking about the umbrella dalgona as if he wasn't watching

"Besides, we've got a previous winner with us" as if he wasn't also a winner

Making dad jokes about his name

Disappearing in mingle to reenforce to Gi-hun that he cares about his wellbeing

unrelated note: people saying why would he kill his own guards, as we see with no-eul, they're seen the same as the players. (trash) he doesn't care about them either

[mci-writing]

Hi I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a senku x female reader where he has a crush on an older tattooed foreigner who was on vacation in Japan when the world was petrified

I've had this sitting for a minute tbh, but mostly bc I didn't want there to be too many spoilers for anime-onlys 😭😭 mostly for how tattoos work,,, Don’t be surprised if there’s a heavy focus on language plot wise, I’ve been working on a lot of linguistics homework 😞

Anyways, hope you enjoy

Science Makes Age Complicated (Ishigami Senku x Reader):

Warnings: technically an age gap but also not (reader was once 2 years older than Senkuu, but now they're the same age due to time shenanigans), fem!reader, some language use (a few swears here and there), reader is American (RIP but it’s plot relevant), reader is implied to know an insane amount of languages (bc this is Dr Stone and it’s relevant to world-building)

"Think you can scrounge something up for her, Yuzuriha?" Senku parts the lush shrubbery for his friend, unresponsive to her obvious surprise at the sight before her. He figured it would go that way, considering how kept away the whole area is, but he'd rather start the spectacle with her big reactions instead of the loud and boisterous version involving the rest of their crew, "I'm more than sure you'll manage to make her something she's 1 billion percent comfortable in."

He'd considered this statue his secret weapon for the next part of their excursion. Well, that would be his explanation as to why he'd waited so long to unveil her and finally free her from her encasement. Really, he could never find the proper time to finally revive her, especially when every time it would feel right to, something else would arise that would require them to use the revival fluid for someone else.

When talks of traveling to the Americas came up, he knew it'd be the perfect time to properly reveal her and, hopefully, ease her into their current predicament. While Gen is a great diplomat, thew mentalist isn't exactly fluent in as many languages as the girl in the statue before them. Even more, if they are to run into more people (which they very likely are), it's better to have at least two representatives to talk things over. That's going to be his reasoning, anyway.

Deep down, he's a little nervous to finally see her again, especially now that he's technically older than her by a few months at least. The last time they'd seen each other had been the day before the petrification light, the two decided to spend time with each other before he went back to school. She was visiting Japan for a bit, a trip she'd planned to make at least once a year since the two had officially met in person while he had been in America. Back then, she'd been 17 to his 15, owning an American driver's license and a tattoo sleeve that left many of the older members of society scandalized.

"I don't think she's going to take being younger than us well," Yuzuriha mentions as she finishes up sewing the outfit she'd made for (Y/n). She worked fast, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead once she finished. She takes a step back once she's finished, watching as Senku steps forward, "Especially when she finds out how long it took for you to bring her back."

"She'll be fine. I'm 1 billion percent sure she's going to be grateful for it," He responds, popping the top off the tiny vial between his fingers. He doesn't stop the grin from spreading across his face as he lets the contents of the vial drip from the top of her head. The two watch expectedly as it eases its way down her body, stone cracking and parting in its wake, “She’s going to get to visit home, after all.”

The stone falls from her body, the life slowly coming back into her (e/c) orbs as more of her skin is revealed. Her tattooed sleeve remains, now accompanied by the petrification markings on her face and other parts of her body. A wave of confusion hits her as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, but her shoulders relax a little as she takes in the two familiar figures next to her, "Senku...? Yuzuriha...?" "Hey, (Y/n)," He immediately greets in response, an excited light coming to his eyes as ruby meets (e/c), "Looks like we're the same age now."

Yuzuriha flinches at his greeting, sighing with a shake of her head as she takes a small step closer to their friend. A nervous smile forms on her lips as she takes (Y/n) hands into her own, leading her out of the hidden away area into the light of the new world. She feels the grip tighten as (e/c) eyes dart around the surrounding forestry in an attempt to better understand the circumstances and environment, "We have a lot to catch you up on, but I'm sure if we ease you in slowly it won't cause you too much whiplash-"

"We don't have time for that, Yuzuriha. We still have to load the ship back up and travel to America," Senku waves the notion off, walking past the two of them and leading them back into the village. Neither of the girls miss the smirk on his face as he continues, unmoving as they gape at him like fish, "(Y/n) will catch up along the way."

He's bluffing, which they realize a little later when Ryusui recounts the plan to spend the next few days loading the ship and replacing the items they used on their last voyage. (Y/n) is assimilated faster into their new society than she can process, the rest of their group taking the basic information they're fed and working with it. Yuzuriha is eventually forced to leave her to fend for her own after a bit to attend to her own assignments and Taiju only stops to catch up for a bit (which is mostly him speed talking and making assumptions about how much she's been made aware of) before continuing to move along.

Senku doubts he'll ever admit it out loud, but he is grateful that they're the same age, even if he's technically older by a few months now. Standing next to (Y/n), who hadn't aged a day past the last time he'd seen her, was the reassurance he secretly needed about his own development. While his growth spurt, a result of the final pushes of puberty during the Stone Wars and roughing it during the New Stone Age, was the only difference he could notice next to her, (Y/n) had been hit with the whiplash of every other development.

To her, it felt like both a lifetime and a long night since she had seen Senku, yet he looked almost completely different and exactly the same. The remainder of his baby fat had rounded out of his cheeks, his face maturing nicely into that of a young adult, and he'd sprung up quite a bit in height. He was still lithe in comparison to Taiju, till thin and very much not built for too much physical labor, but he'd gotten a bit of meat on his bones to fill his arms out a little more. Despite that, he still looked like him, like the jerky boy she'd met by chance in middle school who would be the first person she'd show her newest tattoos to when she was 16 to get some kind of rise out of him.

Taiju and Yuzuriha were a further reminder of the weird passage of time, the two more developed in their own rights. He was beefier, still ever-muscular in a more defined way. His hands seemed rougher, but she didn't know if that had been due to the rougher circumstances or if they were always meant to get so rough with all the handy work Senku would put him up to. Yuzuriha had filled out a little, a few scars littering her hands from what (Y/n) could only assume was from her thread work she'd seem to consistently be working on since they'd gotten back to their stronghold. Her silky brown hair, which had once reached her waist and made a few of the girls from their school envious of its length, now barely reached past her shoulders in its bobbed shape.

