#if your shirt isn't tucked into your pants your pants are tucked into your shirt

[firesmokeandashes]

"Thy Healer, I am most appreciative of thou prescribething upon me the non-anguishment compressed powder capsules"

(I was bored, lol)

this is my all time favourite post I've ever seen on reddit everyone read it please

[bluelockmaniac]

𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 — ˎˊ˗ dad itoshi sae x mama fem!reader

"luewam, luewom, lukewome!" your three-year-old daughter squeals, her giggles ringing through the house as her tiny feet dart across the hardwood floor. you chase after her, spoon in hand, attempting to avoid stumbling on the scattered toys she never picks up.

ever since she had learned that infuriating word– the word that seemed to naturally and carelessly slip out of the impulsive lips of itoshi sae– your life had become a complete mess filled with chaos (and your child’s high-pitched laugh of triumph).

and to make matters worse, your daughter's first word was not ‘mama’. nor was it ‘papa’. you still vividly recall that day as if it had occurred yesterday.

"gah... ah..." the little carbon copy of sae babbles, her thumb tucked in her mouth, wide, sparkly eyes darting between her parents. she watches the two of you with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, sensing some sort of anticipation that her tiny brain could not yet grasp.

"sae, she's going to say her first word!" you laugh, clutching your husband's arm. although sae seemed to share only a fraction of your excitement, you could read the amused expression on his calm face.

"l-lu..." she pulls her thumb from her mouth, a glistening string of saliva stretching between her finger and lips. "luewaam!"

in that moment, your heart sinks, all the former expectations leaving you at a rapid pace, the corners of her lips curling upwards as she proudly declared her newfound term. nothing could compare to the crestfallen expression you wore that day. sae, on the other hand, chuckles proudly, scooping his little mimic into his arms.

"baby, come hereee!" you pant, pausing as you try to catch your breath. the speed of toddlers is not to be underestimated.

sae was watching all this— all your struggles— with a fond smile. he stretches out his arms for his daughter, and she cheerfully runs into her father’s embrace, her tiny hands resting on his shoulders as she steadies herself on his knees.

"you're a brat, aren't you?" he smiles at her, gently placing a hand on her back to support her. she simply giggles, then turns around and points at you with an accusatory finger.

"mama... luewam!"

you pout, setting the plate of mashed potatoes on the living room table before sitting beside them with your arms crossed against your chest.

your daughter bore a striking resemblance to sae— she had inherited your hair colour, but her eyes were identical to his, those gorgeous turquoise eyes framed by thick lashes.

"sae, see what you've taught her? i thought i told you to stop saying that word... how am i going to feed her annoying, cheeky ass now?"

you shoot her a feigned glare, and she responds by excitedly burying her messy face against sae's chest. your gaze shifted back to your guilty-looking husband.

sae simply averted his eyes from your threatening glare, his fingers ruffling through his daughter's soft hair. "she says the food is lukewarm. isn't that right, princess?" he asks.

"yesss! food luewam!" she chimes, giggles muffled against his shirt.

you couldn’t help but smile, despite your efforts to appear stern. his expression always seemed to soften when he looked at the little creature. he presses an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

he looks back at you and gestures for the spoon, which you were more than happy to hand over, and settles his daughter on his thigh. "say ahh," he prompts, gently nudging the spoon against her tightly sealed lips.

she stares at him intently, gaze drawn to the food on the bright blue spoon, before breaking into a wide grin, revealing all her tiny teeth, and opening her mouth eagerly.

she took in the food, kicking her feet back and forth delightfully in an attempt to remind you she believes the food tastes much better from her father's hand.

"there y'go... not lukewarm anymore, is it, pretty?" he pinches her plush cheeks, in which she responds with clapping her tiny hands together. she looks up at him, wordlessly pleading for more food with her sparkly eyes fluttering their long lashes at him.

"are you kidding me..." you sigh, slouching down on the couch with defeated eyes.

your daughter notices your exhaustion and interprets it as distress, her eyes beginning to well up with tears. "noo, mama!" she huffed, reaching out to comfort you. she turned to sae, fingers tapping lightly on his shoulder. "papa! mama tiwed!"

"yeah?" he settles her on your lap. "tell mama her food isn't lukewarm."

she looks back and forth between you and sae with puffed out cheeks, as you try your hardest to maintain your composure and not let her lovelines break your resolve.

puckering her lips in mock seriousness, she mumbles, "mama not luewam!”, drawing out yet another chuckle from sae. she smiles at you, “okay...?"

you would have forgiven her if not for the fact that later today, she peeked through the slightly ajar door of your bedroom, and blurted out a loud “luewome!” upon witnessing the “dizzgasting” way you kissed her father.

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[bbokicidal]

"Are you serious...?" - Angst! [Hyung Line SKZ]

Notes : These are all obviously fictional situations, the red flags are just based off of habits we know they have (like Chan's need to be needed, Changbin being blunt/honest.) This post isn't me saying I think they have these red flags, it's just a fun angsty prompt I wrote down. If you don't like it, scroll and don't read.

If people like this - a maknae line will be written! If not, prolly not lol.

Warnings : Angst with no comfort, red flag behavior - some of these aren't even that bad or could be misunderstandings but still.

Maknae Line | "Good Luck, Babe." Part Two!! Here!

BangChan - Brushing off/Having the wrong priorities

One time, it was him forgetting a dinner date - the next, he was staying at the studio late when he was supposed to be meeting your parents for the first time. You let it slide because ultimately you understood that his job took up a lot of his time, and honestly? It wasn't easy to forget about but he had a tendency to take care of you and make up with it by quick gestures before he left the apartment or when he came home; Soft back hugs, quick cuddles before he fell asleep, or kisses in passing. Lately, however, he's been slacking. He'd begun to shrug you off any time you'd touched his arm or hand, nudging you away while he typed on his laptop. He'd tip his head away from yours while laying in bed together or he'd sit further away on the dressing room sofa.

The tipping point was when he was getting ready to go on stage and was standing in wait for the others to be ready. There was still five minutes and Chris looked a bit jittery, so you figured a quick hug or kiss would help ease his nerves. However as soon as you approach and reach to touch his arms, he steps back and keeps his eyes trained on his phone. You reach again, hesitant, and his brow furrows as he maneuvers to the side to get away. "Don't touch me."

Your lips pop apart in surprise. "...Are you serious?"

He looks over, eyes briefly wandering your face before he reaches to fix his in-ear and walks away to the door, disappearing around the corner and leaving you standing there alone. Even the soft touch of Felix's hand on your back as he passed by was warmer than anything you'd felt from Chris in the last two months.

Lee Know - Keeping secrets / Prioritizing Privacy within himself

Minho had a very, very bad habit of not telling you things. In this instance; That he was leaving for tour in two days.

A world. fucking. tour. The only reason you didn't know about it was because you hadn't been out of your home in the last few weeks unless it was for a quick coffee at the cafe or to grab lunch with a friend. Work was heavy during this time of year and as someone who worked remotely, you often spent grueling hours in your office on your computer - hunched, tired, head pounding and back sore.

So you would think that when you entered your bedroom one evening after just finishing up sorting files in your office, you'd be happy to see your boyfriend already there. And you were for a moment, until you realized he was packing three rather large suitcases full of his clothes and necessities. He looks to you, then away, wordless.

"Are.. you.. moving out, or something?" You breathe in a laugh, eyes wandering over Minho as he folds a t-shirt and tucks it into his suitcase with the others.

"No. I have to bring all of my luggage to the company building tomorrow so they can have it at the airport when we leave for Australia."

"Australia?" Your brows quirk. "When -- Why --"

"Tour." He stops his movements to stare over at you, a hint of irritation evident on his face. "We're going on tour for six months."

"Six--" You breathe out, eyes widening. "Six months. And you didn't think to tell me?"

Minho moves to drop a pair of pants in his suitcase. "I would've told you if you could handle the news, maybe. Every time I mention leaving all you do is whine and pout about how long I'll be gone."

"I get upset, yes, what girlfriend wouldn't be upset that her boyfriend is leaving for a week or two? But six months, Minho, I --"

"Don't start." He all but huffs out the words, shutting you up immediately. Minho turns away to continue folding items of clothing on the shared bed and as you watch him do so, you stand and have to wonder if you want to be there when he returns home from the tour.

Changbin - Not knowing the difference between being rude and being blunt

He didn't seem to understand when to stop. Changbin had a tendency to be honest, sometimes to a fault, though you never seemed to complain about it because most of the time it wasn't a big deal. He called Jeongin out for saying the wrong word when singing, or blatantly threw people under the bus when a joke was taken too far.

And he was like that with you, too. He would be honest with you when you asked his opinion of something - was the shirt unflattering? Were you being too loud? Was your makeup bad today?

He'd lay it on you point blank. Yes, the shirt fit a little weird. Yes, you were being a bit loud in his ear. And yes, your eyeliner was going in two different directions. Criticism that was asked for. But when it wasn't asked for? Oh.

"What is your problem?" He bites as he follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. "We have ten minutes, just wear the damn dress and put your shoes on. We have to go."

Your huffs mix with stifled sobs as you rip open your dresser drawer and dig for other options, hands shaking and eyes teary. "You just told me the dress looks ugly, Changbin. I'm not wearing it out if you don't like it--!"

