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taehub · 29 days ago

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homme fatale

Taehyung likes you. He likes you and he likes drugs.

taehyung x reader

wordcount: 4.6k

tags: thick dick taehyung, mindless fuck zombie reader, finger fucking, choking/suffocation, unprotected sex, cum stuffing, squirting, pain and pleasure, anal, hole swapping warnings: dubious consent, maybe could be considered non con, coercion, drug use, non-sober mindless fucking, don't like it, don't read it.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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A vacant look, eyes blurry and head thumping to the bass bouncing off the walls. Your drink is sweet but nowhere near as sweet or deep in your stomach as the voice drifting through your ears. You can feel the wisps of his hair tickling your cheek, a soft melody loud and clear against you despite the booming music.

“Wanna have some fun?”

You don’t pause the bliss in your body to answer, your hands reaching out to grab his sweat soaked shirt for the 30th time in the past ten minutes. You barely remember him approaching you, but you do recognize his face.

A regular on saturday nights, much like you. Always watching, stolen glances, but never shared words or dances. Until now, at least.

He allows your tight grip on him, staying close enough to feel his lips against your ear lobe as he repeats the question, keeping his own hands on your waist as he sways along with you and your drunken dance.

“Hm?” He encourages an answer against you, pulling back slightly to admire your already-vacant eyes from the drinks upon drinks you’ve ordered without his help. He’s counted. You’re on your fifth drink and he can almost taste the sweet alcohol through your scent.

Anyone can see how drunk you are.

“And do what?” You sing your words out to him, unsure of if he catches it due to the way your voice hits your own ears.

Slurred, distant, barely audible over the music playing.

“Wanna burn with me?” He continues with a smile in his voice, tone sharp and clear still against your ear. Still a sweet sound. Luring, something you would follow into the darkness.

“Burn with you?” You manage to get out, your body becoming still as you stand with him in the middle of this dim lighted club.

He nods, tilting his head at you with a smirk, eyebrows arched and dangerous regardless of the expression he gives to you. His eyes shadow deep in this dim lighting as he does it, and all you can do is let him grab your hand, leading you gently from the floor and balancing you through each stumbled and clumsy step.

Only when he gets you towards the back of the club does your mind begin to spin. Likely due to your lack of moving now, unable to match the roller coaster in your brain, you feel like you’re going to fall. Off of something, onto something, into someone.

And into someone, you do fall. But, Taehyung catches you all the same, letting you lean into him with your back to his chest as he moves one arm to his back pocket to present a handful of colorful candy.

Candy?

You look at the array of colors in his hand with confusion, well aware somewhere in your mind that this is a bad idea. Already, you’ve surpassed your limit of drinking for reasons only known to you. Your reckless behavior never ceases though, as the devil on your shoulder shouts “Do it! It’s just this one time! He’s hot anyway!”

“This one–” Taehyung pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you just so he can grab a singular pill from his palm. “Will make you feel like you’re flying.” He continues, uncaring and seemingly bored with that particular skittle-shaped substance. “But this one…” He grabs another, his voice now fond and encouraging. “Will make you feel like you’re burning.”

Well, there’s no question as to which one you should take.

You nod against him, following his enthusiasm for the hellish little pill. He feels a slight chuckle rise in his chest at your absent-mindedness. He thought it would be much harder than this to get you in his arms. He takes it upon himself now to tap the pill against your lips, holding you flush against him in a tight hold.

“Open up,” He whispers against your hair.

You do it on instinct, tasting the tips of his fingers behind the sweet coating of the pill. You suck the flavor into your mouth all the same before gulping it down dry. Taehyung then spins you around to face him, and all you can do is blink up at him, seeing that his pupils are already dilated. They are so dark that they almost appear to be black, like a demon or some sort of otherworldly entity. Somehow, he looks sexier.

“Now, come.” He says, grabbing your hand again and guiding you back, back, back, into a space in the club hidden by three doors and a hallway.

You didn’t know how deep this building goes, but apparently others do. Each room is filled with different dimmed lighting, bodies, laughter, and moaning.

Somewhere, deep in your head, you feel proud to know this space exists. Taehyung must have been here several times before, as you pass room after room only to end in one that’s velvety and comfortable. Your drunken state sees two of everything, but only one of Taehyung with his close proximity to you. Clinging to you as if he’s a child, chuckling against your neck as he holds you in a suffocating hug against him.

“Close your eyes, let it hit you first.”

You’re well aware that taking pills by mouth means it will take at least thirty minutes to hit, but there’s something in your gut washing over you, making you feel warm.

Too warm, too fast.

You were already sweating but now, you feel almost cold with the amount of moisture against your skin within this tight hold.

“Ah–” You groan, trying to push Taehyung away. You feel like you’re suffocating already, like you need to crawl out of your skin.

“It’ll pass–” He soothes you, holding you even tighter.

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“Oh, pretty, you look so warm.” Taehyung’s voice echoes in your head, bouncing off the empty walls behind your eyes and amplifying the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

You’ve overdone it. Taking an unknown substance isn’t something you’d never do, but taking it from someone you’ve never once spoken to before tonight, despite recognizing him? It’s new, and it’s terrifying.

Your blood was already boiling over from heat as you danced with him, now it feels as if you’re filled with nothing but steam. The intense sticky feeling against your skin feels restricting, and with him staying so close, equally as heated as you are, you can imagine you must look like a mess along with it.

It’s like you’re melting, with your fingers gripping at your skin as you try to get out of it, only for the pads of your fingers to slip with no grip to them at all. You need ice, or snow, or to be anywhere but in this hot room with nothing but fire to feel.

“I know, it’s scary the first time, isn’t it?” Taehyung smiles knowingly, tugging at your sticky black sweater, the rips and holes in it doing nothing to help you cool down. “Let me help you.”

Thinking straight isn’t on your agenda, only panic as you feel new sensation after new sensation take you by the throat. It’s not that it feels bad either. It’s just that it feels so good you can barely stand it. Like you’re going insane. Like you can and will do anything you want without consequence.

You breathe in deep, feeling your sweater being tugged at by the blurry man, and instantly lift your arms. Relief overwhelms you when the cold air of the room hits your glistening body, goosebumps rising as Taehyung continues to undress you. Each drag of the fabric on your skin feels like heaven, and the air that hits it after feels even more heavenly.