She feels so out of place...

~~~~

The rush of information coming to people’s senses is always amusing to watch, but (Y/n) is taking a little more time to process than usual. Even now, a few days into her now being free from the stone prison, she still has more questions. They aren’t particularly scientific, more so just random observations that she really wants the answers to. She’s also hyper-analyzed the villagers' speech patterns, having them repeat their newer slang and pronounce random words in Japanese, English, and German (something they did not realize they were fluent in until she came around). In return, they ask her questions about the past (mostly Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju), the sleeve on her arm, and why the hell she knows so many languages already.

Senku can’t really be mad about it slowly down progress, he’s sure he’d slack off a little too if they didn’t have so little time to prepare for their trip across the sea. Neither of them miss the way their eyes longingly stare at one another, meeting a few times before either is dragged away by the others they’re surrounded by. It’s even worse that (Y/n) feels she hasn’t been able to get any time alone with him since they made it to the village. She’d been made aware of their plans once her confusion died down a little, even taking the time to freshen up on the main languages she’d be focused on for their trip and doing what she can to pitch in. Unfortunately, their different preparations would barely, if ever, cross over. Lowkey, it had been killing both of them inside, but they kept up appearances for the sake of getting things done.

She’d learned from Gen, who gave her brain a break by speaking in English with her, that Senku had kept her relatively well hidden. He’d visit her often, but no one had put together that’s what he’d been doing until now. Yuzuriha made it clear she’d only learned of (Y/n)’s whereabouts a little before they’d revived her. However, the brown-haired girl did mention that a few passing statements he’d made in the past were starting to make sense.

It took the last night before the Kingdom of Science would set sail again for (Y/n) to find time away from the others. Despite the various discussions scratching her brain in the best way possible in a new world, the dark blue of the night accompanied by the low noises of crickets and crashing waves gives her the solace she needs. While everything has mostly settled, or settled as much as it can, it's still moving so fast. To her, everything was normal yesterday and then dark for longer than she thinks possible to comprehend, "Maybe this is how Sleeping Beauty felt..."

"I doubt that," A familiar voice speaks up from behind her, the heels of his shoes clopping along the ground as he approaches. The gravel scrunches as he shifts to sit next to her, deep zircon-colored eyes staring out towards the ocean's expanse. He scoots a little closer to her, his head tilting as his pinky reflexively reaches to dig out of his ear, "Considering she typically is depicted to have been a young preteen when she first fell asleep and an older teenager when she wakes, I doubt there were many technological changes to throw her for such a loop, especially if the story takes place in a fictional version of the middle ages."

His eyes shift to peak at her instead, his typical grin filing onto his face. Somehow, they're one of his few features to remain the same despite his growing age. He's one of the reasons she's out here tonight, gathering her thoughts privately one last time so she can tuck them away to focus her attention more on to returning civilization.

Of course, she always thought he was good-looking, most people did. However, where they were turned off by his passion for science and technical engineering, she found it to be all the more endearing for his character. He had his pesty moments, but so did everyone else in some way. It added to his charm, "Didn't see you as the fables type, Senku."

"Had a friend who was super into literature. She read it in different languages to challenge herself," He teases in response, his gaze turning back to the sight before them, "Wonder where she is now..."

(Y/n) tugs her knees up to her chest, the irony of the comparison not lost on her, though made completely on accident. She pulls them closer, resting her cheek on them as she takes in the boy next to her, "Maybe she's trapped somewhere in a stone prison back in the woods."

She watches his chest rumble with his chuckle, a soft breeze picking up and spreading the smell of salt water. He's closer now, the smaller changes staring her in the face and taunting her. She'd wanted him this close to her again, just for the reassurance, but now... She kind of regrets it.

"I would've found her by now," He mumbles, the sound just barely reaching her ears. A fond smile slowly eases across his mouth as he returns his gaze to her, "Would've taken me a while to finally see her like this again, but I think it'd finally be worth seeing her again. Even with the circumstances."

"I'm sure she'd be grateful to see you again too, even with the circumstances."

[melswifeasf]

i saw your request for asks so i thought i’d try, if anything makes you uncomfortable/is weird to write then change it ofc and thank you if you do write it :) 

okay so i really love pissed off sam and was thinking about this: reader and sam are together but are keeping it a secret bc sam wants to (reader isn’t extremely happy about it but okay with it), reader goes with tara to this party from the beginning of scream vi and when sam comes to get both tara and reader back home, she sees someone flirting with reader but can’t do anything about it which pisses her off, reader shuts the flirting down but sam is still pissed, once they are alone reader tries to talk to sam and calm her down with a hug and sam lets her but then kisses reader and turns it into sex and leaves a pretty obvious hickey and tells reader not to cover it up

Marks (nsfw)

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: you’re Sam’s secret, it’s not your choice but you’ll deal. until Sam realizes being her secret means there’s nothing holding others back from chasing you.

Warnings: (18+) MDNI smut, breath play.

notes: i love jealous Sam. also let’s act like they aren’t attacked by ghostface after the party for the sake of this imagine. this might be kind of mid cause i’m not that used to writing smut yet but i hope you still enjoyed it:)

(not proofread)

(word count: 3433)

this was never part of the plan. being in a secret relationship was never really your choice. you felt like her dirty secret but you loved her so you couldn’t find it in you to say no. she had to told you she didn’t want others to know the second things began getting serious. you understood why, her ex boyfriend turned out to be a psychotic freak who wanted to kill her and her sister because she was the daughter of a famous serial killer.

you were Chads friend in high school, he was on the football team and you were a cheerleader so it was easy to be mixed in with the same people. he was nice in your opinion, you found it funny that his name was literally Chad but he was always nice. thus started the friendship between you two and you slowly became part of their friend circle, you were a year older than them but even after you graduated you stuck around. you wanted to take a gap year between high school and college to figure out what you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

that meant you were there when the ghostface situation happened. that when you met Sam, you instantly thought she was beautiful. you’d heard stories about her from Chad and Tara but never in depth, it was a sensitive topic for the young Carpenter girl.

you had even been there when they were all attacked. you didn’t want to go to the party at first, it felt insensitive but Chad and Mindy had told you it’s what Wes would’ve wanted to you decided why not.

you regretted that pretty quickly.

you’d been stabbed twice, once in the stomach and the other in the back when you had been trying to attack Amber. it was shortly after that you and Sam began getting closer. she had thanked you for staying and not running when you had the chance.

unlike Chad and Mindy, she didn’t see you as her little sisters friend, she hadn’t seen you grow up and she had just met you so she didn’t feel guilty to think you were rather attractive. being in cheer since you were a kid helped your body become more toned and Sam found no shame in checking you out whenever you were alone. she knew you had a crush on her, you weren’t exactly subtle, not that you even wanted to be. you were never the type to hide your feelings. it was on a random Friday night that those feelings really came to light, you had called her to come over so you could tell her how you really felt. one thing led to another and you hooked up. that continued up until you moved to New York when she finally asked you to be her girlfriend.

you always thought she wanted to keep it a secret for various reasons. one, you were Tara’s friend and four years younger than her. secondly, she wasn’t ready to have an open relationship after the shitty one she had before. so you accepted what you got and moved on.

once you all moved to New York you decided to go to college like the other three teens. at first you were going to room with a girl who was in a band meaning she would be up late practicing or writing music which was horrid. Tara had been the one to offer you to move in, you immediately turned to Sam but she quickly said it was a good idea. you’d be helping with the rent so she used that as her excuse. they only had three rooms and Quinn already lived with them so you slept in the living room (of course you’d sneak into Sam’s room once everyone was asleep and sneak back out in the morning) until you got enough money to get your own apartment. Mindy had said she’d be willing to move in with you during her sophomore year and you figured a couple more months of an uncomfortable couch couldn’t hurt. besides, sometimes Tara would offer her room as well.

loud music blasted around the house as young adults were talking to one another in small groups. you were talking to a girl who was getting a little too flirty in your opinion. you didn’t want to be there, you wanted to be with Sam out on a dinner date or at the movies - really anything as long as it was with her and you were out of her small room. but she had therapy so when Tara invited you to go out you didn’t have any excuse to say no.