"What does it matter if i don't like it? It's your body, wear what you want!"

"You're my boyfriend!" You retaliate, frustrated. "I want to look nice for you and -- for the group, and I want you to like what I wear, obviously!"

Changbin lets his eyes roll before he turns out of the bedroom doorway and down the hall. You pause to watch him go, listening as he bites about how he doesn't have time for this and needs to leave for the group dinner. You stand in front of your dresser in shock as the door to your apartment slams shut, leaving you in silence and all on your own.

Hyunjin - Being too cocky / Making you feel inferior

It hadn't happened before now, and you weren't sure why it happened at all. But it did.

You'd approached to gently hold onto your boyfriend's arm as he talked to an older idol - someone he looked up to and had just done a collaboration video with. You'd only come up to tell him that the food was delivered and he could have dinner before his stage, but the look he gave you when he finally turned his head was .... wild.

No words were needed. The way his eyes directed to the side you stood at before falling as if looking you over and then immediately looking away; The way the smirk on his lips only widened and his tongue pushed at his canines as he redirected his gaze elsewhere. The soft scoff that left his lips. The way his arm slipped away from your hold in clear nuance that he didn't want you touching him.

It made you feel like less. Like he was pretending he didn't know you - Like he wanted you to bug off and disappear from his line of sight.

Hyunjin had a tendency to put on a confident, bold persona when he was on stage and at first you thought maybe that was why he was acting this way. It was lingering in his body from the dance video he'd just filmed with the other idol and eventually, it would wear off.

But as he turned from you and lifted a hand to fix his hair, he talks to the other as if you're not even there at all. And you have to wonder if it's a persona for the video, or a side of him you had just experienced for the first time. Now you could only hope it wouldn't happen again.

[htchnr]

♰ old and weary ༻ L. HOWLETT.*ೃ˚

✮ꜜ masterlist. ✮ꜜ buy me a ko-fi!

content warning hurt/comfort ⋆ r's mutation is healing wounds with the direct touch of her fingers ⋆ blood ⋆ injuries with no mentioned severity ⋆ this tired old man needs a hug ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

pairing old man!Logan.

summary his body isn't what it used to be, so you help him after each fight he gets into. you heal his wounds and heal his soul, day by day and kiss by kiss. wordcount 0,6k.

authors note i'm trying to work on a few Logan requests (it might take me a bit to get them out as i'm still struggling with my writers block, so pls bear with me), so while i fight my brain, have some more sappy old man!Logan comfort 🫠🥹

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

your home's quiet at this late hour, only the low sound of the tv playing some show in the background. the distant sound of Logan pulling up outside in the limo makes your heart jump a little with a tired smile.

you set your sewing project aside — patching up one of Logan's shirts — as you move up to greet him at the door.

your smile falters as you're met with the bloody sight of Logan, his shoulders hung in exhaustion, his body flinching with each heavy step. he closes the front door without a word, letting you lead him up the stairs and to your spacious bathroom.

he sits down on the edge of the tub like clockwork, sore fingers already pulling at the buttons of his stained and torn dress shirt. you sigh, gently pushing his hands aside. you wordlessly take over, unbuttoning the shirt and peeling the fabric off his figure.

you sigh sadly as you observe the damage, cuts and scrapes spanning across his broad chest and shoulders; no doubt scattering across his back as well. Logan flinches beneath your touch as your thumb slowly smooths over the first small cut on his shoulder, starting the intimate routine of healing the wounds his aging body has trouble with.

he grunts as he feels the skin weave itself back together beneath the soft pad of your thumb, leaning forward to rest his head against your stomach. you lean down to press a kiss to the skin where the small cut once was, letting your lips linger for a second before your thumb finds another injury to smooth over.

the room is filled with Logan's quiet grunts and pants as you lovingly work away each wound; leaving only the dried blood behind as evidence. and after each wound is healed you press gentle kisses to the aging skin — a regular routine that slowly heals Logan's aching, old heart kiss by kiss.

you rest your cheek against the top of his head after healing the last wound, your body slouching beneath his hold from exhaustion. while you would always heal him, no matter what time or day; that doesn't take away from the fact that it's a draining routine — the healing taking every bit of your energy.

you tiredly pull away from him, his strong arms reluctantly letting you go as you wet a washcloth with warm water and soap. you could almost hear low purrs emitting from Logan as you drag the wet cloth across his scarred skin, gently scrubbing away at the dried blood.

you drop the dirty cloth in the sink, raking your damp fingers through his greying hair as he keeps his face pressed against your stomach. his rough hands are tucked beneath your shirt, fingers digging into the supple skin of your waist. " sometimes you're really like my big dog i used to have, he liked head scratches too. "

Logan doesn't say a word about your quiet admission when you bend down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, your lips lingering before you rest your cheek a top his head. " let's get you to bed, " you yawn, your fingers scratching soft, soothing patterns against his scalp.

he hums against your stomach, the sounds low and rough. he lets you guide him up, his knees cracking as he stands up, leading him out of the bathroom and to the bedroom by his hand.

the moment he slides into bed beside you his shoulders finally relax, melting against you as he settles with his head on your chest and his face buried in the crook of your neck. you smile tiredly as you lace your fingers with his with one hand, the other rhythmically combing through his hair.

Logan lets out a long sigh, his heavy figure deflating against yours. " you know, sometimes i think he came back in the form of you, somehow always there to protect me. "

his fingers twitch around yours, his heart throbbing at your mumbled words. he scrunches his face, nuzzling impossibly close against you.

" goodnight, Lo, " you yawn, resting your cheek against his head. " 'love you. "

he tries not to tense against you at your words, not wanting to startle you wide out of your sleepy state. his eyes are wide open, blinking at the soft skin of your throat. the more he thinks about your words, the more at ease he feels. no longer do those particular words send him running, they anchor him.

he lets his tired and aching eyes fall shut, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. " i love you too, sweetheart. "

[lovingseventeen]

Hiii could you pls write about how seventeen gets their s/o to sit in their lap?? Thanks so much

svt getting their s/o to sit on their lap

a/n: i hope this is sufficient for my very delayed return (please).

seungcheol: 

✿ it's truly just second nature for him at this point

✿ he'll just casually guide you onto his lap and you don't really question it either

✿ say you're about to sit next to him on the couch

✿ as you're about to sit he'll just lightly pull your wrist in his direction and there you are

jeonghan:

✿ loves to rest his head on your shoulder when you sit on his lap

✿ the simplest "come here" and you're following

✿ he loves this because you don't even have to pay attention to him but he has all the access to wrap his arms around your middle

joshua: 

✿ pats his leg when you want to show him something on your phone

✿ "josh look at this thing i just saw-"

✿ immediately, he's sitting up and spreading his legs so you can walk in the space between them and sit on one of his thighs

✿ "let me see, pretty"

jun: 

✿ will gradually shift you onto his lap over time absentmindedly

✿ neither of you two really notice but you just wind up there

✿ you were watching a movie on opposite ends of the couch (which is fine) but now you're there??? (no one is complaining)

hoshi: 

✿ so annoying about it (i mean this in a loving way)

✿ why should you sit anywhere else when his lap is literally right there??

✿ even if you sat somewhere else without thinking about it he's jokingly scoffing "so you hate me"

✿ (it's okay, just go sit on his lap and peck his cheek and he's all giddy again)

wonwoo: 

✿ pulls you towards him by an article of clothing

✿ it could be your pants loop, the sleeve of your hoodie, or the back of your shirt

✿ he doesn't need to ask you twice :')

woozi:

✿ always asks for your opinion when he makes a new beat or writes new lyrics

✿ "i want you to listen to this" he says with a hand stretched out

✿ he likes to have you sit on his lap while he places the headphones around your ears

✿ he gently presses his forehead to your back as he waits for your thoughts

dokyeom: 

✿ perpetually wrapped around you anyway (his love language is physical touch)

✿ it doesn't take long when an arm around your shoulder as you're sitting next to each other moves to your waist

✿ then he figures this isn't close enough and he'll also maneuver you so you're eventually on his lap. he'll quite literally wrap his arms around your middle so he can move you

✿ "this is better" as he nudges his face into your neck

mingyu:

✿ will manhandle you if he has to

✿ you try teasing him just to see him get pouty and as you're trying to get away from him, he uses a little bit more of his strength to pull you towards him

✿ but as you're sat you feel him mumble against your shoulder "do you actually not want to?"

minghao:

✿ i think he's a pretty straightforward person

✿ a simple tucking your hair behind your ears and he's caught your attention

✿ "i want you closer" as he holds your arm to help you move

seungkwan: 

✿ dances around the subject instead of just telling you what he wants lol

✿ "did you know that sitting on wooden chairs is actually bad for your back? there's no cushioning"

✿ "oh really? should we order cushions then or-"

✿ "you could sit somewhere else"

✿ "but i need the table for my laptop and i get so lazy on the couch-"

✿ "then maybe you could just sit here" he offers, moving his chair back to welcome you. then it all clicks (he's a dork)

vernon: 

✿ also probably someone who just tugs you gently in his direction

✿ i don't think he'd need to use words for you to get it either

✿ even if you're standing around him doing anything else and you feel him lightly pull the back of your sweater you follow him without giving it much thought

chan:

✿ as long as you're in his vicinity he pulls you with him as he sits down

✿ both of you just came home from work? he's dropping himself down on the couch and you're coming with him

✿ has most definitely missed at least once and you both landed on the floor

[smutallyouwant]

Twice One-Shot World chp. 5

Baseball x Game

Word Count: approx 2.5k

Mina x Chaeyoung x M Reader

Ps. includes: Grooming, rape, daddy kink

Short and 99% smut, this is just my naughty imagination seeing them in the latest updates.