He smiles a wicked grin, pulling you up from the slippery leather of the sofa by the chains attached to your shorts, luring you straight against him.

You can hear the chains rattling as he unclasps them, the weight of them lifting from your hips as his fingers go straight to your button and zipper.

“Yeah.” He confirms for himself as he feels the entirety of your clothing dampened by sweat. “You’re burning up, baby.”

You nod, each removed clothing item cooling you down by the minute until he’s got you standing in front of him in just your bra and panties before he lets you fall back on the couch. You watch him with drowsy eyes, a smile perking up at your lips with the way your body is now hit with a wave of cool, calming euphoria.

He lifts his arms in front of you, standing tall and proud in his black clad outfit, hair sticking to his forehead, v-line on his pelvis peeking from under a shirt too short for his torso. You stare at his skin, longing for it, wanting to clamp your teeth down and feel how warm he is compared to you. And he’d probably let you, if his now naked chest and shaking hands holding himself over you are anything to go by.

“Looking like you wanna eat me up.” He whispers in a snide tone. Knowing you’d probably do just about anything he asks of you. “With a mouth so pretty, I think I’d let you.”

You moan at a phantom feeling of heaviness in your gut, feeling like you’re being touched from the inside out. He’s just hovering, watching you, maintaining eye contact.

Pupils blown and so wide, he can’t help but let you drink in the image of him as he does the same for you. So much to see in you, with that dumbed down little head of yours. He knows what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling, after all, he’s felt like this countless times. So many times he’s learned to control it himself now.

You’re lost in a world of new pleasure, and he’s the one who gets to guide you through it. Like a brainless pleasure zombie, breathing, warm, pulsing in your flesh. A tight and wet hole all for him, any of the three if he so pleases. You’d please too, as he remembers begging for it much like you’re about to.

Before you realize it, your eyes are welling up with salty tears. You don’t know why, but perhaps you’re just too overwhelmed by the jolts of pleasure shooting through you. Still, he’s not touching you. It feels like your body is on the verge of an orgasm every minute or two, skin shivering through the heat and your mind seeing everything in bursts of colors with each deep breath and thump of your heart.

“Ahh–” You sigh out, your hips jutting up against nothing and no one, and still he just watches.

Mostly because Taehyung, too, wishes he could crawl out of his skin, only he prefers to crawl into yours. He may be in more control through experience alone but his brain is also fogged, he is also needy, despite knowing he’s the one who needs to be thinking straight, you make it difficult.

Thinking straight isn’t that big of a deal though, because the act is mindless. To fuck is mindless. There are no instructions, not for him anyway. You though, you will be told how to look, what to do, how to feel, and you will listen easily. No fighting, not with that pretty heaving chest of yours, and that dripping hole between your legs.

Ah, he wonders if…if you were sober, would you still want him as badly as you do now? Would he need to make sure you’re burning or flying first? Because, fuck, he’s wanted you for weeks. Never did you approach him though. This was his only option. Wait til you’re drunk, fuck you up more, then make you want it.

He basks in the way you yearn for it. For him is what he tells himself, knowing you’d be this way towards just about anyone if it were someone other than him who is doing this to you. That's how the pill works, anyway. He will play pretend though, and let the euphoria whisp you both away.

And he watches, and he watches. The way you hump up against nothing, failing to grip anything with both your needy hands and your dissociated little head. The sight is more beautiful than the first day he saw you. There, on the dance floor alone, ignoring everyone around you, ignoring him.

“Ahh–” He mimics you. “That’s right baby, say ahh.”

You do, feeling as if each released breath pushes you more and more over the edge, making your insides feel less tight. Ahh, ahh, ahh. Constant groaning as your body writhes for something, for anything.

Taehyung inspects your open mouth, feeling a heavy twitch run from the head of his cock straight to his balls and it takes everything in him not to pull it out and stuff your mouth full. Instead, he slides his fingers in, slowly, deeply. So far down your throat that he’s shocked you don’t gag. You just lap at the underside of his fingers, blinking up at him, letting your throat restrict around them. Needy, wanting more sensations to bask in.

He moans in response to that, looking at you with the same heat pooling in every end of his body. His fingers feel heavy, soaked in your spit and vibrating against your moans.

“Gag.” He demands, jutting his fingers in further, scissoring them open to try and get that numb feeling in your body to react. He wants to see you struggle for him.

You do gag after that, though you were unable to feel any pain. His fingers press sensitive areas so deep, pressing the back of your tongue down before flicking his fingertips up and making you gag again, and again.

Until your saliva is bubbling out around your fingers, until his cock is weeping in his pants to feel the same sensation his fingers have right now.

Maybe he should do it.

The sound of his zipper being undone feels like a roar of thunder, your eyes shooting down to the action as he fucks his fingers in and out of your mouth a few more times, his eyes not leaving the way your lips suckle around them. You see a blur of his cock whip out, leaking, angry, pulsing as he holds it in one hand and takes a short step towards you.

There, he places himself right in front of you, one leg lifting to the couch at your side, the other standing right between your legs as he pulls his fingers from your mouth and instantly finds purchase in your hair. There, he guides you forward before you can even comprehend what’s happening, and he’s parting your lips right on the head of his cock and pushing in.

All the way in.

Until it hits the back of your throat and your eyes roll back swallowing around it in a gag. Your lips are stretched out impossibly wide, they feel like they could split at the corners if he were to circle his hips.

And his moan that fills the rooms booms louder than any sound you’ve heard tonight. Loud, drawn out, rattling deep from his chest as if it’s a sound that tore through him to get out. His hand in your hair tightens when he holds you there, pressing his hips forward to fit himself impossibly deeper into the wet hole, and he just stands there feeling how you struggle.

“Fucking perfect–” He groans, standing in place and relishing the way your throat jerks him off. He doesn’t need to fuck it, you’re fucking him right now. “This throat, so wet.”

He breathes through his nose, throwing his head back and still holding yours down on him.

“Tight little hole.” He pulls out just an inch, and fucks back in, fitting himself somehow tighter into your mouth. Letting you gag, feeling the way the wet walls hug, choke, and stimulate all parts of his cock, leaving none of him neglected.