you were dressed in one of your old cheer uniforms. it was basic but you didn’t care much for the party and you weren’t going to go out to buy a costume.

you listened to the brunette beside you talk about her high school years. truly you weren’t actively listening but you didn’t want to be rude by shutting her out or walking away. the brunette was cute, sure, but she wasn’t Sam Carpenter and you weren’t interested. she didn’t seem to be taking the hint though.

Mindy and Anika stood from their spot on the couch as they saw Tara about to walk away with some frat guy up to his room. you tried to move away from the brunette but she was still talking and you figured Mindy would be getting Chad which meant they did not need your help. you tried to seem like you were listening up until Chad approached you guys and aimed for the stairs where Tara was about to leave with the guy she met.

“hey partner” you heard Chad say. “Tara’s good down here”

you saw the douche glance at Tara and take a step down, “i’m sorry what? i didn’t catch that”

Chad chuckled, “uh, yeah. you did”

“Chad” Tara said quickly and walked down the steps until she’s up close to him, “it’s fine. i want to”

the dark haired boy mimicked Tara, “see Chad? she wants to” he said and turned grabbing Tara’s arm roughly to drag her up the stairs “come on”

“get your fucking hands off her” Chad was quick to grab the asshole and drop him down the steps making him bump into a stranger.

you quickly pulled away from the girl and walked up to Mindy as Chad and whatever his name is, began to shove each other roughly.

suddenly your girlfriend appears making them both stop to look at her. “guys. i’m sorry to interrupt i’m just gonna tase you in the balls real quick” you gasped in both surprise and awe. “don’t ever lay hands on my sister”

god she was hot.

you were finally standing near them and heard the asshole on the floor curse at Sam making you roll your eyes. what wasn’t so amusing though was Taras voice earning everyone’s attention, “Sam. are you fucking kidding me? you’re stalking me now” the younger Carpenter said and stormed off.

you sighed and watched your girlfriend look at her sister worriedly. you were so busy trying to make sure Sam was okay you didn’t realize the girl that had been latched into you the this whole time walk up to you with a flirt smile. shit.

“so,” she said flipping her hair to one side, “can i maybe get your number?” she asked with a smile that probably would’ve worked on you if you weren���t completely enamored with someone already.

you cleared your throat now noticing Mindy and Anika looking at you in slight confusion. you just hadn’t realized Sam was watching the whole interaction as well. “im sorry,” you said with an apologetic smile, “if i gave you the wrong signals but im not looking for anything right now”

the brunette didn’t seem offended or she didn’t show it and simply smiled before taking her leave. you felt a sense of relief wash over you, you weren’t sure what you would’ve done if she didn’t take your rejection so lightly.

your thoughts were cut off by a voice, “holy shit. it’s that psycho girl” a random guy said making you glance at Sam, there were people with their phones out recording everything causing the girl to shake her head and walk away. you, Mindy and Anika immediately followed.

you weren’t sure if Sam saw someone ask for your number so you made yourself invisible throughout the whole walk to the apartment. you didn’t say anything when Tara blew up on her and you tried to hold yourself back when some bitch threw their drink on Sam.

when you guys got back to the apartment the door of Sams rooms slammed shut with the girl on the other side. you sighed softly as Quinn got out of her room with a questioning look but as soon as she saw everyone’s face she knew what had happened. you saw Tara quickly follow her sisters actions minus the door slamming.

you took your time before going to Sam’s room, waiting until everyone was doing their own thing and finally opening the door and closing it behind you. there the raven haired girl was, an obvious pissed off look on her face as she sat on her bed looking into space. you sighed softly and approached her.

“im sorry” you said although your not sure why. you couldn’t help that another person was flirting with you, although you were sorry that people were shitty and there was nothing you could do about it.

Sam doesn’t respond making you frown, you knew this was all extremely upsetting. you couldn’t imagine being in her position, already having to suffer something so traumatic and then having to hear people say that it was all her fault and she was the real murderer. instead of saying anything else you sit on the bed beside your girlfriend and wrap your arms around her. she stiffens at first but slowly relaxes into your touch, her own arms wrapping around your waist.

“i love you” the words leave your lips like a breath of fresh air.

“i love you too” Sam responded in a slight murmur, her lips pressed against your neck. a smile appeared on your lips at the feeling. you expected the moment to be short and sweet but instead you began to feel her press open mouthed kisses from her shoulder up to her neck.

a breathy whimper escape you, “Sam” you said and tangled your hands in her hair, “everyone’s outside. they might hear” you said in a hushed tone and glanced at the closed door.

but the older girls lips didn’t leave your skin and slowly her kisses began to grow sloppier and rougher, her lips nipping and sucking at your skin which your sure will leave a mark.

“fuck Sam. i’m serious, we said no hickeys” you said trying to push the girl off of you.

“why? are you trying to hide the fact that your mine?” she said in a low tone. you could tell she was still pissed.

you rolled your eyes, “seriously? your the one who wants to keep us a secret”

Sam raised her head from your neck, “maybe it’s time we change that” she said and brought her lips down onto yours in a rough kiss. her action was swift and quick not giving you the chance to even think about her words.

her hands roamed your body until they were on your thighs where she began to squeeze roughly. the feeling of her lips alone were enough to turn you on. her lips were rough and hungry, her tongue invading your mouth without giving you a chance to return the intensity of it.

you wanted more, needed to feel her hands on you in more ways than just one so you moved your body to straddle her but she quickly stopped you. “no” she said and pulled away completely. “stand up” she demanded.

you were slightly confused at first but the look on her face made you hold back any questions as you followed her orders. soon you felt her warm body pressed against your back. you understood pretty quickly why she wanted you like this as you stared at your own reflection. there was a body length mirror in front of you.

“you look so pretty in this” she whispered softly into your shoulder as she pressed small kisses on it. even though her words were sweet you knew that wouldn’t last long.

her hands moved up your body and under your shirt to cup your breasts, she squeezed them roughly making your legs press together. you just needed her to fuck you. it seemed as if she had read your mind as her right hand left your shirt and moved down your body until she reached your skirt. her hand maneuvered under your skirt making you shiver. she grabbed your panties and roughly pulled them down your legs surely leaving a mark on your thighs by the roughness of her touch.

“why are you so wet baby?” she whispered as she began to rub your clit with two fingers. a soft moan left your lips making you bite your lip quickly after, you didn’t want anyone else in the apartment to know what you were doing. “did that bitch turn you on? huh?” she asked aggressively and both her hand on your chest as well as the one rubbing you matched her tone.

you shook your head to the best of your ability, “no, no baby.” Sam chuckled darkly.

“who makes you this wet?”

“you. always you” that seemed to please her and she slowly entered you with two fingers instantly making you moan louder than you should have. you right hand slapped against your mouth to contain your moans but that seemed to piss Sam off even more.

she slapped your arm making it fall beside you again. her pace was rough and fast and your knees were beginning to give in but you tried your best to stand upright. the pleasure was so intense your eyes were closed but every so often you would blink them open and see your girlfriend leaving hickeys on your neck with one hand in your shirt twisting your nipples and the other up your skirt. it only made you wetter and the allude sounds echoing throughout the room was proof of that.

“baby fuck” you whimpered and tangled your hand in the girls hair as you pressed her into your neck, this felt too good for her to stop.

“you like that?” she whispered and added another finger. you nodded quickly.

“yeah”

“cause your all mine baby. only i can make you feel this way. not that bitch at the party. me” you frantically nodded your head at every word that left her lips.

“only yours baby. only you make me feel this good” your answer pleased her even more as she began to curl her fingers inside of you making you see stars. the feeling was too intense and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

“such a pretty little slut” she whispered and softly bit your shoulder. tears were beginning to form in your eyes by the intensity of it and by how hard you were trying to keep yourself standing.

“please don’t stop” you whimpered desperately making Sam chuckle. her hand left your shirt and trailed your chest until she reached your neck. an excitement began to build in your chest at the anticipation of what was coming next. her hand squeezed your neck making you open your eyes.

your cheeks were flushed, your forehead glistening with sweat and the veins on Sams hand were beginning to show as she choked you.

“that’s it. open your eyes, watch how pathetic you look when i fuck you” your face was hot from both the humiliating words leaving your girlfriends lips as well as the sensation of your oxygen being controlled. she had complete and utter control of you then and there, her hand only letting a small amount of oxygen inside of your lungs every couple of seconds before she squeezed even more. you were beginning to grow lightheaded. you wouldn’t be surprised if she left a hand print on your neck from the aggressiveness.

it was too much for you. “i’m gonna cum” you choked out to the best of your ability.