You're in this baseball game again, but you're not here just to watch the game but to also enjoy some fresh hot girls while on it. The baseball management offers an amount of money for anyone to have their baseball cheerleaders to come with them in a VIP room where they can see the game while having fun. It's your fourth time coming here but you still order the girl you had from your first time. It's Mina, her sexy body, goddess-like face, and seductive aura caught your attention from the first sight.

You headed to your VIP room containing a bed and a sofa in front of a large glass where you can see the whole game happening but no one outside can see. It also has a small table, napkins, foods, and a bathroom.

*knock *knock *knock

Your favorite girl, Mina entered the room wearing an off shoulder body suit and a black shorts.

" Can't get over me huh? Y/n ? " Mina teased you.

" You're so fucking hot as always, Mina "

" My boss is grateful for your repeat, so we have a surprise for you. Here's Chaeyoung, she's our newest and youngest here. I'm here to train her " Mina said.

" Hi sir! " Chaeyoung waved her hand.

Chaeyoung is a petite girl wearing a striped crop top, with a black tie and shorts.

" Isn't she a look like a little bit too young? " You said.

" It's alrighty, I'm just 18 myself the first time you fucked me " Mina once again teased you.

Mina nodded to Chaeyoung and they both sat next to you. Mina is on your right and Chae is on your left. You put your arms to their shoulders grabbing them and lightly caressing them while the three of you watch the game. Both of them hug you and caressing your chest and abs.

A while later Mina put a finger to your face.

" Aren't you holding back a little bit ? The first time we are in here you immediately tucked your dick inside me and never paid attention to the game " Mina teased you again.

" Are you sure that Chaeyoung here can take my dick? " You asked.

" It's okay, my step dad used me every once in a while. But I'm new here so I still need some training " Chaeyoung answered.

" I'm sorry about that " you said.

" Don't be sorry, because I liked it " Chaeyoung said with a seductive look.

You can't hold yourself, you pulled her necktie and started planting your tongue into her mouth. Chaeyoung fought your kiss fiercely while Mina on the other hand caressed your bulge and your chest.

Your hand roamed from her shoulders to her chest. Mina took off your shirt, cutting your kiss with Chae. Chaeyoung looked at you with her fingers to her lips. You unbuckled your belt and moved down your pants.

" Here Chae, you can start practicing doing a blowjob with my dick " you said.

Chaeyoung instantly took your dick to her mouth, it' s very evident that she's not used to giving a blowjob, but she's getting better every minute.

" That's it Chae, you can use your tongue more and prevent your teeth from scratching my dick "

Mina wrapped her arms around you while watching Chaeyoung suck your dick.

" Look at you Chae, you'll be a pro in sucking dick in no time " Mina said.

" I can't wait to have your dick but let's take our time and practice Chaeyoung " Mina added before making out with you.

The lewd scent of the room and the perfume of these young girls with you aroused you more than ever. While making out with Mina, you noticed that Chaeyoung was so good at sucking dick in just a short time. You pulled out the kiss from Mina.

" Fuck Chae , you're so good at it now. Keep suckling it while bobbing your head "

" Did you use to do this to your step dad? "

Chaeyoung popped the head and said...

" Yes, maybe 3 or 4 times only. Because he usually uses me with a quickie so my mom won't find us out hehe " she answered while licking your shaft.

Mina bit her lips, and you're so turned on to the way Chaeyoung says that her stepdad " uses " her.

" O my god, you're so fucked up Chae hahaha but it's hot " Mina exclaimed.

" Fuck, how can your stepdad even find time to fuck you? " You asked.

" My mom goes to work earlier than him. It started when I caught him staring at me sleeping and tried to touch my chest. I'm curious about how it feels so I let him grope me while pretending to be asleep " she said.

" And then? " Mina asked.

" It happened repeatedly to the point he plays with himself while groping me. One time he caught me pretending to be asleep, and he convinced me to let him put the tip in. He fucked me again and again and I started to look forward to it every morning hehehe " she answered.

" I don't even like him romantically but having sex with him really felt good. We even dared to fuck in our bathroom or their bedroom while my mom is in the house hahaha " she added.

" Fuck, that means you have rape kink Chae hahahah and you like doing it with old men " Mina said.

" Shit, then I should rape you right here " you said.

" Mina, can I fuck your trainee right now? " You asked Mina.

" Sure, I can wait. Train her good " Mina responded.

You pulled Chaeyoung' s shorts and pushed her to the sofa and started ramming her missionary.

" ugh fuck yess, yes, fuck me hard oppa "

Chae wrapped her legs and arms around you while you're fucking the shit out of her. You can't believe that you're fucking a young teen girl that's age could be a daughter of yours.

" You feel good with this dick? Huh, my baby? "

" Yes daddy, keep pounding me like that. Ughhh~~ "

" Thank you for your stepdad, he took time grooming you so you can be my bitch"

" Yess daddy, I'm made to be your slut "

" Com'ere and ride daddy's s cock "

You pulled her to your top so she can ride your dick. Chaeyoung started to aggressively grind herself to your cock. Mina was just right there staring intently while her fingers were on her lips.

" Ughh, fuck your dick is so deep inside me daddy " Chaeyoung said while caressing your face.

" Am I better than your stepdad, Chae? "

" Yes daddy, it feels so much better because I love you daddy " Chaeyoung answered before kissing you.

You're nearing your climax so you positioned Chaeyoung to the table and started ramming her from the back pulling her neck tie just like a leash of a dog.

" Fuck daddy, you hit so hard " Chae said while glancing at you to her back.

" Ughh, I love it daddy it feels too good. I'm your bitch now "

" Do you love it daddy? Do you love me? Do you love baby Chae? "

" Yes, baby I love you you're taking my dick so good"

Chaeyoung seems to reach her climax as you said those words and you can't help but to cum as well.

" I'm cumming baby, take it all in "

" YESS daddy, fill me up ughh "

You pounded a few more thrusts before kissing her. Chaeyoung lost her strength in her legs and started trembling on the floor.

" Whoo! Cumming inside the trainee huh Mr. Y/N ? " Mina teased you.

" You did not think this was over right? " She added before sucking your soft shaft.

" ayw bwin weyting por dwis ( I've been waiting for this ) " she said, muffling her words with your dick.

Mina's sweet scent and her sexy body suit outfit is enough to harden your cock again. You removed her shorts and she came on top of you. She swoops the seams of her body suit to line up her pussy to your shaft before sitting on it.

" Ughh fuck, your dick is the best in reaching deep my pussy "

She started thrusting slow and gently as she pecks your lips with hers.

" Do you know that your dick is the only one that reaches that deep in me? I'm looking forward to you after the first time we fucked" Mina seductively said.

She continues the slow pace and pulled her top revealing her perky tits.

" will you give them some attention sir? "

You suckled onto her tits while she pleasures herself with slow thrusts. Both of your breaths begin to be loud and moan escapes in your mouths.

" If I'm not in this kind of work I'd honestly ask you to be my boyfriend haha " she teases you.

She paused, pushing her pussy to your dick hard.

" Will you fuck me hard sir? " She whispered.

You pushed her to the sofa and started ramming her from behind.

" Mhhh, mhhh, ugh, yes just like that Y/N "

You pulled her hair while giving her neck and shoulders some good kisses. Her skin tastes and smells like banana mixed with strawberries plus all of your mixed saliva. She arced her back more, her plump ass juggles, and her toned back and hips are turning you on so much.

" Yess Y/N, put it deep in me ughh, mmmhh "

Chaeyoung is conscious again and she rested infront of the messed up Mina.

" I'm curious, is kissing a girl feels good too?" Chaeyoung mumbled.

" You want to find out Chae? " Mina asked while being fucked herself.

Chaeyoung made out with Mina, Mina let out some sloppy moans while in it.

" You taste sweet, Mina " Chae said.

" Oh yeah? " Mina responded before making out again.

" Fuck, kiss me too " you said leaning to the girls.

Three of you exposed your tongues and started a trio make out.

" Ayy yess , keep fucking me Y/N. This is so hot " Mina exclaimed.

You removed Chaeyoung' s top and both of you and Mina suckled into her boobs.

" Ughh that feels so good daddy, Mina"

You held Chaeyoung as Mina and yourself plays her boobs with your mouths while fucking each other.

" Hey daddy, open your mouth " Chae whispered.

Chae started pouring spit to your mouth and kissing you sloppily. Mina joined in as you poured Chae' s spit into hers and both of you kissed. Saliva drools into Mina's mouth as you fasten your thrusts and she lets go of the kiss with an open mouth.