You know you can’t breathe, even when you try to use your nose, but somehow that doesn’t bother you right now. You’ve felt suffocated this whole time, it’s actually difficult to recognize when you’re actually suffocating. Taehyung glances down again, noting the whites of your eyes and the way little veins start to burst. That vein on your forehead indicates that you can’t breathe, and he’d do well to let you.

But he doesn’t. Not yet anyway, as he tilts your head back by the hair and watches you. The way your eyes are just as wet as your throat, and how you continuously swallow around him, fingers gripping at nothing and everything at the same time. He knows tilting your head back like this only makes the suffocation worse, but goddamn does it feel even better.

Short, tight thrusts bruise you as he continues, dark eyes fixated on how open your mouth is, and the way your eyes stay wide and open to look back at him. He knows you can barely see him though, too dissociated to recognize what you’re letting him do, too dissociated to put a name to a face, or to really care about the consequences of this.

Finally, when your hands that were trying to grab at him fall to your sides, he pulls out with a wet, sloppy sound. Holding the base of his cock with his free hand and keeping your head tilted back with the other.

Your mouth is wide open for him, throat still constricting as if it’s still trying to pleasure him, and he smiles at you still. Leaning down just slightly to lick against your top lip just to see you chase his mouth now. And you do. As if none of that just happened, you chase him for more. He knew you would, feeling you try to lick back at his small, intimate gesture, whining all the way until you reach it.

It’s a mess for you in your head right now, so much so that you barely recognize that you throw him off balance as you chase. To the point you knocked him back, both of you falling to the floor with you on top of him. And fuck, he knows what you’re gonna do.

He remembers what he did the first time he felt like this and managed to find himself on top. He couldn’t fight you off if he tried.

You writhe all the same though, just like you did when you were under him, just like you did when he had his cock in your throat, and he feels every wiggle, press, and vibrate of your skin right now. You slide up and down, chasing his lips, seemingly not sure what to do with yourself. Tongue lapping at his cheeks, into his mouth, tasting the sweat on his forehead. You’ve never felt so hungry for this before, and you can’t help yourself. Each movement bumps his cock, it skews your bra, letting your tits fall out and against him, it draws moans out of both of you.

Mindlessly.

Perhaps he could stop you and take back control, seeing you grow more and more vacant. To a level he’s never seen anyone reach, to a level he’s never been able to reach. You’re really trying to take from him?

“You have no idea how pathetic you look right now.” He hums out, feeling the way your hot tongue slides all across his face and neck. “So helpless, weak. Just gonna take whatever I give you?”

You hum back in delight at his offer, nodding, repeatedly letting out moans of “mhm” and “please.”

“Yeah.” He encourages it, slipping one hand up to your tit and pinching hard at your nipple. You arch your back at it, lifting from him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in a wave of pleasure. “All you’re good for is to make me cum, isn’t that right baby?”

You cry out as he pinches again, his fingernails digging deep against your nipple. The goosebumps rise against your skin repeatedly, non stop, and all you can do is nod more aggressively at his words.

Instantly, you’re dizzy, seeing stars as he shoots up and against you, pulling at your bra so hard that it singes your skin. His mouth is instantly on your nipple as he presses forward, tipping you back. Your head hits the floor, rattling your brain inside and forcing the stars already in your eyes to double.

Still, you moan at it, letting your lips fall open under him as you lick out into the heavy air in the room. You don’t feel it at first, the way his fingers play with you the same way they did with your mouth. He slides three into you at once briefly, and then–

“T-thank you,” You mumble, feeling the head of his cock press past his fingers, plunging all the way in as he drops his head to yours.

“Thank you?” He chuckles before flexing his abs, twitching himself intentionally inside of you as a means to stretch you out. “For what, baby, what are you thanking me for?”

He pulls back, thrusting in again with a pointed, harsh press.

“Thank you–” You mumble again, feeling everything all at once. The burning in your gut, the thick and hard cock fucking you open, the way your clit radiates with heat– “thank you, thank you, t-”

He fucks forward again, faster now. Loud slaps fill the room as he stares down at you with a hold to his breath, seemingly unable to fuck you fast enough, hard enough, deep enough. And still you’re babbling appreciation, repeated words of “th-th-th-an-thank-you, than-k you, thank y-yo-you”

Each time he bottoms out, you stutter, you moan, you lick out like a demon in heat. As if this still isn’t enough despite the force behind his hips. Despite the thanks, despite it all.

He tears his fingers out of you, keeping pace with his cock, and instantly sticks them into your ass instead. The tight fit squishing all three fingers together, but oh, that choked sob you let out is music to his ears. Sobbing now, and still thanking him.

His fingers press in, his cock fucks so deep, and then…you gag yourself. So needy for it, to be filled at all ends, you shove your own fingers down your throat and beg your mind to pretend it’s him. It’s him. It’s him.

And you believe it too, with the way you fuck your own mouth so painfully, drooling all over yourself as Taehyung basks in the imagery.

“Just like that.” He encourages you through a released breath.

“Gag on it.”

And you do, forcing your fingers deep, gagging around them and sputtering moans through wet gasps. He manages after that, pulling out of you entirely just to fit his cock somewhere else, staring down now at your gaping cunt, needy and pulsing open, loose, dripping. He watches the way it flinches when he pops the head of his cock into your ass, grabbing both of your legs and bending them to your chest. Wide open, every part of you.

Open and wet.

He fucks forward painfully now, feeling the dry heat of your ass clench him so tight he feels like he’s being strangled. Your moans go quiet at that, fingers falling from your lips in a silent scream of pain. He likes that. He likes that you’re this gone, he likes the way your ass clenches and tries to push him out. But he loves seeing this pussy so empty. So, so empty.

Taehyung glances up at your face for a moment, so curled into yourself all for him to fuck, and he sees you in full. The way your eyebrows furrow and eyes pour out those salty little tears. You’re loving it, he can tell. And, back down his eyes go, right back to your needy cunt.

“Every part of you fucking whines.” He breathes in disbelief, sucking the saliva in his mouth to the tip of his tongue and feeding it to your pussy. He watches it, the way it drops in and slides down the abused hole. And then, his hips move freely.

The slide of his precum slicking up your tight ass and allowing for a deeper, more pleasurable fuck now. He doesn’t mind the small amount of blood he knows thats there, he doesn’t think you do either, especially when your entire body clenches up with a loud, pornographic “Fuck!” coming out of your chest, followed shortly by a “Yes! yes! yes!”