Sam shook her head, “tell me who owns you”

you moaned and threw you head back onto her shoulder as her thumb began to circle your clit slowly. she was making this incredibly hard. you weren’t sure if you could stop yourself from letting go.

“you. you own me. i’m yours and only yours” you quickly said a lot clearer than you had before considering she’d loosen her grip.

Sam had a pleased smile on her lips at your response, “come for me baby” she finally said making your body unravel at once. your hand slapped against Sams arm and you squeezed tightly as the other pulled at her hair. your legs began to shake and Sam tried to hold you up with her body.

her name was thrown out into the room breathily and your eyes squeezed shut. her fingers continued to pump inside you slowly as she helped you come down from your high.

her hand competent left your neck and she wrapped it around your waist to keep you standing. once you felt like you had riches the ground again you began to whimper as Sams fingers were still inside of you.

“sensitive” you whispered and she quickly pulled out of you. slowly she helped you walk backwards until you reached the bed. she sat down and shortly after she pulled your front toward her and down onto her lap.

you were blissed out as you laid your head on her shoulder.

“i love you beautiful” she said gently and rubbed small circles on your back. even with the state you were in, a small smile formed on your lips at her words. she was always so sweet to you.

“i love you too” you murdered.

“are you okay? did i hurt you?” she asked pushing your body softly so you’d look at her and you pushed your head up so you were making eyes contact with her.

“im okay. i promise” you guys stayed like that for a little while, just basking in each others presence.

until you couldn’t stop yourself from bringing up the elephant in the room. “you reek like Cherry coke” you admitted with a soft smile.

Sam laughed as you pulled away to look at her once more, “you don’t like it?” she raised a brow teasingly.

“absolutely not” you laughed. “come on. shower. i don’t want you smelling like coke when we’re sleeping”

she chuckled softly and patted your thigh to signal you to stand. you did so with slightly shaky legs but your girlfriend was quick to place her hands on your waist to level you.

once you told her you’d be okay she pulled away and went to her dresser to get clothes.

you fixed your appearance a bit as well, you’d make the offer to shower with her but you’re sure everyone else was still in the apartment and you needed to leave Sams room before it got suspicious.

you turned your body to look in the mirror, your intention was to fix your hair and makeup but instead your eyes were focused on the huge mark on your neck.

“Sam, what the fuck” you whisper yelled and flipped your hair to the side of your neck as you turned toward her. she looked at you questioningly until she realized what you meant. she smiled.

“what? it’s about time people know your mine” she shrugged as if it’s no big deal.

“that’s great babe. really. but you didn’t have to give me five fucking hickeys the size of my neck in the progress!” you exclaimed.

Sam chuckled with a slight shrug. “they’re cute” she said simply and walked into her bathroom.

she’d be the death of you. you’re sure of it.

turns out all you needed was a little jealousy for her to tell everyone about you. as soon you walked out everyone noticed the hickeys on your neck and when they asked what the hell happened, Sam simply pecked your lips and sat on the couch as if it were no big deal.

[heeliopheelia]

"you know i'm always there for you, right?" (jay x reader)

genre: comfort fic word count: 0.6k requested by @i-am-confused-about-life ♡

a/n: i'm so down bad for him it's not even funny anymore... also, i hope you guys don't mind another comfort fic bcs i still have one more in the storage!!

masterlist

At the verge of tears, you shut the door behind you and toe off your shoes. The moment that your gaze lands on your boyfriend who's way too absorbed in some tv show to notice you coming back from work, you let out a relieved sigh. That's enough to break his focus and he turs his head towards your silhouette entering the living room.

"Oh, hey, honey," he greets you, his attention now entirely directed at your pitiful pout. "I haven't heard you come in."

Instead of replying, you drop down on his lap, body instantly curling into his familiar frame, seeking for comfort. Without any questions needed, Jay wraps his arms around you and envelops you with his body warmth. The tears that have been constantly pushing at the back of your eyes for the most of the day finally make their way out, immediately making you feel lighter even with the salty streams running down your cheeks. You close your eyes with a sigh and nuzzle your face into his neck.

The broken sound of your sobs unintentionally breaks Jay's heart in two and he tightens his hold on you. With his hand on the back of your head, he presses your face into his chest until your almost unable to breathe, and yet the gesture brings you all the comfort that you need.

"Do you need anything, princess?" Jay asks quietly when your breathing eventually evens out, rubbing his hands on your back gently.

You shake your head. "No, just you."

Jay hums, leaving a kiss on the side of your head.

"You know I'm always there for you, right? You don't have to talk about it, I just want you to know that."

You nod your head, sniffling as you tighten your arms around his neck. For the entire day you couldn't wait to see him, knowing he's going to understand you like no one else. He's never pushy with asking for any explanations or reasons for your occasional mood drops and yet knows the best way to bring comfort to your heart. Within couple minutes he can shush out all of the anxiety or sadness you've been stuck with for hours, which is just why you love coming back home to his warm arms so much.

You pull away slightly, not too far away, only to look at him with a wobbly smile. Jay's heart squeezes tightly as he notices how your usually so bright eyes now twinkle with sadness, so he lowers his head and brushes his nose against yours gently, using his thumb to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. You close your eyes almost instantly, leaning into his warm hand and letting him caress your skin before he leans in and closes the gap between your lips.

"I love you," you whisper in between the kisses, slightly lightheaded yet never wanting to part with him.

Jay draws out a long kiss on your lips, letting it be slow and deep and just enough to try his best at pouring all of his affection and care on you. And he succeeds at it as you clench your eyes tighter, allowing all of his raw love for you soak you to the bones. You bask in it, all of your walls crumbling down as a pair of his plush lips meets the tip of your nose with a butterfly touch.

"I love you too, angel. So much it's pathetic, really." You let out a small giggle at his words, watching softly as Jay's eyes instantly light up at the sound. With his hands caressing your sides, he presses another kiss to your jawline and grins happily as a smile finally makes its way on your lips. "There's my pretty girl."

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi

[tilebytiles]

infallible beliefs - a.t. (part 1)

summary: as it turns out, professors are actually capable of feeling things, and alex feels more things for you than he’d like to. word count: 7.8k warnings: age gap (reader is 21 and alex is 30), mentions of violence, abuse (physical, emotional and financial) a/n: the reason he's 30 is bc i personally didn't feel comfortable writing an age gap bigger than that ! lets all just use our imaginations and pretend that the looks are there </3

you liked to consider yourself the kind of person that had everything together. to some degree, you thought you did — you went to school and kept your grades up, you had a part-time job at a local pet store that you loved, and you shared a lovely flat with your boyfriend of three years. by all appearances, you had your life together. but that was the exact issue, wasn’t it? what good were appearances supposed to be when you constantly felt like you were on the brink of falling apart?

coffee in hand, you rushed into the english building and made a beeline for your british literature professor’s classroom. due to the smaller size of your class, it was never in one of the lecture halls, meaning lessons always felt more intimate. you knew everyone’s names — you couldn’t say the same for the astronomy class you’d taken during your first year, or the nutrition class you were taking this term in an effort to chip away at your electives. you were normally one of the more participatory students, asking questions and answering any your professor posed to the class. your love for literature ran deep, hence why you intended on getting your degree in english. it was easy for you to be invested in the lessons.

“good morning, ms. l/n,” your professor called from the desk at the front. he was doing something on his laptop, presumably trying to get the slides for today pulled up.

you smiled softly at him. “good morning, mr. turner.” you walked to your usual seat and set your bag down on the floor, settling down into the chair. your coffee felt like it would run cold soon if you didn’t finish it.

you were in your third year of university — in the middle of the spring term — and mr. turner was the nicest professor you’d ever met. you’d taken one of his classes before, and when the term had ended, you were half-tempted to sign up for every class he was offering. would half of them even fit into your schedule? no. did you really care? also no. there was something about him that made his class actually enjoyable; maybe it was the way he spoke — soft yet sure, polite even when he was being forced to listen to the stupidest thing he’d ever heard — or the way he presented material, like he was genuinely interested in it and he wanted you to be, too. whatever it was, you were utterly captivated.

the clock struck 10am, and mr. turner shut the door to the room before turning to the class. “good morning, everyone. today, i thought we could discuss charlotte brönte and the impact of her writing, most notably jane eyre.”