" I'm cumming inside Mina "

" Ughhhh, mmmggg "

You buried your dick deep inside her as semen spouts out of it. Chaeyoung hugged Mina's face as Mina squirted on the sofa.

" Ahhh fuck, that was so good. Fucking fresh young girls is so fucking good " you exclaimed.

" Daddy can you go again? " Chaeyoung asked.

" Let me rest a bit " you answered

Chaeyoung and Mina are so curious about lesbian sex that they made out for a while before you joined in again and fucked both of them.

After your session, Mina revealed that Chae was already 18 yrs old and she herself is only 19. She said that the baseball management accepts 18 and above girls with mature bodies to be baseball cheerleader models that can be availed to a VIP room to only watch with select customers. But some of them opted to give extra services to earn a large amount of money. After the game you paid both of them more than enough and bonus tips.

" Goodbye sir, we'll be waiting for you again. Come back again to the next game sir " Chaeyoung said.

" Goodbye y/n, come back again so you can fuck us, underaged girls again " she said winking at you and blowing you a flying kiss.

[kvroomi]

it's 9 o'clock in the evening when atsumu barges into your bathroom while you're taking off your makeup

“hey, babe, yer phone’s charged, right?”

his voice breaks through the quiet hum of your evening, pulling your attention away from the bottle of moisturiser you'd been trying to open for the past 5 minutes. you glance up to find him leaning in the doorway. his black dress pants and light blue button-up are long gone, now replaced with a large white t-shirt and his obnoxious 'world's best setter' boxers that he must've left in the dresser you bought for him when he started staying over more often.

“yeah, why?” you ask, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

he holds up his phone with an exaggerated sigh, the screen dark. “mine’s dead." he sighs and you look at him confused.

"i was gonna call ‘samu—messaged me somethin’ about the shop. think he forgot to order noodles or… or whatever. can i borrow yours for a sec?”

you furrow your eyebrows, skepticism creeping in. atsumu wasn’t exactly known for prioritizing osamu’s last-minute “emergencies” unless they directly concerned him. “can’t you just use the landline?”

“the landline?” he places a hand on his chest in mock offense.

“what am i, a fossil?" you turn your gaze back to the mirror with a roll of your eyes.

"c’mon, babe, it’ll only take a minute. please?”

you stare at him and he stares back, the two of you locking eyes in a silent standoff. atsumu, for all his dramatics, was never great at hiding when he was up to something.

alas, as much as you wanted to pry, you also didn’t have the energy to argue over something so trivial when it was so late into the day.

“okay,” you breathe out, followed by a long sigh as you hand your phone over.

“just don’t mess with anything.” your eyes narrow threateningly.

“mess with things? me?” he shakes his head around, feigning shock. “never. yer phone’s in the safest hands imaginable.”

that already should’ve been your second red flag—though before you can even question him, he's got his back turned halfway out the door yelling “thanks, babe! yer the best!” over his shoulder.

a brief fifteen minutes have passed, which you only vaguely realise in the haze of beginning your book. you're comfortably tucked into the corner of the couch when he strolls into the living room. plopping your phone onto the cushions beside you and pressing a quick, warm kiss to the top of your head—he pokes your cheek.

“yer a lifesaver,” he says with a grin, flopping down beside you. “what would i do without ya?”

you offer him a glance, “what did osamu need?”

“huh?” you notice his grin falter. it's a split millisecond, but he's quick to cover it with a casual wave of his hand. “oh, somethin’ about… rice.”

you squint at him, trying to read his face. “i thought you said noodles earlier?”

“rice, noodles—same difference,” he says, getting up and walking over to the fridge to pull it open. “food stuff... y’know how he is.”

you let out a hum, satisfied with his answer. and just like that, the moment passes. your attention is drawn back to your book while atsumu rifles through leftovers.

it isn't until later that night when you're climbing into bed and reaching for your phone to set your alarm that you notice. the screen lights up, and instead of your usual photo of cherry blossoms, you're greeted by him—a photo of atsumu.

and it's not just any photo of atsumu, though. this one was pure chaos.

his entire face filled the frame, nose slightly scrunched, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and his golden-brown eyes wide with faux innocence. his lips were puckered in an over-the-top kissy face. across the bottom of the image in bright, white text were the words: “miss me yet, babe? ;)”

your jaw drops.

“what the—?” you're immediately sitting up and unlocking your phone, going straight into your photo gallery. what you find only makes your disbelief grow, (and maybe your heart too, out of fondness).

the first photo was relatively tame: a selfie of atsumu sprawled out on the couch with his head sitting in his hand with a cheeky and flirty smile. of course, you think.

the second was him in the doorway of the living room with his finger pressed to his lips in a "shh" gesture while you sat on the couch, engrossed in your book.

and then things get progressively more ridiculous, (assuming that's even possible).

there's a close-up of atsumu holding up your favorite snack with an inflated, brash grin, almost as if he was offering it to you. the caption reads: “this one's for you, babe."

another captured him perched on your desk chair, holding your pencil like it was a quill. his nose is scrunched again, an attempt to portray his concentration as he pretends to scribble something brilliant.

it's the final photo that stops you in your tracks.

it's atsumu stood on the balcony, wrapped in your favorite blanket like a superhero while his arm stretched dramatically toward the sky. the caption read: “protector of this household and defender of snacks ;)”

you stare at the screen in silence, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. quite frankly, you couldn't tell whether you wanted to laugh or cry.

atsumu was many things: he was ridiculous, he was almost always over the top, and he was also occasionally the most infuriating person you’d ever met. but, there was one thing for certain—he was undeniably, wholeheartedly yours.

many people don't understand him the way you do. atsumu hadn’t just messed with your phone for the sake of it—he’d left you a trail of love notes that were neatly tucked behind each photo’s absurdity. it was his way of saying "i’m here, even when i’m not," without actually saying the words verbally.

and it worked.

you didn’t text him right away. instead, you curled under the blankets, scrolling through the photos again and again. your heart swelled with every outlandish caption, every childish expression, every trace of him.

eventually, you couldn’t help yourself.

you: you’re a menace.

his reply was almost instant: atsumu: a menace with a pretty face, though. miss ya, babe x

you beamed, your thumb hovering over the lock screen settings, conflicted between whether or not you should switch back the photo. though how could you? not when you already knew tomorrow would bring another excuse for him to check your phone again, just to see if you’d kept it.

so you decide to leave it—his face on your lock screen as a proud display of the world’s most unconventional love letter.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Kink negations and make it sexy

Free use and somnophilia with Ghost would go so hard. Imagine this:

Getting home from a day at work, normally you're exhausted. Absolutely ready to collapse into the bed with your boyfriend and sleep until your alarm goes off. But sometimes you aren't worn out.

Sometimes you feel like you're bouncing off the walls with energy.

After he kept being woken up by you playing with yourself (you didn't want to bother him, he works so hard and gets very little sleep out in the field) he sits you down to talk.

"You don't have ta keep usin' your toys sweetheart," he says and chuckles when he sees the confused look on your face. "When you're all pent up," his big hands come to rest on your hips and pull you into his lap, your thighs spread wide to accommodate his own, "you can just use me."

You gnawed on your bottom lip, one part of you wanted to accept immediately. Being able to fuck your super hot boyfriend instead of using your fingers or vibrator? Hell yeah. But the other part of you spoke logic.

You knew some of his past. Of how he endured SA and your heart squeezed a little at the thought that he trusts you this much. While you kept mulling his offer over his hands crept under your shirt and he pulled you out of your head when his fingers brushed over your nipples.

You jerked back a little and looked up into his brown eyes. "Simon-"

"What is it? Do you not want it?" He asked as he squeezed and massaged your tits within his hands, pinching and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

"I-" a breathy moan escapes and you squeeze your thighs around his own, "this isn't fair," you complain. He just hummed and looked at you with anticipation while a whine clawed up your throat from his awful teasing. "What if-" another whine, "how am I supposed to know if you don't want it?" You managed to eek out.

He paused for just a moment and rolled your nipples absentmindedly as your hips jerked against your own will. "You know how I sometimes sleep without pants on?" He asked and one of his hands wandered away from your sore nipple and down into your pants. His fingers circled over your clothes clit and he had a spark of humor in his eyes when your hips rolled to meet his movements.

You nodded and mumbled out a "Yeah."

"If I don't want it then I'll wear my pants to bed," he pushed your wet panties to the side and dipped his fingers low to gather your slick onto them before he moved them back up to circle your clit with more lube. "Okay?"

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you bucked your hips against his fingers as the warmth that had begun to build within your lower abdomen started to spread to all of your limbs.

Your orgasm was not violent, it was gently and softly pulled forward and over you, like being tucked in after a long day. A series of shaky moans and your entire body going ridged from the pleasure that gently rolled in like a calm tide all while he whispered praise into your ear and mumbled it into the skin of your neck as he littered kisses.

A couple nights later you come home, energy still buzzed within your veins and you hardly even thought about your boyfriends offer until you wandered into the bedroom. You had stripped while walking towards the comfort of your bed with the plan of getting off with your fingers again until you saw his pale ass. Then you recalled all that he had said and negotiated.

With a shaky hand you turned him over onto his back, grateful for how he seemed to absolutely die whenever he slept at home with you. Sure enough, he was absolutely naked and his dick was already hard like it had been waiting for you.