It drives him on, as if it hyper-focuses him on what he’s doing. He thrusts forward, fast, hard, pushing your legs into your chest so painfully that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning, your pussy is hot, and your clit…neglected.

Still, it’s in you. You feel it wanting to push out, and you can’t help it when you do.

Taehyung watches the clench, the way your pathetic cunt shakes in front of his eyes and the other hole clenches him so tight that all he can do is force himself into it and hold it there. A splash hits him then, without comprehension he acts, pulling out of your ass so fast and shoving right back into that drenched pussy of yours, quivering, squirting all over yourself for nothing but the pain he’s giving you.

“Messy, messy.” He coos. “Gotta plug you up.”

His voice is far away as your body shifts with his movements, seemingly trying to literally plug you up with his cock. Forcing the pressure inside of you to sit, as if you can only explode to get rid of it. And still your legs shake against your chest. As if you’re not burning now, you’re freezing. Shivering, feeling ruined, but so, so good.

“All the way.” He adds, unable to hold back his own orgasm.

He tenses up, pressing impossibly deeper and letting all of his cum spill out and into you. Holding you there, both hands wrapped around your thighs and forcing your pussy against him even harder. You feel each pulse of it, every drip, spurt, and shiver of his cock inside of you. And he stays like that, moaning filthy words that you can’t comprehend, sweat dripping onto you. You want nothing more than to stick out your tongue and catch every drop of it like the first rain of spring, but you can’t, not when you’re essentially locked in place like this.

Still, he doesn’t move. His cock stays stiff and painfully hard even after his orgasm as he grunts, now muttering to himself words of “every drop. every, last fucking drop.”

He means those words too, letting your quivering body milk it out of him, all of it until he very quickly pulls out and cups his hand at your cunt, as if to keep any from spilling out.

“Cross your legs.” He demands now, like you’d consider fighting him on it.

You try, but your body is weak, and you’re still shivering. He helps you, or rather, forces you. Using both hands to cross your legs before quickly grabbing your hand to replace his. He picks out four of your fingers before uncomfortably skewing your hand, shoving them into you and pressing your hand hard.

“Good.” He hums. “Stay like that.”

You’re not sure how long he’s going to leave you here like this, but it’s not like time matters too much to you right now. You don’t even know what day it is anymore, or where you are. You don’t care either, even as you hear the heavy door slam and silence overtake you.

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#bts smut #kim taehyung smut #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #bts taehyung #bts v #bts fanfiction #taehyung #kim taehyung #bts

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markscherz · 1 year ago

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Bad Newts: Amphibians are in Serious Trouble

My colleagues and I have just had a paper published in Nature, based on our efforts to assess almost all amphibian species for the IUCN Red Lists. The major takeaway messages:

It is a bad time to be an amphibian

Two fifths of all amphibians are threatened with extinction.

Salamanders are the most threatened group; three fifths of all salamanders are threatened with extinction!

Climate change is a major driver of amphibian declines globally

Habitat loss, especially due to agriculture, is a problem for the vast majority of amphibians

Chytrid pandemics have caused and continue to cause catastrophic declines of both salamanders and frogs

Protected areas and careful management are working as strategies! They are actively improving the outlook of some species

As many as 222 amphibian species may have gone extinct in recent times; of those, 185 are suspected extinct but not yet confirmed.

Our paper is Open Access, you can read it here!

Photo of Atelopus hoogmoedi by Jaime Culebras, used with permission

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lvstrucks · 10 months ago

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notes 💌

lando norris x reader

Request: Imagine reader feels like she hasnt spent time with Lando in a couple days so she starts leaving fluffy and funny notes around their apartment for him thank youuuu

It felt like it had been days since you’d last properly spoken to your boyfriend.

Despite you both being in the same city, your shared apartment may as well have been a flatshare with strict agreements to never be in the apartment at the same time. Due to conflicting schedules, it seemed that as soon as Lando arrived home, you were rushing out the door to work. When you pulled into the driveway, Lando would be pulling out, giving you a cheeky beep of the horn and blowing you a kiss as he went.

By the fifth day that went on like this with no end in sight, you’d had enough. A small stack of colourful sticky notes on the kitchen counter caught your eye and you hunted around for a pen, putting your plan into action.

Lando arrived home with a sigh. The apartment was dark and quiet for 8pm, but with the hours you were currently working this wasn’t out of the ordinary. He kicked off his sneakers and padded into the kitchen, frowning as his stomach growled. He’d finished all his carefully prepped, diet-abiding meals for the day, but maybe a snack couldn’t hurt? As he flicked on the overhead light a small post it note in his favourite bright yellow colour stuck to the fridge caught his eye. It sat between a few fridge magnets and a strip of photobooth pictures of the two of you, you sitting on Lando’s lap and pulling a silly face as he grinned widely. He smiled softly at the memory, and then even wider as he read the note.

Hope you had a good day! I got some of those puffed crisps you like, have a few. You’ve earned it :)

He pulled open the pantry and sure enough, there they were. He tore open the packet, scoffing a few down before heading down the hallway to your bedroom. He changed into sweatpants quietly and curled up beside your sleeping frame before hearing a crinkling, crumpling sound as he lay his head down. Feeling around blindly, his hands came into contact with another small note and he flicked on the bedside lamp to read it.

Rest up, I love you ♡

He pouted, turning off the light and snuggling into you, head tucked into the back of your neck.

The next few days continued as before, but Lando found your notes around the house like small glimmers of love.

Don’t work too hard! was laying on top of his workout gear one morning.

Drive safely please! stuck to the steering wheel of his car.

BEST BF EVRRRR was sitting on top of his shoes when he went to put them on. (He quietly tucked this one into the back of his phone case for later.)

When he looked into the mirror after stepping out the shower, he was met with: There’s that pretty smile!

Wanna spoon? Stuck on the cutlery drawer.

Let’s do cardio together tonight… was on the door to his home gym.

You left the notes and noticed they’d disappeared by the day after, assuming Lando read them, smiled and threw them out. What you didn’t realise was that Lando was collecting them, making a neat pile in the glove compartment of his car. Over the next few days, whenever he felt lonely or needed assurance, he had a whole pile of your feelings to sift through and bask in.