rent was due soon. you needed to remind john to pay it. speaking of john, he’d told you to ask for a raise at the pet store, but you really didn’t think you needed it. your current wage was enough, wasn’t it? plus, you didn’t want to come off as money-hungry by demanding more pay out of nowhere. was he concerned about money? you knew the two of you had enough. you took a sip from your coffee and tried not to make a face; it was lukewarm. in your eyes, coffee either had to be piping hot or freezing cold to be enjoyed. you preferred iced coffee; the risk of frying your taste buds prevented you from chugging hot coffee as soon as you got it, so you tended to opt for iced instead. you were suddenly glad you didn’t try to get john coffee; he would be as displeased by the temperature as you were. he only liked hot coffee. would you see him for lunch? if you did, you could remind him about rent then. you hoped he wouldn’t want to go back to your flat to eat.

“ms. l/n?”

the sound of mr. turner’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up at him. “i’m sorry?”

his expression didn’t change, but you could have sworn you noticed a subtle shift in his eyes. “i asked what you thought of the feminism in jane eyre.”

“oh, uh …” silence filled the classroom, the kind that was all-consuming and threatened to swallow you, your classmates and your professor whole. there was a metallic thunk as someone near the back set their water bottle down. you looked down at your notes, as if they’d save you, but you’d written a whole of three sentences before clocking out. speaking of clocks, what time was it? how long had you been deep in your own thoughts?

you finally acted as your own saviour and managed a meek, “i think it’s a product of its time.”

mr. turner’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly, and he nodded slowly. you were waiting for him to point out your spacing out to the rest of the class, but he said nothing of the sort. all he said was, “that could be argued, yes. brönte didn’t write jane as a hyper-feminist that smashed all stereotypes and expectations of women in the 1800s. in fact, many have argued that jane eyre has no true feminism due to jane’s submission to gender roles by the end of the novel …”

the rest of the lesson went by in as much of a blur as the first half did, except now you were actually trying to pay attention. eventually, mr. turner dismissed all of you, and the room was filled with bags unzipping and the clacking of pencils and pens being picked up off desks. you got your things together and stood from your seat, preparing to head out (and throw out your disgustingly cold coffee on the way). you were stopped, however, by the sound of your professor’s voice as he said, “ms. l/n, could I have a word with you, please?”

you made a quick trip to the bin beside the door and tossed out your coffee cup, then circled back around and stepped towards the desk at the front of the room. mr. turner had looked down for just a moment, marking something on a sheet of paper, but as you grew closer, he looked up, offering you a small smile. it did nothing to calm your nerves. gulping slightly, you said, “you wanted to speak to me?”

“yes. it’s about your …” he looked off to the side as he searched for the right word. “… inattentiveness in class recently.”

the alarm bells sounded in your head, and your brain was a breath away from sending a signal to your legs to get you the fuck out of there. sensing your impending panic, he quickly added, “you’re not in trouble, i promise.”

your brain halted. “oh. i’m not?”

“no. believe me, you’re not the first student i’ve had zone out during my lessons.” he waved his hand dismissively as he spoke, as if trying to shoo away your worries. “however, it is strange coming from you. you’re normally a very active participant, but recently, you’ve hardly spoken. i just wanted to know if something was going on.”

you didn’t know if you were relieved or even more scared. “no, i’m fine,” you replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i guess i’ve just had a lot on my mind, is all.”

“well, you can always talk to me if you just need somewhere to dump your thoughts. you’re one of my best students, and i wouldn’t want to see you fail.” he smiled again, and you managed a small smile in return. you appreciated his offer, although you weren’t sure if you’d be using it anytime soon. you didn’t want to burden him in any way.

you hadn’t noticed the way his gaze latched onto your wrist. at least, not until his brows furrowed. he raised his hand, but didn’t touch your wrist, just gestured to it. “where did that come from?”

you looked at your wrist, equally as confused as he was, and saw the small bruise that had formed just below where the bone protruded. the alarm bells started back up, and your brain began drafting up that signal for your legs. “oh.” you gulped. “it’s nothing. i just bumped into a table in my flat.”

his eyes narrowed, and his hand dropped back to his side. “are you sure that’s all it is?”

“i’m fine, mr. turner,” you said quickly, already turning around to leave. “i appreciate the concern, really, but i’m just clumsy. i have to go now.” you beelined for the door. “see you on friday!”

“… right. have a good day, ms. l/n.”

it took everything in you to not run down the hall and slam through the doors. you forced yourself to keep your pace at a brisk walk, gently pushing the doors open once you reached them. you spotted john’s car in the nearby parking lot with relative ease and headed towards it, cursing yourself internally for the shitty excuse you’d made for mr. turner. bumping into a table? really?

as you slipped into the passenger seat and settled your bag into your lap, john leaned over the console and kissed your cheek. “how’d your class go?”

“it went okay.”

you secured your seatbelt, and john reached over, gently grabbing your wrist. he turned it over, examining the bloom of purple by the bone. “why didn’t you try to cover this up with makeup?”

“i was in a rush this morning. i didn’t think to.”

his grip tightened, his fingers digging into the bruise and making you wince. “no one saw it, did they?”

“no.” you didn’t dare mention your professor’s questioning.

“good.” he released your wrist, then put the car in reverse and looked up at the rearview mirror as he began backing out of the parking spot.

the car ride was silent as john drove the two of you to wherever he planned to take you for lunch (not your flat — you’d already passed the street he would normally turn onto). you were content to stare blankly out the window the whole time, but he had other ideas. “you know i love you, right?”

you looked over at him, a little surprised. “yeah,” you said quietly. “i know.”

“i would never intentionally try to hurt you like that, baby. last night was just …” he sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “i was just frustrated, that’s all.”

the frustration in question arose when you had asked if you could buy the starry night lego set. van gogh was one of your favourite artists, and you’d been dying to get the set since it had first released. when you told him what the price was, though, john was practically seeing red. the bruise did come from a table, but it was less because you’d bumped into it and more because he had shoved you and sent you crashing down against it. you had apologised and promised to never bring the set up again.

“i love you, y/n,” he said, dragging you out of your thoughts and back into the car.

“i know,” you repeated. you couldn’t remember the last time you had said you loved him.

the car eventually came to a stop, and you looked up, spotting the café he had brought you to. the two of you had eaten there a few times before; you quite enjoyed the food, although john wasn’t very fond of coming because he was convinced the male waiter stared at you. the last time you were here, you’d made a point of checking for stares, and every time you looked, the waiter’s eyes were nowhere near catching yours. you kept that to yourself, though, not wanting to have a shouting match with your boyfriend in the middle of lunch.

as you both headed for the door, you wondered if this was his way of trying to make amends. you knew it would take a lot more than a lunch date for you to forgive him, but you at least appreciated his efforts; it was better than him doing nothing at all, right? his fingers were stiff between yours as he held your hand just a bit too tight to be comfortable, guiding you through the café as the employee behind the counter led you to an open table. you sat down across each other, and the employee informed you your waitress would be with you in a couple of minutes before disappearing, presumably to return to her post. you picked up one of the menus and opened it up, quickly scanning the options available to you.

sure enough, your waitress came just a couple of minutes later, notepad in hand. “hey, friends,” she said with a warm smile. you liked her already. “my name is alina, and i’ll be your waitress. what can i get you guys to drink?”

“can i have a margarita, please?” john asked, looking up from his menu.

alina nodded and quickly jotted it down before looking to you. you did your best to return her smile and said, “just water, please.”

“alright, a margarita and some water. i’ll be back with those drinks as quick as i can, and then we’ll get going on food, okay?”

“thank you,” you said, watching as she departed from your table. you eventually looked back over at john, doing your best to mask your mild disapproval. “are you sure you should be drinking this early in the day?”

he scoffed. “y/n, i can hold my alcohol. i’ll be fine.”

“but you’re driving —”

“i’ll be fine,” he repeated, his voice growing cold. you nodded and looked back down at the menu, pretending to suddenly be interested in the café’s sandwich selection.

eventually, alina returned with john’s margarita and your water and set both drinks down on the table before getting her notepad back out. “what can i get you guys today?”

“i’ll have the salmon benedict with a side of chips, please,” john said, looking down at his menu before looking up at alina.

she nodded and wrote down his order before turning to you. “and for you?”

“she’ll have the caesar salad.”

she looked back at john, slightly surprised, but nodded and wrote it down anyway. “will that be all for you two?”

“yup.”

“alright, i’ll get this to the kitchen.” she smiled at the two of you and collected your menus before departing once more.

john reached over the table and lightly tapped your nose. “hey. what’s wrong?”

“hm?” you looked up at him. “nothing.”

“you could try to look happier, you know.” you sighed through your nose and forced your best smile. he rolled his eyes. “not like that.”