You licked your lips and slipped your panties off, testing just how wet you were with your fingers. You weren't surprised to feel that slick had begun at just the sight of Simon. It really was unfair how he got your body Pavlov'd to react.

You swung your hips over his and settled down. His cock nestled between the folds of your cunt as began to grind against his hardened length. You bit down on your bottom lip to keep quiet as the tip of his cock kissed your clit over and over again, sending sparks up your spine.

You rolled your hips until you were sure your own slick coated his cock and you were on the precipice of an orgasm from just humping against his cock like an animal in heat. You sat up on your knees as your hand wrapped around his cock and lined yourself up with him.

When you felt the tip notch against the entrance to your weeping pussy you shuddered a little. You looked down at your still sleeping boyfriend, Simon completely unaware his body was being used for this.

You couldn't deny the thrill it gave you.

Taking Simon's cock was always, always, a challenge. No amount of prep seemed to remove the stretch completely and you hadn't even done anything to stretch yourself out for him.

You bit down on your lower lip harder as you sank slowly, oh so slowly, onto his cock. Each inch was a bit of a challenge as you rolled your hips and lifted yourself up and lowered yourself back down to ease onto it.

Heat prickled up your spine when you finally sat flush against his hips, your chest heaved from the effort and the burn of the stretch.

You rolled your hips, testing the waters, and couldn't hold back the soft moan that left your lips. You kept watching his face as his brows pinched together as you rolled your hips a second time and then a third until you found a rhythm that made pleasure claw at your insides.

Each movement shoved you closer to the edge, faster than you would have with just your fingers.

Still you kept your eyes locked onto his face, even while you let out soft moans and clenched around his cock. It wasn't until your orgasm slammed into you with full force, when your pussy began to pulse around his cock, did he finally wake up.

And god he could have sworn he was in heaven. He woke up to sight of your face mid orgasm and the feeling of you cumming around his cock. His hands immediately found your hips on instinct and he bucked up.

You squealed and landed against his chest, your hands on his pecs as he bucked up into you. "Such a pretty girl," he muttered. At the same time his tongue felt so heavy from sleep but loose from his pleasure. "Wakin' me up in the best way," he murmured as your moans filled the room, punched out with each thrust of his hips.

"Simon," you moaned and his stomach clenched at just how fucked out you sounded.

"Yeah tha's right, moan my name baby," he encouraged as he picked up the pace, selfishly seeking his own orgasm.

You repeated his name like a mantra, your nails dug into his pecs as he spilled inside you with a groan. He pushed himself to the verge of painful overstimulation as he kept fucking his cock into you even while his cum dripped out.

For a moment you both laid there breathless and in the afterglow of your own orgasms. Then a smile spread across your face and you looked up at Simon who wore a similar expression. "Thank you," you whispered while he dragged his hands up and down your naked form slowly in a soothing fashion.

[cjlouwho]

prompt: im not gay, but my husband is.

(I loved those scenes in 911 and lonestar where they only wanted the straight white guy to work on them, so I think it would be funny happening with married, bi buck!)

“No, I don't want you touching me.”

They'd been sent on a call to a woman's residence. She had fallen in her driveway on the way to her car. From the moment they pulled up, trouble had started. She didn't want Hen touching her, wouldn't accept help from Chimney, and the second she spotted Diaz on Eddie's uniform she stopped him.

“Well, you're a straight, white man, Bobby,” Chimney said with a smile. “You wanna take the lead?”

“Wait,” Eddie put his hands on his hip, “do interracial relationships matter to you too?” he asked the woman. “Because, if so, Bobby's out.”

She looked around at everyone in a panic. “You!” she exclaimed when her eyes met Buck's. “You can do it, right?!”

“Yes, I am capable of placing a splint on your leg,” he said with no enthusiasm as Hen handed over the splint.

He bent down to get started but she held her arm out to stop him. “You're normal, right? You're not married to someone,” she glanced up at Bobby, “different, are you? Not gay or anything?”

“Oh, no ma'am, I'm not gay,” Buck assured her, before adding with a flash of his ring, “my husband is though.”

“Y- Your what?”

“My husband.”

“So you are gay?”

“Ma'am, please don't get him started,” Hen begged. “He will not shut up once he gets going.”

“There are actually some people that believe bisexuality doesn't exist,” Buck began, waving a finger to emphasize his point. The groans from the rest of the 118 didn't detour him. “It has been proven to cause mental health issues for people who identify as such, and in extreme cases-”

“Okay, okay,” Bobby interrupted, patting Buck's back a couple of times to get him to stop. “This lady is very clearly “in distress” and we should be focused on helping her.” He stared over at the woman, “If she'll let any of us.”

“Can't you call another team or something? One that isn't filled with minorities and heathens?”

“The 112?” Hen suggested.

Eddie shook his head. “All women crew today.” He looked down at the lady, “I'm guessing you wouldn't like that?”

“They're just not as capable as men,” she whined.

“143?” Chimney asked.

Buck stood back up. “With Captain Garcia?”

“No!” She yelled.

“217?” Eddie offered.

Buck perked up at that. He smiled at the lady on the ground. “You'd get to meet my husband!” he exclaimed. “He's working ground ops today. I could call him, give him a heads up?” He bent back down to the woman's level. “He is the gay one though.”

The woman groaned before pushing herself up and grabbing her purse, jerking away at Buck's attempt to help. “You know what? I'm just gonna take myself to the hospital,” she said as she started to hobble away.

“Say hello to Dr. Cohen for us,” Bobby said, sending her off with a wave. She let out one more angry yelp before getting into her car and slamming the door.

*****

Tommy had gotten home about an hour before Buck, already dressed in a white button down shirt tucked into black dress pants for dinner reservations they had that night.

When he heard the sounds of Buck's car door shutting, he headed to the front door and opened it, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey you,” he said with a smile.

Buck smiled back, dropping his duffel the second he reached the porch. He immediately wrapped himself around Tommy, surprising him with a kiss that elicited a moan from him.

“I got to call you my husband at work today,” Buck explained between kisses as Tommy gripped his waist. He led Tommy backward into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. “Twice.”

Tommy breathed out a laugh, pulling back just enough to look into Buck's eyes. “This was your first shift back after our honeymoon,” he reminded him. “So you lasted, what, twelve hours into your workday before mentioning me?”

Buck shook his head. “It was our first call of the day,” he informed him. “More like two hours.”

Tommy hummed, running his hands up and down Buck's waist. “Your whole team owes me double then,” he said before pressing a gentle kiss to Buck's lips.

It was Buck's turn to pull back this time. “What are you talking about?”

“They were taking bets on how long it would take for you to mention you were married. I said it'd be less than twelve hours, and you'd mention it more than once. Wait-” He paused, then gave Buck's waist a squeeze, “did you mention bisexual erasure?”

Buck sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It's an important topic, Tommy!”

Tommy simply smiled. “I hit the jackpot, Babe.”

“You placed bets on me?” Buck asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Mhm,” Tommy replied. He shrugged. “I won like five hundred dollars.”

Buck's eyes darkened at that. In one quick motion, he turned them and shoved Tommy against the door, pawing at his shirt to get it untucked. “That's so hot,” he moaned, smashing his mouth against Tommy's in a sloppy kiss.

They never did make their dinner reservations.

[buckyalpine]

Bucky in blue pjs who is soft and shy and so cute but sometimes sleeps naked when it gets too hot - I really love a happy, cuddly, shy Bucky. I thought this was adorable, I refuse to not make you all think about it too:

Bucky who got the softest pair of baby blue pj's for his birthday and it's all he wears to sleep. It's his favorite thing ever. He blushed when he saw the letters JBB sewed on the inside; he has no idea who got it for him and he's happy to let it remain a mystery though he secretly hopes they're from you. He saw you sneaking a peek at the size label of his t shirt before scurrying off out the door.

He looks so cozy when he's lounging in them, usually tucked in some corner with a book, a glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies. He was also given a new pillow; a firm one that wasn't too soft. At first he was reluctant to use it but now he can't go anywhere without it. Imagine how precious he'd look trudging around with it on a moving night because he's sleepy but he doesn't want to miss out either. He starts off awake but seconds later, his face is smushed into the pillow and he's softly snoring. You always make sure to tuck him in with the throw blanket and it never fails to make him let out a content little sigh. Him being a soft, shy little cutie is exactly why the next part is everything.

Him sleeping naked.

As the weather warms up, the AC is on full blast and thank god for Stark technology because it can get as cold as winter if needed.

However.

It wasn't perfect.

It conked out and it leaves everyone as grumpy as ever because no one can sleep and Tony keeps insisting he'll figure it out any day now. Everyone looks miserable except Bucky. He looks as happy as a clam coming down for breakfast in his favorite pj's.

"How on earth did you get any sleep Bucky?" You can't believe he looks so well rested, especially when he has the serum that keeps him extra warm.

"And you're in full on pajamas, you slept in that?!" Steve gawks from the side while you also continue to look at him curiously, his cheeks tinting pink.

"I-

What no one knows is Bucky sleeps naked as the day he was born when it gets too hot. His body did a decent job of regulating heat on its own but throwing off the extra layers didn't hurt.