When you woke up a few days later, you sighed at the cold, empty bed. Opening your eyes you were met with a fluro yellow square covering your eyes. You giggled, pulling the note left on your forehead.

Morning pretty girl, it said. I took the afternoon off and will pick you up from work. We have a LOT of catching up to do ;)

tysm for requesting x

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris angst #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #lando norris fic #f1 smau

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xxsabitoxx · 11 months ago

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Nanami Kento NSFW A-Z

Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)

Warnings: if it isn’t abundantly clear, this is smut :)

A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, I’m going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men — scheduled post 9 :)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kento prioritizes aftercare, he doesn’t care how tired he is after the fact. He’s making sure you are happy, comfortable and your needs are cared for. Kento will make sure you enjoyed yourself, making sure to ask if he was too rough or if there was anything you didn’t enjoy. He’ll ask if you’re sore at all and will take the time to massage where you’re tender. He’ll clean you up and get you water if needed.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s prone to saying all of you. There isn’t one part of you that he doesn't deeply adore, but when it comes down to it… especially if you tell him he can only name one thing… he’ll say your chest. Kento is a boob/chest lover. Doesn’t matter if they’re huge, big, average, small, flat, Kento adores your chest.

On his own body, Kento is quite fond of his thighs. He’s a bit shy about admitting that but he thinks they look pretty damn good in his suit pants and workout attire. He also thinks they look pretty damn good when you’re grinding down on them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Bless him, Kento loves coming all over your chest. He loves seeing his pearly cum paint your chest in ropes, going as far as to smear it further before sticking his fingers into your mouth to clean them. He thinks he’s a little bit sick for having that fascination but you assure him you enjoy it just as much as he does. And, like most, Kento will never turn down coming inside of you if presented with the opportunity. Though he’s guilty of doing the same thing he’ll do to your chest… collecting whatever drips out before plunging them back inside of you or bringing them to your pretty mouth.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If given the opportunity, Kento would gladly wear your underwear. But not a clean pair… no they have to be already worn, maybe even with a stain or two from your own arousal. Though he can’t last very long in them, getting way too worked up to not take them off and use them to jerk himself until he’s spilling all over them.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Kento may not have much experience, but you’d never know it. He loves raunchy novels, opting to read them in his free time when he can. He’s not huge on porn but when he was younger it was his go to. Kento has no shame in actually putting research into these things because he wants to make sure his future partner is satisfied whether they are his first or his fifth. So when he fucked you for the first time, you’d never ever guess that you were only his second “hook up” which evolved into much more.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Kento is a sucker for cowgirl. Both regular and reverse, he loves watching your face as you struggle. The position also allows him a perfect view, he gets to watch his cock disappear and reappear inside of you over and over until you topple over and beg him to take over. Kento works out often, so it’s not surprising that he’s able to angle you just right and thrust up into you without breaking a sweat. He’s also partial to watching your body bounce and jiggle every time you drop yourself down on him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Kento leans heavily on the more serious side of things when it comes to sex. It’s like… mildly impossible that he’ll crack a joke or say something funny when fucking you. He’s serious but not in a way that would make you uncomfortable, if that makes sense.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kento maintains his hair very well, not too long and not too short. He prefers to have some hair down there opposed to bald. He actually did shave it all off once and was not a fan of the regrowth process so he decided to not do it again. Also yes, it’s blonde like the rest of him but just a tad darker, like his eyebrows.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Kento is a little awkward at first with intimacy and being romantic during sex. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be, he’s just unsure on how to go about it without making himself cringe. He wants to make sure you’re comfortable with the things he does and says but that takes time to learn through trial and error. But once he’s used to the whole idea, he’s pretty romantic when fucking you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Kento rarely jacks off now in his late twenties. When he was younger he would do it probably 2-4 times a week mostly to unwind, but now that he’s really gotten busy with sorcery work (and he had you) he doesn’t really have the time alone anymore.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hair pulling… choking… orgasm control… things that all mildly bleed into the realm of BSDM. Kento was a bit surprised when you thought he would be more on the vanilla side of things. Kento is also heavily into breast play (both giving and receiving) and spanking. He likes being called sir but doesn’t know how he feels about daddy.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Any location in your home but preferably the bed, countertop, couch or dining room table. If he’s very daring he would fuck you stupid in a public but private space (such as an empty classroom in jujutsu tech and/or his old office)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Cuddling… not to say he can’t cuddle and keep it G rated… but when you’re laying in bed with your ass pressed into his groin and you purposely start wiggling your hips? He’s done for. Kento lives for your massages, the way your hands dig into his tense shoulders and slowly move lower. He also really enjoys you wearing his clothing… with nothing underneath.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Kento downright refuses to do anything cuckolding or threesome related. It just isn’t for him. Now he’s not going to say it will never ever happen because who knows. But at this point in his life, he is not willing to share you and quite frankly you aren’t willing to share him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

GIVING. Kento is utterly obsessed with giving head. He would spend hours between your thighs if he could (what's stopping you hmmm). Kento uses it as a way to calm down and unwind after a stressful day, lapping at your sex until you’re mewling and making a mess of yourself.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Kento is slow and sensual, even when he needs to take some stress off. He’s rolling his hips into you deeply, so slowly that it's impossible to not feel every inch of his cock penetrating you. The only exception to this is when you are riding him. You set the pace and Kento is more than willing to accommodate it and keep up with it when you inevitably get tired.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Kento isn’t super into quickies, he doesn’t like being in a rush when it comes to sex. He likes to take his time with you, blocking out the rest of the world for an hour or two while he treats himself to some much needed “self care” aka a hot shower, a good meal, and fucking you senseless until his bones feel like jelly and he can’t move.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kento isn’t super risky, he’s open to trying a handful of things but he’s not really keen on it. Kento is also not into the idea of public sex… at least in locations where there is no door to lock or there is a highly likely chance that you’ll be seen and/or walked in on. So overall, not that huge of a risk taker but he’ll try something new here and there.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Nanami can last anywhere from 5-8 minutes per round. The amount of rounds he can go depends on how tired and/or stressed out he is. Typically he can always go two rounds if you’re up for it. The most you’ve ever gone with him was six total rounds but he says he can go longer…