“i’m not unhappy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“could’ve fooled me. you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” you kind of would, but you didn’t tell him that. “you haven’t even thanked me for bringing you here when you know i hate coming here.”

“thank you, john.”

“for?”

the image of you dumping his margarita right into his lap flashed through your mind, but you quickly shooed it away. “thank you for bringing me here even though you don’t like being here.”

he nodded, as if to say your thanks was satisfactory enough. “you’re welcome, y/n.”

you were beginning to wonder how much longer you could do this for.

•••••

“alexa, i could’ve come here on me own.”

“you could’ve, but i wanted to come with you. you can shop for your cat, and i can shower the animals in attention.”

alex sighed and pulled the door to the pet store open, allowing alexa to step through first before following her inside. it was the middle of the week and just shy of turning to 6pm, so there weren’t many other customers inside. he kept running through the list he’d made in his head, not wanting to forget anything, and headed for one of the aisles while alexa flagged down an employee to ask about petting the puppies.

he hadn’t intended to become a cat owner, but during an outing (with alexa, funnily enough), he’d come across a stray black kitten shivering to death in a cardboard box. the sight of its small, furry form teetering between life and death was too much to bear, and it’d taken hardly any convincing on alexa’s part before he was picking up the cardboard box and carrying it back to his car. they’d immediately gone to the vet and had the cat taken care of, and it turned out to be a male. alex named it herbert.

that was a couple of weeks ago. although herbert had the basics — food, a collar (for when he was actually big enough to fit in it), a bed (that he didn’t really use because he always slept with alex) — he didn’t have much in the way of entertainment. alex wasn’t sure which toys he’d like the most — which toys any cat would like the most, actually. he wasn’t used to taking care of animals.

he slowed to a stop in front of a shelf full of cat toys and bent down to grab a small plush mouse. he turned it over and over in his hand, trying to decide if herbert would like it. it was a mouse, and cats were obsessed with mice, weren’t they? if the wild misadventures of tom & jerry had taught him anything …

“mr. turner?”

he looked up at the sound of his name and locked eyes with one of the employees over the shelf. “ms. l/n,” he said, blinking a couple of times in surprise. “i didn’t realise you worked here.”

you smiled at him, perhaps a little shyly, and he instantly recognised it as the kind of smile you donned in class whenever you were invested in the topic at hand. for a brief second, he questioned why he even remembered what that smile of yours looked like, but he tried not to dwell on that for too long. “i’ve worked here for a little over a year now,” you told him, dragging him back out of his own head. “it’s a nice excuse to deal with animals all the time.”

you liked animals, then. he made a mental note of that, although he wasn’t sure why. “that’s entirely reasonable,” he replied, managing a small smile that mirrored your own. “i became a literature professor because … well, i love literature.”

you laughed at that, a small, soft laugh that bordered on a giggle. “i don’t imagine you’d become a literature professor because you love science.”

he chuckled. “no, certainly not. science was never really my thing, anyway.”

“what are you doing here, anyway?”

“ah, i needed to pick up some things for herbert.” when you stared at him in confusion, he realised his error. “my cat, i mean. i wanted to get some toys for him, but, er, i don’t really know what cats like.” he held up the little mouse toy in his hand for emphasis, and your confusion quickly morphed into understanding.

he watched as you walked around the shelves and made your way to the aisle he was on, coming to stand beside him in front of the row of cat toys. “do you know how old he is?”

“uh, not even a year, i don’t think. he’s a tiny little thing.”

you nodded slowly and seemed to think on it before reaching out to grab a toy that perfectly resembled a fishing rod. it was one of those sticks with the line of string at the end and something attached to the string, but the something in question was a little stuffed fish. clever marketing, really. “kittens tend to be more energetic, so he’ll probably get a kick out of something like this.”

you held it out to him, and he took it from you. “thank you, ms. l/n.”

“oh, you don’t have to call me that,” you said quickly. “you can just call me y/n.”

his brows raised a little, although he didn’t object. he knew your first name, of course — he knew all his students’ first names — but he always opted to refer to everyone by their last name, seeing it as the polite thing to do. calling a student by their first name felt … foreign, admittedly. if you wanted him to, though … “right,” he said, smiling faintly. “thank you, y/n.”

you returned his smile, and he hated the faint flutter he felt in his chest at the sight. “of course, mr. turner.”

silence settled between the two of you, although it wasn’t necessarily awkward. a question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. he wasn’t sure if it was even his place to ask (it probably wasn’t). still, before he could catch himself, the words tumbled from his mouth. "are you ... doing any better?" he had half a mind to run out of the store and quit his job.

the way you were staring at him wasn't helping.

"oh, um ... yeah," you said, your voice quieter than it'd been before. "i mean, it healed." you held your wrist up, and his gaze dropped to the smooth skin beneath your wrist bone. sure enough, the purple blemish that had been there before was gone. a part of him was relieved, but another itched to know why you'd even had a bruise in the first place.

"that's good," he murmured, his gaze flickering back up to meet yours. "y/n ..." he paused, then sighed. it really wasn't his place to ask, but — "iff you're alright with me asking, where had that bruise really come from?"

he watched as your own gaze fell upon your wrist. you slowly turned it over, as if you were expecting to find some new mark you would need another half-assed excuse for. nothing was there, though. you eventually opened your mouth, a syllable of a word escaping your throat, and he was immediately bracing himself for the answer — one he knew he wouldn't like — but you never got to tell him. at the same time you began to speak, alexa came over, nudging her shoulder against his. "did you find anything?"

he jumped slightly at the sudden contact and looked over at her, blinking once or twice. "oh, er ... yeah. she helped me." he gestured to you, making alexa glance over at you. "she's one of my students," he added.

alexa smiled at you and held her hand out for you to shake. you did so and offered her a small smile. "pleasure to meet you. i'm ms. chung in the design department, but you can just call me alexa. i don't think i've seen you around campus before."

"i'm y/n," you told her. "i'm going into literature, so that's probably why we haven't crossed paths."

"alex didn't have to bully you into that, did he?"

you laughed and shook your head. "not at all. i'd already decided a while ago what i wanted to study. he's been a wonderful professor, though."

you thought he was wonderful?

it was stupid, and he felt like a teenager again, his head partway in the clouds and partway stuck to reality as he bought the cat toys and some extra food for herbert. stupid and reckless, that's what it was. you were his student, and as far as he knew, you were that nice to everyone. you considering him a wonderful professor didn't mean a damn thing, and it was insane of him to think it did — no, scratch that, to want it to mean something.

those feelings of his weren't entirely out of the blue; he'd just gotten good at ignoring them and maintaining a professional boundary between the two of you. even if it wasn't illegal — you were 21, and he 30 — it was morally reprehensible and went against everything he stood for. sometimes, though, he still found himself staring at you for just a second too long, and sometimes your enthusiasm in his class made his heart skip one too many beats. throughout the term, he had done his best to never cross the line he'd personally drawn, but when he'd seen the bruise on your wrist ... it was difficult to deny the feelings it stirred up within him. he didn't like the worry he felt seeing it, and he didn't like the cloud of concern that followed him for the rest of the day as your shitty excuse and your forced smile played on repeat in his head.

"earth to turner."

alexa waved her hand in front of his face as they walked down the sidewalk together, heading back to his car so he could deposit the bag of goods for herbert inside. he blinked in surprise and looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "what?"

"you're thinking awful hard over there."

"i've just — got a lot on me mind, is all," he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

her eyes narrowed, but she didn't press him for answers. she just shrugged and sighed, redirecting her gaze to the world in front of them. "whatever you say, al." He knew she could see right through him, although he was silently grateful she didn't say anything else; frankly, he wasn't sure he even had any answers for her.

what were you doing to him?

•••••

you weren’t fond of bars. you didn’t mind alcohol — although you usually kept your drinking restricted to special occasions — but having to deal with other drunk patrons wasn’t the greatest way to spend your time, you thought. having to deal with your drunk boyfriend wasn’t great, either.

you weren’t fond of bars, but when john wanted to go to one, you weren’t really in a position to say no.

although your boyfriend seemed to go all-out every time the two of you left your flat, you couldn’t be bothered. you pulled on a white skirt that went down to your knees and a grey jumper than had some american university you were unfamiliar with printed on it (you had gotten the jumper from a charity shop, if you were remembering correctly). despite it being spring, days were still cold in london, and the nights weren’t any better. plus, you preferred to show as little skin as possible, especially if you had to be around drunk men.