Of course, he didn't want to tell anyone that part.

The part where when it gets too warm, he starts off by shucking off his shirt. Then eventually his pants. He could keep his boxers on but his door was locked and it just feel so freeing-

"Buck?"

"I slept fine!" He blurts out hoping you wouldn't pry anymore while his best friend stares at him suspiciously. He races out of the kitchen as soon as he has his coffee and he hopes to drop the subject.

But he isn't so lucky.

Because on a particularly exhausting night, he doesn't realize he didn't fully shut his door. You were on your way to your room, peeking in to say goodnight seeing as he hadn't closed the door yet but-

You squeaked seeing his perfectly toned ass, thighs spread apart, back muscles relaxed, all on full display, blinking frozen on the spot before quickly slipping out of his room and shutting the door behind you.

You're beyond giddy for the rest night, unable to shake the image of a very naked, sleeping Bucky out of your mind; his pretty face relaxed, the gentle snores, his meaty legs, his cute butt-

stop.

You will yourself to think of something else but how could you when he looked so perfect. The next day Bucky notices you acting jumpy around him while making breakfast which is unusual for you...

"Everything okay, y/n?" He asks so gently and you nearly melt on the spot, biting back a smile.

"I-I came by your room to say good night, thought you were still awake" You shrug, eyes flicking to his before looking back down at your feet, letting him piece together what you were hinting at. His brows furrow before his eyes grow wide, cheeks flushed down to his neck and up to his ears. You could have sworn you heard him squeak when he stammers out a response. Barely.

"Oh-I-when-what time did you come" He has no idea what you saw or didn't see but either way he knows you know. He hadn't even bothered with clothes the night before going right from the shower straight to bed, fuck what if you didn't want to speak to him again-

"I see why you're able to sleep so well now. It's our secret" You throw him a wink, giggling before running off and Bucky nearly faints himself, he thought he couldn't possibly fall in love more but-

Anyway idk what's wrong with me, my mind has been off the deep end somewhere.

[yamujiburo]

if you don't mind, would you rank ash's outfits from worst to best? (also on the same topic, would you have wanted to see him in ethan, brendan, victor, and any other missed protag's outfits?)

Oooh this is a great question I've never really thought about

Shoutout to @/leafbladex_yt for this cool edit of all Ash's fits! (it's helping me judge the clothes alone rather than the art style). Ranking under the cut!

Going from least favorite to most favorite! AG, DP, SM, JN, XY, BW, OS

AG- I'm not a huge fan of this one. I feel like there's not a lot helping break the colors up in this design. The block of blue and the white "U" shape are competing to draw your eye and it feels unbalanced. I feel like if the "U" shape was on his chest or took up more space it'd help

DP- This outfit is pretty similar to AG's except Ash has a popped collar rather than a hood. However this one has two things going for it that I like. The "V" shape placement is nice and is what I wished the AG design had and also the black shirt is very unique compared to all of Ash's other designs that tend to be blue-leaning! Also like the extra pockets that make the pants feel less empty than the AG one

SM- Another unique look for Ash that I do like but isn't my favorite. It's simple and I do like the pants a lot actually but idk I just want a little more. The shoes make me laugh a bit. I like that they're going for a more slick look for the shoes but the little circles on em feel vaguely clown-like haha

JN- From here on I really like these designs! I like the JN shoes a lot and they honestly be my favorite shoes of the bunch. Not the hugest fan of the hat but I really like the vest and the white undershirt with red stripe. The balance and colors are really nice! My only gripe is the color of his shorts. It's not egregious but the purple that's only slightly different in value compared to the vest is weird to me. It works but idk I think a higher contrast might've been nice or just going for simple black shorts would've felt better to me (?)

XY- Don't have much to say about this one! It's just a solid, clean design. The hat is fun, the simple shirt with white trim and just enough lines to make the design look cool but not crowded is great! I also like the black undershirt. It's subtle but this design would look weird without it

BW- UGH this design scratches my brain just right. I looove the tall collar/hood, the 1/3 blue 2/3 white combo is soooo clean especially with the blue accents for the pockets. It's also nicely broken up by they yellow zipper and bold black "U" lines to separate the blue and white. So beautifully balanced

OS- This is a hard design to beat. It's just so iconic. Love the league symbol on the hat and the white panel in the front of that hat (forgot to mention I like that about the BW design too). The green gloves are great, I'm kinda sad they just defaulted to black in his other designs. The blue overshirt is great with the white collar/white sleeves. The yellow trim on the bottom, for the buttons and pockets give it just enough visual interest while keeping the design interesting. Keeping the overshirt open for the black tshirt is sooooo nice. It draws the eyes to the center and balances well with the light jeans. Love that it's tucked in also so the overshirt is noticeably longer creating even more variation. The belt is also a great touch! Love a belt. Belts are such a nice way to break up a design. The cuffed jeans are a look and I love that the shoes are designed but not over designed. The black and white combo with red accents is balanced super nicely. 10/10 no notes.

As for an outfit I'd wish we'd seen Ash in........ honestly Victor's. It would have been a huge deviation from what Ash usually wears, similarly to SM. Idk if it would have been my favorite look but it would be so wildly different to see Ash in long sleeves, actual skinny jeans and a beanie haha. Might have to draw this at some point

[sunghoonnsupremacy]

OPEN UP. - perv!roomate sim jaeyun.

- warnings : pussy eating, cnc, multiple orgasms, jakes a perv, panty stealing and somnophilia

- word count : 418

- a/n : this was originally an ask but i accidentally deleted it so i hope the anon still sees it<3

- synopsis : jake didn't plan to catch feelings for somebody this year, especially not his hot roommate. but what can he do? its winter break and he just knows you haven't gotten laid for as long as you've been living there so being the gentleman that he is, he decides to help you out!

it's two am. you're laying on your bed with a dimly lit night, trying to fall asleep. it's been a long day for you. going to school amongst having to work a shift as a barista definitely isn't your thing, yet here you are. as you slip into a deep slumber, you don't hear the door creaking open slowly.

jake slips into your room wearing his sweats and a black tshirt with his hair messy. he seems to be admiring you, as he walks closer to you with his eyes glued to your shirt riding up, showing your panties. he curses quietly to himself before sitting on the bed next to your sleeping figure. jake brushes the hair out of your face and kisses your forehead.

sweet, right? 

not really.

his hand slips down your panties and he immediately groans at the heat that's radiating from your slightly wet pussy. you stir in your sleep, seemingly not waking up any time soon. he sits behind you and slowly takes off your panties. the visual hitting him better than expected.

 "fuck.." he spreads your legs open and leans in to lick at your pussy from the back, not before tucking your panties into his back pocket.

taking a long strip with his tongue, jake groans at your sweet taste. you start breathing heavier in your sleep and weakly attempt to close your legs.

jake clicks his tongue and harshly spreads them to slurp up at your pussy. his tongue maliciously licks around your clit as his fingers circle around your opening. by now you've waken up, which jake hasn't noticed hence he's in pussy heaven right now. you squirm around with widened eyes and soft pants continuously leaving your mouth.

"j-jake what are you doing?" a whimper leaves your mouth when he looks up and detaches his lips from you. he starts caressing the inside of your thighs softly, "couldn't resist it, sorry baby. just lean back and enjoy it" a strangled yelp leaves your mouth when he wraps his arms around your thighs, slamming his face onto your pussy and eating you out like never before.

your legs instinctively close around his head from the amount of pleasure. "open up, baby." he forces them open and holds them down so you can't do anything but let him do his thing.

as the night continues, you've already had three orgasms on his tongue, fingers and most importantly his dick. cuddling your shaking form close, jake wraps his arms around you and pecks your lips softly.

"sweet dreams, roomie."

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: choi hansol

forced proximity

'coincidence? baby, they don't exist'

'so, what's your name?'

you blink, turning around to face the guy with who you got stuck in the elevator. he is now comfortably sitting on the floor with his knees tucked closer to his chest, leaning on the wall. the look on his face has zero traces of nerves or anxiety, he's opening bag of chips with a small smile on his face, looking at you like what is happening right now is absolutely normal. is this how an average day goes for him?

'you think this button is broken?' you ask instead, turning back. you push at 'call' button again but no sound comes out. 'we can't actually be stuck here with no connection to the outside world, right?'

'it happens quite often.' my god, so you were right, this is an average day for him. 'but no, this button works, we just need to wait a little. maybe these guys are out somewhere.'

'out where?' you ask, turning back to him. smell of chips starts filling up the cabin and you try to concentrate on it instead of thinking about being stuck here forever. 'should i just keep on pressing that button?'

your voice gets caught in your throat because the guy looks at you with... you don't know what. his gaze is piercing and it's like he's looking right at you, within you, in your soul. it's unsettling, especially when it comes from someone that handsome. in all three months since you moved into this apartment complex, you only met several families and few kids here and there, but never this guy. your brain unnecessarily reminds you that right now you're standing in front of a really handsome guy in old washed out t-shirt and pj pants, while he's at least dressed in jeans and sweatshirt.