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Kento is more reserved in this sense but he will buy a vibrator if you want one (he already owns one…) he’ll use his ties as restraints and his own hands for “spanking”. He can think of alternatives for pretty much everything but a vibrator. But if you really want to buy some sex toys, Kento will amuse you and buy them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kento?? Unfair?? Yeah no. Kento may tease you when you are alone, a teeny bit in bed, but he is all about you and your pleasure… even when he’s stressed or mad. He will never withhold anything from you while fucking and he will never tease you until you’re crying. He much prefers making you cum so many times you’re delirious from pleasure.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Kento is definitely on the quieter side but that is mildly due to his deeper voice. Kento isn’t really one to moan, he’ll groan and curse and gasp more than moan. But that’s not to say he can’t. If you’re getting him off real good? A couple unrestrained moans will slip in there and you’ll notice his cheeks flush because of it. You tend to leave it be, not teasing him about making such noises because you know if you do he’ll probably never make the noises again.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Loves taking dirty pictures for you. He was so awkward about it at first when you initially asked him for a nude/dick pic. But that awkwardness actually worked to his advantage because the nude you received was good enough to be framed in your opinion. After the first one, Kento is an accidental pro and lewd photo taking and even has a folder in his phone for all of the ones he’s taken… he also has a separate folder of your nudes and nudes he’s taken of you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kento is 5.5 inches when soft and a whole 7.5 when hard. He’s a big boy, girthy like the rest of him and he sticks straight out. He’s a nice tan color with a pretty pink tip, a few prominent veins running up his shaft too. He’s a bit shy about his size because he knows he’s quite large so he keeps that in mind when getting ready to fuck you. He’s understanding when you go down on him, encouraging to take things slow and not force yourself to take more of him than you can handle. He likes to massage your jaw after, and praise you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Kento’s sex drive isn’t astronomically high but he will never say no to sex when you offer/initiate something. He’s easily turned on by some of the things you do but he also has enough will power to control his desires. He’s quieter, which makes him freakier idc what anyone says.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Kento can fall asleep within two minutes after sex but he keeps himself up to make sure you are clean and comfortable. He’ll pull you in close, wrapping his arms snuggly around you and try his damn hardest to wait for you to fall asleep first. It’s really a 50/50 on if he’ll win that battle.

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mayvnwrites · 5 months ago

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Fox demon sy au, except more demon and less uwu.

After dying due to expired food, SY wakes up as a fox demon with a natural affinity to poisons and poisoning. He is unamused at the irony, thanks, but at the same time... he IS kind of in some chaotic demon realm adjacent like place and needs all the help he can get, so ... thanks?

His transmigration even came with a subspace for drying and preserving herbs and ingredients, and an encyclopedic manual of all the possible tinctures, ingredients, and handling procedures installed into his brain.

Pretty adequate, although the subspace can only take medicinal ingredients and can't be used for growing/raising ingredients, and the manual is so massive SY feels like it will take decades to read. (Spoilers: it does take decades to read)

Cool, SY thinks, I can be a wandering apothecary and stuff - but of course things don't turn out like that, because why wouldn't this world be full of poisonous plants that require... um ... *alternative* methods of healing.

After the fifth time someone tries to force SY to cure someone with papapa, he says fk it and, unable to escape in more conventional ways, he poisons his way out of the demon lord's castle.

SY is also beginning to understand which world he's been transmigrated to and is cursing a "Master Airplane" under his breath nonstop as he stomps angrily away from rando demon lord's territory, almost no guilt in his heart because the dude and his vassals eat people and are *assholes*.

SY starts using the direct method (aka poison) in refusing persistent inquisitors that want help he's unwilling to give (whether it's papapa or just a matter of principle) and slowly becomes known more for poisoning than cures. Doesn't help that SY has evolved from death-poisons to poisons that would make you wish you were dead.

Soon SY is known as a fox who would rather kill you than speak to you.

At first SY feels upset about this, because after all that work curing people, killing people is what he's known for? But eventually he's like, whatever gets people to stop bothering me~.

After decades, SY has embraced getting his way with his pretty face and poisonings, becoming a bit of a naughty foxy, and is enjoying his life away from the plot and with much less harrassment by the demons.

He's gained the title of Poisonous Shoutao (longevity peach), and his reputation as a venomous fox demon who could cure whatever ails you but would rather poison you has grown far and wide (as well as his foxy bewitching ways as he gloats over poisoning you).

SY has a long list of admirers and haters alike, including those grateful for his healing and those who want revenge for his poisonings, but what good demon *doesn't* have an enemy or 20?

And then one of his haters sets him up to be the scapegoat of a rash of poisonings in some human communities, and suddenly SY is the target of some pony-tailed pretty boy head disciple from Cang Qiong with a mole, who hasn't realized that the Poisonous Shoutao is outside of his capabilities... after paralyzing the boy, SY thinks about just ending the kid but... well, SY has used his pretty face to sway others before, but this is the first time he's been swayed by a pretty face.

B-besides, it's probably better to avoid making enemies of Cang Qiong, no matter where in the plot they are right now! So SY just teases the kid until the kid's practically steaming (out of anger? or...), reveals he's NOT the culprit, and disappears into the night with a faint scent of nightshade lingering behind.

Expecting it all to be done and dusted after that, SY is surprised to find out that the pretty boy now has a vendetta against him and has sworn to take him down.

Cue cat-and-mouse interactions all over the two realms with a poisonous (and slightly flirty) fox demon chased by a serious (but easily flustered - at least when it comes to a certain fox) young cultivator.

#svsss #svsss au #liushen

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 6 months ago

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Lilith The Enchantress: Lilithian Energy In The Houses. How Each One Brings Their Own Tempting Flair.

So you're probably wondering, where am I going with this?

I wanted to focus on the temptation of lilith, and why she is so oozing and attractive as is she.

For this reading, I will focus on the houses. In my later post, it'll be in each sign.

So lets dig in! Shall we ;)

Lilith in the first house - Pleasing to the eye. Can have a very sultry appearance. There is a point where they must undergo a transformation of the self, and at some point they will have a divine, sensual aura. There sensual power comes through the way they look at you, and often times they can tell when they're being a little too flirtatious. But that is so they can get the person of their choice. Like a siren, they go in for their target and come out on top. They use their attractive persona as like a spell, think of the girl on who framed roger rabbit with the beautiful red hair and dress.