you stuffed your phone, wallet and keys into your bag and double-checked that you had everything before zipping the bag shut and slipping the strap over your shoulder. john finally re-emerged from the bathroom and ran a hand through his hair, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you. “that’s what you’re wearing?”

“i don’t see an issue with it,” you said. your voice was a bit curt, showing that you weren’t in the mood to deal with his persnickety bullshit, and he seemed to get the message. instead of responding verbally (starting an argument), he just nodded and grabbed his keys.

fifteen minutes later, after an uncomfortably silent car ride, you found yourself sat beside john in one of the booths at the back of the bar, nodding absentmindedly and giving false hums in an effort to make yourself seem like you were paying attention to whatever it was he was rambling about. you were only really picking up bits and pieces — his older brother was disappointed in him, he was convinced his parents didn’t love him even though you knew from firsthand experience that they very much did, all things you’d heard before. it wasn’t that you didn’t care; to a degree, you did sympathise with him. but it was only to a degree.

as he drunkenly babbled on in your ear, you glanced around the dimly lit bar, your eyes scanning dozens of faces you didn’t recognise. you could pick out a couple — students you’d seen around campus before — but the rest came together to form a sea of unfamiliarity in front of you. you sipped from your glass, wincing as the alcohol carved a burning trail down your throat. the bar you were in had live music on the weekends, and tonight, the performer was someone you hadn’t caught the name of. he had a shaved head, wore what appeared to be a leather vest with nothing underneath and a pair of black skinny jeans, and his eye makeup was leagues better than anything you could pull off. he seemed cool, and you liked the sound of his voice. you made a mental note to figure out who he was before you went home with john.

“i have to use the restroom,” you said suddenly, standing up from your seat and cutting john’s sentence short. you looked down at him. “i'll be right back.”

his brows furrowed, and he grabbed your wrist. “i'll go with you.”

“i’ll be fine, i promise. just wait here.” you pried his hand off (due to his inebriated state, he wasn’t gripping you very hard) and slipped out of the booth, heading straight for the bathroom. you kept your head down, doing your best to avoid eye contact with anyone.

the music was muffled and, admittedly, a little less headache-inducing in the bathroom. you stood in front of the row of sinks and sighed, rubbing at your face with your hands. you examined your reflection in the mirror, immediately noting the dark circles under your eyes and the almost gaunt appearance of your cheeks. had you lost weight recently? you hadn’t noticed. you’d been too busy with everything else …

“fuck you!” a shrill voice screamed, bounding into the bathroom as the heavy door swung shut behind the owner. you jumped at the sound and turned your head, watching as a girl stomped behind you, stopping in front of the sink beside you. she was huffing, her chest heaving, and for a second, you swore you saw steam pouring out of her ears.

it wasn’t really your place to get involved, but she looked like she was a breath away from blowing the building up. slowly, you asked, “are you alright?”

she slammed her bag down onto the countertop — that, too, made you jump — and began rummaging through it, pulling different things out. ah, she was fixing her makeup. “my stupid fucking boyfriend started chattin’ with some other girl and thought i wouldn’t fucking notice,” she said, opening up a pack of makeup wipes. “it’s not even the first time he’s done it, i’ve just been too nice and let him off.”

“did the girl know you —“

“if she did, i’m rippin’ her fucking face off,” she muttered.

fair. you turned the water in your sink on and let it warm up for a few seconds before leaning down to splash your face. “is he still your boyfriend, then?”

she scoffed. “absolutely not. i told him he can go find some other girl to be a wanker around since he’s so desperate to get away from me.”

as you rinsed your face off, you wondered if you should have been grateful that john wasn’t a cheater. as far as you knew, anyway. sure, everything else he did was … less than ideal, but at least he wasn’t going behind your back. right?

“men are shite,” the girl said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you turned the water off and reached for the paper towel dispenser. “yeah. they are.”

you could only think of one man (besides your father) in your life that wasn’t utter shite.

you left the bathroom after drying yourself off and intended to head straight back to your booth, but the sight of a familiar head of hair gave you pause. it wasn’t like he was the only one with that haircut, and for all you knew, you were about to look creepy as hell walking up to some random bloke and asking if he was someone else. still, you couldn’t stop yourself from quietly approaching, hesitating before reaching up and tapping the figure’s shoulder. his head turned, his eyes seeking out yours, and for some reason, you felt comfort in being right in your assumption.

your literature professor, the only man in your life that wasn’t utter shite, got up from his stool and turned to face you fully. “y/n,” he said, raising his voice a little more than usual so you could hear him over the music, “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“i’m here with my boyfriend,” you told him, and if you weren’t paying attention, you easily would’ve missed the subtle shift in his expression before he schooled it back into a state of neutrality. “i could say the same of you.”

“professors need a break, too, you know.”

he had a point.

you awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say now. you felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t; like you were a child finding your teacher in the supermarket. you were both adults, sure, but the scene gave you the same feeling you’d had in the pet store. encountering him outside of lessons just felt odd.

he seemed to feel the same as you, struggling to find anything to say. eventually, he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by the sound of a voice behind you. you immediately knew who it was, and the way his gaze hardened confirmed it.

you turned and came face to face with john, who was nothing short of seething. “you said you were going to the restroom.”

“i did.”

“so then why the fuck are you here, chatting up some bloke instead of talking to me?”

“john —“

“answer me,” he demanded, reaching out to grab your wrist. his grip was much tighter this time, almost bruising, and you winced at the pain that shot through you.

“i think there’s been a misunderstanding,” mr. turner began. “i’m just her —“

“you’re not a part of this, you fucking wanker,” john spat, glaring at him before looking back down at you. “why are you talking to him?”

“he’s just my professor,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. “john, please.”

“just your professor?” he echoed, ignoring your plea. “why the hell’re you talking to your professor in a bar, hm? is there something you’re not telling me?”

“don’t do this.”

“gettin’ him off for a good grade? is that it?”

you felt sick to your stomach. “john, stop it, now.”

“i always knew you’d do this to me, y/n! can never fucking trust you with anyone! am i not good enough for you? everything i’ve done, and you’re shaggin’ your goddamn professor?”

“john, shut up!” you shouted, the last bit of your restraint slipping.

with your restraint went his — or what little he’d had left. eyes wide, he lifted his free hand and quickly swung it in your direction.

you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the impact, but it never came. the musician’s guitar stuttered. the drums missed a few beats. you opened your eyes and were met with the sight of mr. turner gripping john’s wrist, the veins in his forearm protruding with how hard he was holding it. his brows were furrowed down in rage, and you could see the anger that swam in his eyes, threatening to drown him and you and everyone in that damned bar. “let go of her,” he said quietly, “and get the fuck out of here. now.”

you’d never heard him swear like that before.

john stared at him, then at you, then at him again. he yanked his wrist from mr. turner’s grasp and finally released your own, turning to leave. not, though, before saying to you, “don’t bother coming home.” and then he was gone.

the loud chatter within the bar’s walls had been reduced to mere murmurs by the scene that had just unfolded. you were shaken up — quite a bit. you were used to him exploding, hurting you, but not in public. never in public. he had gotten good at making sure his outbursts were kept behind closed doors.

“y/n.”

you jumped at the sound of mr. turner’s voice and looked up at him. your heart was thumping in your ears. you felt shaky. you needed to sit down. he could tell you were on the verge of a panic attack, and he put a hand on your back, murmuring something about finding you a seat as he led you to one of the back booths. it was a more secluded spot, away from the stares and whispers of the other patrons. you were grateful.

murder was illegal. murder was illegal. murder was illegal.

that was the only coherent thought alex was immediately capable of making. he let you slip into the seat first before slipping in beside you, making sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. you stared down at the table, and he stared down at you, thinking of a million things to say and not finding a single one of them appropriate given the circumstances. the more empathetic side of him wanted to dance around the issue, tiptoe around what had just happened, but he knew he’d never get any real answers if he tried to play nice. this couldn’t go on.

“y/n,” he said again, crossing his arms and setting them down on the table, “how long has this been going on?”

you were silent for a few moments, making him panic internally and wonder if he’d already fucked up in his line of questioning. eventually, though, your answer came to soothe his worrying brain. “at least a year, maybe more.”

“a year?” murder was illegal. “has he been hurting you this whole time?”

“he doesn’t usually hit me. that’s only when he gets really pissed about something.”

“when did this start?”