'i'm hansol,' he says suddenly, breaking your thinking spiral. 'your neighbor from the forth floor.' he then pats a space next to him: 'come sit? i think it's more comfortable than standing.' you open your mouth to argue when he adds: 'i'll be the one pressing that button, no worries. just come sit down, yeah? you can meditate that way better, no?'

your nose scrunches in confusion. 'meditate?'

it's time for hansol to look sheepish. 'isn't this what people do when they start panicking? i mean- i am not implying that you are panicking right now, but you look pretty worried and i thought- shit, you are not panicking, right? there really is no need to, i promise we will be out of here in no time. i thought if you can sit and mediate then you can-' he shuts up, noticing his rambling and how your eyes grow only bigger with each word he says. after a second of hesitation, he stands up, grabs his chips and comes over to you, shoving them in your direction. 'here. chips.'

there are a lot of things that you can say or do, but your mind chooses to grab offered snack and silently move to where he was sitting. hansol seems to approve, as he smiles a little and leans with his back on the opposite wall so he can still look at you, while insistently pressing the 'call' button. 'so.'

'yes?' you raise your head, slowly munching on the chip. it's salty taste helps you stay here in the moment instead of disappearing in the anxiety.

'i feel like it's my fate, you know? to get stuck in the elevators. like god is trying to tell me something through it, you know? like i don't get stuck just because, i get stuck for something. and then i think-'

it takes you five seconds to realize that hansol is doing this on purpose. he is distracting you so you won't panick and this gesture is incredibly sweet for a random stranger. you're not sure how much time passes, because hansol's storytelling is fascinating (and a bit weird, but in a more 'not ordinary' way than bad). you don't notice how your spine is not rigid anymore, but hansol does. he notices how you slowly relax, hold his gaze more and eat chips more actively. he notices how corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile and how cute you look with confusion written all over your face. in truth, he has no idea what he is even saying, but he can't stop, can't let you remember even for a second that this stupid elevator is not working. his thumb is numb from how strongly he pushes on that 'call' button but he ignores it in favor of staring in your eyes, catching every emotion that sparkles in them. you are cute and you don't even realize it and that makes you even cuter.

'hello? is someone there?' when static voice cuts through, both of you jump a little. 'apologies for this horrible inconvinience, elevator will start working in few minutes. are you alright?'

hansol takes a look at your surprised face and half-finished bag of chips. 'yeah, we are all good.'

pang of regret slashes through him when you hastily stand up and cheer, when cabin finally starts descending. shit, he didn't even manage to learn your name! when elevator door opens, hansol reaches out for your hand and is pleasantly surprised when you take it with a smile, rushing out with the cutest little 'whoop!' he saw in his life.

'i think you are right,' you suddenly speak, making him look up. 'what you said about you getting stuck in the elevators meaning something? i think you're meant to help people like me.'

i think i was meant to meet you, he wants to say but doesn't. instead what comes out of his mouth is: 'you owe me.' at your confused expression, he points at his snack. 'chips.'

'oh. oh!' you exclaim, getting flustered. 'of course, i will-'

'-and your name.' he adds, making you freeze. he watches understanding dawn on you and smiles. 'and your favorite drink. so i would know what to buy for you.'

it's bold. not exactly his style, but his head-to-mouth filter is not working anymore. for a second he thinks he overdid it, but then you blush (so prettily), then smile (so, so prettily) and he knows he didn't mess up. when you step closer and introduce yourself, hansol knows he not only didn't mess up, but also won something out of this whole situation. (and he doesn't know it yet, but this big win? it's your heart. it really is).

a/n: guilty for having this trope as my most favorite one!! and who is better than hansol to write this for, am i right? - nini

my other works are here

[jsprnt]

your vacation with your best friend doesn’t go as expected

jude bellingham x childhood best friend! reader

A/N: tuesday became thursday, but it’s up now!! based on this request!

W/C: 2.534

"wait for me! why are you walking so fast?!"

you shout, hurrying up and fastening your pace to match your best friend's younger brother's, jobe.

the white sandals on your matching white-polished feet, click-clack against the ground in repeated noises.

to some it would sound absolutely horrendous, it attracted attention from your surroundings. the sudden attention would make some squirmy, making them walk slower or even freeze in their spot.

to you, it was the sound of heaven. clicking flip-flops or sandals against the ground meant: warm weather and, of course, being on vacation.

"not my fault you're so much shorter.." the younger boy complains, black sunglasses framing his face- accompanied by his attitude, it made him look even more sassy.

"do jude and you, like- practice the same sentences or retorts?" you question, panting when you’re finally walking side by side.

"mhm, we have a whole book.." he hums sarcastically, and you swear you can see him roll his eyes through the black shades.

"of course, expected from the brothers who brainstorm instagram captions together.." you giggle at the memory, recalling the wrinkles and frowns on their face from overthinking so much. only for the final caption to be a single word or emoji..

"you don't understand.." jobe mumbles, throwing you a glance.

"it has to be absolutely perfect, it gives .."

"aura."

"aura.." you say the same word in unison, giving him a grin.

"yes, that book probably exists.."

"whatever, just come in..."

"I'm right behind you.." you speak, playing with the plastic bag in your hand as you both stand in the elevator. going up to your hotel room floor.

the white, tacky printed plastic bag was evidence of your quick aloe vera run to the local spanish pharmacy.

you knew, no matter the melanin in a persons skin. sun protection and after sun care were essential for everyone's health and wellbeing.

of course, jobe was nice enough to accompany you. in case you'd get scammed into paying twice the normal amount as a foreigner- who definitely didn't speak a lick of spanish.

well, jobe wasn't a pro either. though, his google translate expertise is always very welcome.

"okay, be ready in 45.."

"only? who said that?" you question, mentally calculating how you'll shower, do your makeup, and fix your hair in that time frame.

"jude just texted me.."

"isn't he the one who takes like an hour to do anything?" you scoff, pulling your room key out of your handbag.

"I don't know, y/n. would you be so kind to hurry up.." jobe gives you a fake smile, pushing you into your room.

"I'm gonna kill him if he's any later than me!" you exclaim, shutting your door.

you take a quick breath, quickly moving around your hotel room. you had your outfit and shoes picked out already, so you could speed through your routine without worrying about that.

you use every single minute properly, swinging your door open right at the 45-minute mark.

you adjust your dress, looking out your door to see both jude and jobe, leaning against the wall. jobe face deep into his phone.

"so.." you say, eyeing them carefully. though, your eyes stay glued on your best friend, jude.

the beige, linen shirt, complementing his, vacation bronzed skin tone perfectly. with his sleeves rolled up, you can feel your face heat up more than the current marbella weather.

just like, when you'd received a fat kiss on the cheek from a nine-year-old jude, back in year four, when you'd finally passed your time tables after trying so hard.

"you guys look nice, stylist?" you inquire, looking them up and down.

"all us.." jude chimes, proud smile on his face. eyes crinkling as the corners of his mouth curl up.

"mhm, improved.." you mumble, stepping out of your room and shutting your door. quickly tucking your room card in your clutch.

"okay, but you've improved so much. remember you almost died for those led, light-up sneakers? and now you're wearing high heels to go out.."

jobe pretends to shed a few fake tears, making you roll your eyes.

"come on, if we start talking about a fashion terrorist. you're number one on the list, before you even had a stylist or all this.."

"can't lie about that, man.." jobe laughs, already following you to the elevator. you don't notice the lingering eyes on you, jude's eyes stuck on your back.

eventually, after quite a cute taxi ride, with the driver coincidentally being a madridista, you arrive at the beach club. sun beaming down on your moisturized skin.

you quickly become busy with everyone around you, tipping back drink after drink.

you'd never been much of a social person, at least not before jude started dragging you to different parties or vacations.

I mean, it was difficult for you two to be apart from each other for so long. despite the fact that you lived so far from each other lately.

when you'd met back in primary school, at age six. your parents knew you would be joined by the hip for the rest of your lives.

playing in the sandbox, and building sand castles went to taking up football together. only for you to fall out after picking up a different hobby. while jude grew a sudden affection for the sport, making it his life goal to succeed in the football industry, just like his idols.

his focus and passion for the sport definitely stretched you both apart for a while. only for you guys to grow a stronger bond when he told you about his move to germany, to sign with bvb.

you became a busy university student, trying for the life of you to understand the effects of a torn acl for your next anatomy exam.

an aspiring orthopedic surgeon and a successful football player, made an interesting duo of friends.

you swirl the cosmopolitan in your hand, watching the pink liquid move in the clear glass with sudden interest.

you slowly pull yourself from your half-drunk trance, looking to your left, when you hear your best friend's name being shouted by an unfamiliar, shrill voice.

you watch as a blonde, fully made up lady touches jude on his shoulder. the light, but intimate touch makes you squint. a sudden ache starting to settle in your chest when you watch her perfectly manicured nails scratch against the fabric of his shirt, sleeves tight around his veiny biceps.

you clench your eyes closed, a sigh leaving your mouth before you move your head away from the sudden, torturous sight.

when you look down, you immediately notice your plain, stress-bitten nails. the sight is unsettling, though familiar- with all your exams, and your parttime job, piling stress on your body.

you run your fingers down your thumb nail, wishing you could fully enjoy your early twenties like the girl who just jumped into the pool, wearing the prettiest mini dress, without a care in the world. Or, like the other girl, who's mingling around, sniffling out a potential kiss or cuddle for the night.

you flicker your gaze back to jude, his hand going over to stabilize the blonde bombshell in front of him. keeping her up with a hand on his back, and a handsome smile on his face.

you bite your lip unconsciously, drawing blood when the girl smiles back. the blood mixes with your glittery gloss, making you swipe your tongue down your bottom lip.

jealousy, or whatever this was- it made you sick, nauseous. you tip your drink, the rest of the liquid entering your veins with fire.

love wasn't a first come, first serve..

you get up from your little seat, being back at the bar in no time to get yourself another one to soothe the burn and ache in your chest.