Lilith in the second house - They have an eye for detail. This is the time to take you to their home and show you the rose petals on the bed with the red and white candles everywhere. They know how to make a person want them, by adding to some flair into their home. While also using different aesthetics for they're look to match with the energy that is being shared between them and they're lover. Very picky with who they spend their time with you know. They aren't for everyone. These are the type to make you wait for it.

Lilith in the third house - These are the lovers that can write erotic letters and make you think about them all night. The way their minds can carry a story, and then when you meet them in person its even better than the books. They hold their composure well, but deep inside they are ready to be explored in more ways than one. My my my, they sure know how to right a love spell. One that lasts til the very end.

Lilith in the fourth house - It's actually so much harder to get them to show you who they truly are, thats what makes their mystique so awe dropping. The way these lilithian beings share themselves is with the power of their emotions, and eventually they will bring you right into their beautiful dungeon they call a home. Where you will find all them in just one bite. Very sensual with the right one. The one that makes them feel good, the one that knows them from the inside out. These lilith babes will let you have all of them if once you have succumb to their power.

Lilith in the fifth house - The sensual energy these lilithians carry is a one of a kind. Their magnetism never goes unnoticed, and they take you on a roller coaster of emotions with their performance. They are intimate with their audience and can put you under a spell with the way they make things look. Their hearts are in it with this one. Very gentle to the eye, but to the soul its much more deep and profound. Can't take them anywhere because their wild manes get stuck in the pursuit of love, where they will drenched you with all their sweet and tears to make more use of the bloody romances they've indulged in. They will have you thinking about them for many moons, due to them putting their all into what they do in the matters of the heart.

Lilith in the sixth house - To be loved by a lilith babe with this placement, is to have made yourself fully devoted to them. Worship is what they want, and it is what they need to pursue them. They don't let just anyone in, so you must be prepared to give yourself as an offering. Very pleasant, and freaky to ones they want most. Most never see this coming, which is why they always get away with it ;) The sensual energy they carry is very smooth, abundant and hard to describe. Mysterious auras that you want more of, so much so you will spend every hour, every day of the week wanting to get to know them.

Lilith in the seventh house - The die hard lovers who goes in for the kill. What they want wants them, and they oozee it in with their attraction spells. Their auras are unique, fresh and able to commit to their partners. It's just that they have so many options to choose from so they have no use to sticking around if you're not pulling in your weight. Im sorry, its hard having to be loved by so many! The sensual power in them is hot, tempting, and alluring. You just can't get enough of them. Can see right thru you and can captivate you with just a look!

Lilith in the eighth house - The way they just make things easy with how they seduce people is something I feel nobody else can relate to. The way they come in and take the throne with how they please their partners as well as themselves, It may be that nobody could come close. But thats the thing about being in a scorpion house, is that you touch people in a way that people are not able to control within themselves.. yet you've already mastered it. Very pleasing, pulsating, bold and full of passion. The sensual nature in them could have you feel things you've never felt before, and that will have you in a panic. because the way they are able to get you to come out of that shell and move deeper into them . Will have you begging for more & more & more. Bewitching auras indeed!

Lilith in the ninth house - The delicacy mixed with erotic power. The angels and the demon. The artist and the muse. They have the power to seduce anyone with just their mind alone. They can seduce you with their wit, their humor, their charisma and just their soul in general. But on a sensuality note, they are abundantly clear on what it is they want. And they know just how to get it. They waste no time in going after the energy it is they feel desires them. They are devoted to themselves and the power of a Godly force and nobody comes close. So to the ones who get to experience them, they feel a closeness to the divine that makes you tremble a bit. Because they show us a sense of carefreeness thats been missing, so the way they seduce you is in how they free themselves in a world that is committed to self restraint.

Lilith in the tenth house - Enchanting and mysterious in nature. The world wants to have them but cannot get enough of them. The secret to these characters is that they know what it is you're looking for, but you just won't get it from em. Not immediately that is. They'll make you wait for it. Hell, they'll even charge you for it if your a beggar. They know you want it, but they aren't easy. Like a coquette, they'll have you waiting for years, and their energy will be intact and while yours feels depleted. Lilith tenth housers just know how to work it with their sex appeal. It can transform you, to say the least. ;)

Lilith in the eleventh house - A special energy is unlocked in these lilithians because not only do they have the capacity to seduce the whole world they can be someone close to them too. Be careful with them, because they might bite! ;) Their sensual power comes from the ability to be close with them and they have a compassionate nature too! This makes them way more likeable and seductive. And even if you're close to them, there is still something else about them. Almost hard to ignore, so its no wonder friends and associates try to get it on with em.

Lilith in the twelfth house - If all the other placements are tempting to the eye, then these beings are tempting to the soul. They have a capacity to entice others with the way they carry themselves. They have a gift in pulling you in, and telling a story with just their body language alone. The moment you are seduced by them, is the very moment you come over and have a meeting with God. They are no angel, but they can just about make you feel things that where never present before.

Lilith in these houses can show the tempting, seductive energies of a person if they learn how to tap in. There is a short story about lilith being the tempting 'devil' we kind of all known of her to be. However, learning more complexities of her story. She is so much more. So this just a small version of what we know as lilith, there will be many more to come!

#astrology observations #astro observations #sensuality #astrology theories #astrology thoughts #tropical astrology #spirituality

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fandomtrumpshate · 1 year ago

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FTH 2024 Auction Calendar

We blinked, and it's 2024, and our EIGHTH year of running this auction. 2024 has all the same problems as last year but more — but we also have a lot to be hopeful about, and a lot of good projects worth supporting and fighting for.

You can look at this page (also linked in our header) for the list of this year's supported nonprofit organizations. We'll be posting more detailed profiles of each of them in the coming weeks. Below is the full calendar for this year's auction.

February 5th: creator signups open

February 12: Fan Craft Bazaar signups open

February 19th: creator signups close

February 29th: browsing period begins, Fan Crafts Bazaar opens

March 5th: bidding opens

March 9th: bidding closes

March 16th: proof of high bid donations due

March 20th: Fan Crafts Bazaar closes (individual stalls may close sooner)

March 21st: proof of 2nd chance donations and Craft Bazaar donations due

December 31st: fanworks due

Back in 2021, as we were pulling together the fifth FTH auction, we joked together behind the scenes about how great it felt that the name of our auction was no longer quite as on-the-nose as it had been in our first few years. But it's 2024, and in all likelihood 45 will be back on the ballot: just one of the many sobering and scary things we're facing down this year.