“when we moved in together. he had always been kind of … kind of rude before that, i guess, but once we saw each other every day, it was like he just snapped. i guess he realised he finally had power over me.”

of course. if the flat was in his name, then he could kick you out at any point he wanted. one wrong move on your end, and you would be out on the streets. he’d backed you into a corner; a corner you hadn’t left in over a year. alex’s heart felt heavy. “he’s always been kind of rude, you said. what … what do you mean by that?”

you sighed and sank a little further down in your seat. “he makes comments on my weight sometimes. he never calls me ugly or fat, but the implication that he’s unsatisfied with how i look is always there. he likes to poke fun at the books i like and the music i listen to and the films i watch. it’s like — like he wants me to be a carbon copy of him.”

“y/n, your weight’s fine,” alex said with a frown. “you look like you’ve lost weight, actually. i’m worried about you.”

you looked up at him, and the resignation in your eyes added extra weight to his heart. “i’m fine, mr. turner.” even though you clearly weren’t.

silence fell between the two of you, leaving alex to swim in the pool of his thoughts. realistically, the most he could do by the school's terms was offer you resources for abuse and maybe help you get your boyfriend reported to the authorities. the issue, though, was that as far as he knew, your boyfriend wasn't a student. you being one — one of his, for that matter — didn't immediately give him the right to get involved in your private life, even when you were clearly in danger. there was also the matter of whether or not you even wanted him to get involved — that one, he wasn't really sure on. he didn't want to betray your trust and interfere with your relationship if you asked him not to, but he also hated the thought of turning a blind eye to what was happening.

alex had never been one for violence. that wasn't to say he was a total pacifist, but he typically believed things could be talked out rather than resorting to fists (or worse). when he had seen your boyfriend grab you, though, and prepare to hurt you in public with such ease and no shame, he was pretty sure he was a breath away from knocking that bastard to the floor and giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“he didn’t mean it when he told me not to come home,” you finally said, dragging alex back out of his thoughts. “i just have to give him some time.”

time. of course. “if you’d like, i can drive you home.”

“i would appreciate that, mr. turner. thank you.” he offered you a small smile, and you did your best to mirror it. it didn’t quite reach your eyes, but he appreciated the effort.

you would have given a more genuine smile, but you were embarrassed and still shaken up, and really, all you wanted was to curl up in bed and cry for a while. you knew that, realistically, it wasn't embarrassing to be in an abusive relationship, and you knew that mr. turner was one of the last people on the planet that would ever be judgmental over it. you certainly wouldn't judge anyone else for being in one. when it came to yourself, though, it was just ... you couldn't help but wonder if this was all your fault.

you weren't sure how long you and mr. turner sat in that booth, but it had at least been long enough that you were sure john had either cooled down or passed out in your flat. the pair of you got up and headed for the door, but not before he stopped to say something to the musician that'd been playing, who was now sitting at a table and nursing a beer. "sorry i can't stay for the rest o' your set," he told him, "i've got somethin' i need to take care of."

the musician glanced at you, and understanding flickered in his gaze. "course, al. don't even worry about it. i'll see you 'round, yeah?"

"yeah." mr. turner flashed him a smile before turning back to you and leading you outside.

as he took you to his car, you asked, "who was that?"

"miles Kane. he's a friend of mine. we go way back."

"oh." miles kane — you did your best to remember his name for later. "i like his music."

"me, too." he opened the passenger seat of his car for you, and you quietly thanked him and slipped inside. he went around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat, turning the car on and fastening his seatbelt. you did the same.

after you gave him your address, the two of you fell into yet another bout of silence, although this one wasn't as uncomfortable as it'd been in the bar. mr. turner fiddled with the radio, eventually settling for a station playing rock songs from the 80s. you recognised a few of them, although you were more familiar with the general tune than the lyrics. you could occasionally see him tapping out the beat against the steering wheel from the corner of your eye.

unlike the drive to the bar with john, which had felt like an absolute drag, the drive to your flat with mr. turner was much more bearable and hardly felt like ten minutes, let alone fifteen. once his car slowed to a stop in front of your block of flats, you undid your seatbelt, the soft click seeming to echo in his car. "um, thank you," you said quietly, popping the door open. "i really appreciate it. sorry if i ruined your night or anything."

"no, no, it's fine," he said quickly, shaking his head. "you didn't ruin anything, alright?"

"okay." you nodded.

you stepped out of the car, bag in hand, and were about to close the door when he suddenly said, "y/n."

"hm?"

"can i put my number in your phone?"

ashamedly, your brain immediately jumped to what you deemed the most logical conclusion: he was proving john right and hitting on you. "huh?"

"so i can check on you, i mean." he smiled apologetically at you when he noticed the brief flash of panic that darted over your features. "i'm not, er ... i'm not like that, i promise."

"oh. yeah." now you felt foolish. you unzipped your bag and fished your phone out, handing it to him. he was quick to create a new contact for himself and handed your phone back to you. his contact name was 'alex turner', and you didn't know why it surprised you. maybe you were just so used to calling him 'mr. turner'.

"if anything ever happens, please don't be afraid to contact me, y/n," he said softly. "i may just be your professor, but i'm also a human being. you can talk to me."

you nodded. "thank you, mr. turner."

"of course. you should go inside now, it's getting cold out."

after exchanging a final quick goodbye, you headed into your block of flats, taking a silent trip up in the lift to the floor you lived on. you retrieved your keys from your bag and unlocked the front door to your flat, immediately noticing that the lights were still off. you slipped in, shutting and locking the door behind you, and crept through the living room, being careful to not wake a sleeping John on the sofa. as you'd suspected — he must've fallen asleep after he got back. had he been waiting for you?

you threw a blanket over him before continuing to your bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as you could behind you. you let out a small sigh and leaned against the wood for a few moments, shutting your eyes. this was not how you'd anticipated your night going. you eventually reopened your eyes and turned the light on, depositing your bag into the armchair in the corner. out of curiosity, you stepped up to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if mr. turner's car was still there. he was already gone, though.

after getting changed into your pyjamas for the night, you collapsed onto your bed and held your phone over your face, peering at the screen in the newfound darkness. you kept reading mr. turner's name over and over, the image of his quiet rage permanently seared into your brain. you were so used to him being calm and collected at all times — quiet, too. granted, he hadn't exactly raised his voice, but somehow, that was scarier than him shouting could ever be.

and it was all because of you.

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

[creatingblackcharacters]

Heyy, hope you're doing well.

So I've been tracking a lot of my media consumption since I was like 14 and only started paying more attention to diversity a couple years later. Nevertheless I didn't consciously seek out diverse shows, I just watched what piqued my interest and I still do (it just so happens that narratives centering white people increasingly bore me and I'm more interested in narratives that center Black, Indigenous and characters of color and their stories now).

Now since I'm already tracking, I was curious what percentage of what I've watched (TV shows and movies) and read is actually primarily white and what isn't. (I left out music bc I know I listen to mostly Black artists, though I do want to explore more Indigenous artists after I listened to some recommendations recently). And unsurprisingly I found a pretty large gap between how many TV shows and movies centering white people and centering BIPOC I've watched thus far. Books were pretty balanced, I think if I finish the ones I started and read one more by an author of color the balance is even (though here, too, I have more authors of color on my to read list than white authors so that balance will probably tip over to authors of color taking up the majority soon).

To get to the point, I have now challenged myself to close these gaps and watch at the very least an equal amount of TV shows that don't just center white people as the ones that do (ofc BIPOC are not a monolith and include many groups and cultures so the more I get to explore the better, i.e. I don't need it to be a perfect balance, I just don't really want white shows/movies to stay the majority). Even though this is not something I do publicly or simply to game the numbers to feel better about myself but out of genuine interest in these stories and cultures, I sometimes worry it has a tokenizing effect? Or that it's a weird thing to think about in terms of numbers?

I'm just curious what your thoughts are on challenging oneself like this privately and what you think one should keep in mind when exploring diverse stories this way to see if I'm missing something.

Much love x

It sounds like you're doing fine so far, hell that's probably more effort than most people 😅 very thoughtful. I have no real concerns; just keep making sure you're doing it for a genuine reason and not to claim that "I'm not racist, I watched ____" (which would be tokenizing). If this is the methodical way you surround yourself with perspectives that aren't like yours, and it works, so be it. 👍🏾