"y/n?" you look to your left, making eye contact with a relaxed-looking jobe. a can nursed in his right hand.

"you shouldn't drink, you're a baby.." you mutter, drunkenly ordering yourself a water.

alcohol cleaned up wounds right?

yes.

but, not emotional ones..

seeing jobe, so calm and collected, brings you back from your mental breakdown.

you knew, even with your common sense hanging by a single thread. your current predicament would never, ever switch up suddenly- just because you're actively damaging your liver.

"I'm above eighteen, 'member?" jobe speaks, eyes on the way you're sipping on your room temperature water.

"still a baby.." you mutter, giving him a look from above the rim of your glass.

he shivers, even with the weather reaching record temperatures, your scolding look scares him a little.

"mood swings? you were so jumpy and happy in the car.."

you groan, discreetly moving your head so jobe can see the sight you are being tortured with.

"he's literally just talking.."

"he's touching her everywhere.." you groan, looking up at jobe.

the younger boy knew about the way you secretly admired his older brother. it was difficult to hide after he'd stumbled upon a random note in your notebook when you were seventeen, containing pros and cons about dating jude, written by you.

you were so gone, the cons list was emptier than a pigeon's nest.

"he's not touching anyone, like at all. actually he's walking towards us.."

you gasp, eyes going wide as ever as you raise your head. afraid to look behind you in case he's right there.

"if you're lying, I-"

"what's all this? talking shit without me?"

you do a silent prayer, closing your eyes for a second before twisting your bar stool around.

you gasp when your chair wobbles, sudden, muscular arms wrapping themselves around your waist to keep you sitting down.

"you okay? drunk already, darlin'?"

you almost whimper at the nickname, clearing your throat when you jump out of your initial shock.

"mhm, had some water just now.."

torture, torture, and torture..

you clench your teeth uncontrollably, resting face looking something like you're about to explode..

"you don't look okay.." he mutters, bringing his hand up to cup your face, checking your temperature with his palm. 

"I'm fine.."

You shove his hands off, looking away. you try to keep your emotions at bay, the strings of your patience on the verge of snapping violently.

"I need- to go to the restroom.." you finally squeak, getting up and brushing shoulders with an incredibly confused jude.

the interaction garners a couple looks, and jobe immediately nudges jude. realizing he could become the match maker of the century..

"follow her, come on.." he urges, pushing his older brother away.

"I mean, did I say something wrong? Or did I do something bad?"

"go.."

the single worded response by jobe, has him following you. hot on your heels.

you gasp when you feel a sharp tug on your arm, getting pulled into a small room, right next to the staff room.

you blink, opening your mouth to scream bloody murder, but stop when you hear jude's voice.

"it's me, you're okay.."

he mutters quietly, and you can hear him rummaging around. finally, his hand makes contact with the light switch. the very dim light, making it possible to see him.

"what was that back there?" he questions, and just like the other occasions you've witnessed him being confused or angry, his accent thickens.

brown eyes stare into yours, and you shiver before looking away.

"said I'm fine, jude.."

"you cannot fool me, y/n. we've shared too many years together for me to not notice when you're not acting right." his hand reaches for yours, and you let him. like a love sick fool, you allow him to cross boundaries and enter your portal of comfort.

"you must like her, go ahead and date her.." you finally speak after a long silence, making jude's hold on your hand tighten.

"who?" he breathes, knotting his brows together with a frown. his heart begins thumping harder in his chest.

"the woman you were talking with..

you can feel immense embarrassment brewing in your chest. your breath shaky as you look back into his beautiful brown eyes.

"the woman I was - how does that indicate I like her? I can't talk with a woman, just because?"

you close your eyes in humiliation, biting your lip.

"is that not what it was?"

"chatting with a random person does not mean I fancy them.."

you clear your throat, no turning back now.

"oh, how else do you start showing you fancy someone? standing there like a robot?"

"you're unbelievably stupid.."

"I'm stupid?!" you question, voice high as your eyes widen in surprise.

your breath hitches when you feel a hand on your cheek, again jude's hand is warm. soft but his hold is rough around the edges. making sure you're looking directly into his eyes.

"you're so stupid, in the fifteen years of us knowing each other. have you, ever thought of why I've never brought a single girl home? introduced a girl as my girlfriend to you? to my parents even?"

your jaw closes, not a single peep leaving your lips.

you can feel his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your cheek, it gives you goosebumps instantly. your eyes not leaving his for a millisecond.

"now you won't even speak.."

he sighs, moistening his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

the sight lures you in fully, the look of longing in your eyes, mixed with an unknown feeling of euphoria.

jude notices the eyes, those eyes made him melt every time he saw you. since the age of fourteen, you'd been the sole person who'd occupy the romantic emotions in his very heart and soul..

it's his cue, he thinks. this is it.

you're incredibly jealous, or sad he thinks. the way you're looking at him, all allured and eager.

without even realizing it, your lips inch closer. soft, warm breaths hitting each other's, makes you almost whimper. his hold on your jaw tightens, and he presses his plump lips against yours in a fervent kiss.

your hand reaches up to his bicep, the muscles on display the entire evening- tensing up under your needy touch.

he groans into the kiss, both eyes fluttering shut in relief.

a hand travels down to your waist, pads of his fingers making contact with the exposed skin on your midriff. softly running his hands down your burning skin.

he pulls back for air, your foreheads touching intimately as you both pant. lingering smile on your face when you look up at him.

"I love you and your pretty mouth, but next time don't jump to conclusions with this smart brain of yours.."

you chuckle. initial shock gone, earlier anger and frustration washed away by the single touch of his lips onto yours.

"I know, I'm sorry. I- I love you too.."

the words feel foreign falling from your lips, especially with knowing who's on the receiving end of your receptieve answer.

"why don't you just help me get used to your taste?”

he tilts your head, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.

after years of crushing, right now, within a heartbeat, he's yours.

[ilycosy]

why is the thought of luke stealing your underwear and keeping them in his cargo pants so hot to me??? i……

it's so hot bc it's totally real n possible ,,, he wld definitely steal anything of yours that he can grab w/o anyone noticing !!

lukes the type of guy that def ends up getting caught eventually tho .. maybe on purpose

luke castellan has always been the golden boy of camp— never mean nor out of place, just the right amount of confident and talkative. perfect in every sense, with his pretty face and natural hermes boy charm.

which is why he finds it so hot, the actual scandal of it all fueled his fucked up sense of self even more. he knows it's weird to do, but he chalks it up to his father as another thing he can hate him for. besides, who expects a hermes child not to steal?

at first it starts off simple, just little things of yours that you won't miss. pencils and random things you fiddled with for a week before forgetting about it, then it turned into shirts. the shirts served a double purpose really, slipping them over his pillow so he can cling to and pretend like you're together— and then the more obvious answer.

he honestly hadn't thought about stealing your panties until he saw the opportunity— well, maybe he did, but he didn't actually expect himself to do it. until he did. it was like he was on autopilot, grabbing something from your cabin for another person when he saw your bunk. the small laundry basket caught his eye, he knew that he had to have it.

he barely looked at them before they were in his hands, he only paused for a moment to feel the intricate lace before stuffing them in his pockets. he puts them in the pocket closet to him for easy reach, the fabric lump isn't even visible with how the pants are designed and he's never been more thankful for cargo pants until now.

throughout the day he can't help but feel them to make sure they're real every chance he gets, hands in his pockets idly while he's talking to people— even you. pretending like he doesn't know everything about what you're saying, he smiles and nods, occasionally rubbing the fabric and fighting back the blood rushing down his body.

but back to what i was saying abt him getting caught (on purpose)

luke has always been sneaky, you've known this ever since you started dating him. he's always planning and learning certain things about you that makes you wonder if he's stalking you (he is but shh pretend u don't know), but you just brush it off as him being a good bf and a hermes child.

which is why you almost second guess your eyes when you spot a pair of panties tucked under lukes pillow— at first you thought the worst, but when you got closer you felt your stomach drop and churn when you saw it was an old pair of yours. half in disgust, but also there was a deep coil of desire in you.

you don't mention it for a while, at first he just thinks that you didn't see it the first time— so he keeps leaving them under his pillow still.

he couldn't be so wrong. when he finally has a moment away from the prying eyes of young campers and the annoyance of the other counselors, he takes you to the cabin. pushing you down against the bed completely forgetting that he planted them under the pillow.

he's leaving wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck onto your chest when you reach up to grab them, hooking your finger around the thin waistband— you hold them up smugly like a trophy. "you still haven't hid them?"

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x