But for the past seven years, we've had the privilege of watching thousands of fans -- yes, literally thousands -- dedicate their time and money and energy to the twin projects of sending support to some amazing organizations while building and strengthening community ties within fandom. Now, more than ever, that kind of community-building is essential.

We hope you'll join us, and join one another, in sending much-needed financial support to these amazing organizations and in putting more joy and beauty out into the world in the form of fanworks. These are dark times, but when we join together we can make them a little brighter.

(What is Fandom Trumps Hate anyway? Read our FAQ.)

#fandomtrumpshate #fth #fanworks auction #charity auction #fth 2024

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interstellarflare · 7 months ago

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A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART TWO-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. I would also like to apologise for the previous tag list not working! It has been fixed now! Gif by @fifty5hades

|PART ONE|

The horses had been restless ever since you had arrived in town. Lady Worthington, Elizabeth and Mary had been traversing between multiple shops for hours now, the three of them making multiple trips back to stuff every inch of the carriage full of boxes and bags that contained every expensive item of clothing imaginable.

The horses flinched every time the carriage doors slammed closed, their heads lifting upward as they were startled by the harsh sound. But after a few gentle pats and sweetly whispered words, the two black geldings calmed down and went back to their idling. You released a deep sigh, gently ruffling the horses’ mane as you people watched. Lords and Lady’s strolled by, some of them sneering at your dirty and slightly big dress, but you didn’t mind. You never had minded.

Sure, these clothes weren’t kept in line with their usual standard upkeep, but it was all that you had. Clothes were better than none at all. You had been so caught up tending to the horses, that you hadn’t noticed the figure creeping up behind you along the cobblestones. You jumped as the culprit tickled your sides, releasing a loud shriek as you spun around to meet the face of a young girl you knew all too well.

“Oh god, Eloise! Don’t do that!” You cried, the young Bridgerton cackling at your fright. She smiled, lightly punching your shoulder as she cried “Oh come on, this is the first time I have seen you in weeks! Does that wicked woman lock you up in a tower or something?”

“She might as well…” You replied sharply, gripping the harness of the horse closest to you “I haven’t seen the sun in days.”

“Don’t you joke about that, you know I will actually have my brothers come and save you from that hell” Eloise teased, pointing her finger at you with a stern expression. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as a small yet grateful smile graced your lips.

Eloise Bridgerton, the fifth eldest in the Bridgerton family, had figured out who you were the first moment she had met you. She was smart and witty, and had instantly put two and two together, and had no problem reminding you whenever she ran into you on the street.

The daughter of one of the most prominent Lords on the ton, suddenly vanishes after her father’s unfortunate and sudden death, running away due to the grief and sadness at the loss of her parents. Then not two days later, a new maid is hired. The ton wasn’t the biggest fan of the Worthington family, according to Eloise. The horror stories she had heard from Daphne and her brothers were more or less disturbing to say the least. She had never met your stepsisters, and prayed that she never would, but of course with the latest season coming up, that might be a little hard.

You turned to face Eloise fully, leaning back slightly as the horse’s head chased after your attention, obscuring your view slightly. “And just what are you doing in town? I thought you would have been at home preparing for Lady Danbury’s ball this evening?”

Eloise groaned loudly, slumping against the side of the carriage with a loud thump. You laughed softly at her behaviour, watching as she rolled her eyes and turned her gaze skyward. “Though I so wish that I could stay at home and read the night away, my mother has made it clear that I am to find something nice to wear for this evening. I am being chaperoned by my brother-“

“Oh?” You asked teasingly, chuckling at the glare that formed on her face “and which brother do you have the pleasure of accompanying you tonight?”

“Oh, you are so funny…” Eloise grumbled, crossing her arms over her front with a huff “…I am being chaperoned right now! ‘So that I may not run away’, according to Anthony.”

Your laughter echoed throughout the street, as Eloise rushed forward and begged you to keep quiet. You held your stomach and wiped a stray tear from your eye, releasing the horse’s harness as you did so. “Oh Eloise, I will say I do not envy you-“

“Oh but I envy you! But remember you used to be a part of this life”

“The only ball I went to was when I was a child, and even then, I don’t remember that much of it”.

Eloise scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “To be blessed with such fortune as you have, though I suppose being related to Lady Worthington can be accustomed to being related to a toad-“

“Shhhhhhh!” You hushed, pressing a finger to your lips as Eloise smirked “Don’t say such things out loud! They could be back any minute-“

“Oh, I don’t care much. That woman is despicable-“

You watched her eyes widen, her words dying out as a small squeak replaced her sentence. Focused on the space behind you, you turned quickly and froze, suddenly feeling rather small and very aware of your current dress.

Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount himself stood before you. He stood tall, hands clasped together behind his back as his deep brown eyes flickered between the two of you. You suddenly felt self-conscious the longer he stared at you, but you were the first to look away as you bowed your head, and once again returned to tending the horses.

“Must you always be difficult, dear sister” The Viscount spoke sarcastically, a small huff escaping him as he clenched his jaw in annoyance. You heard Eloise groan, “Must you always insist on stopping and chatting with every Lord you see? Surely it gets rather tiring”.

“It is polite, Eloise…” he spoke through gritted teeth “need I remind you that your prospects this season rely on me helping you to find a suitable husband-“

“Ah yes, because Daphne’s season went so unbelievably well. Tell me dear brother, how was it that Lord Berbrooke became our dear sister’s only suitor for some time, hm? Who, pray tell, was responsible for that match, until our lovely Daphne married the Duke of Hastings?”

The scowl that formed on the Viscount’s face caused an unpleasant shiver to run down your spine, but you couldn’t help but chuckle softly as Eloise stuck out her tongue in retaliation to her brother’s disapproving look.

You turned your gaze upward and met the Viscount’s eyes. He was looking you over, his scowl turning into a gentle smile as he sighed heavily. “You’ll have to forgive my sister, unfortunately she seems to forget her manners when in public” he spoke informatively, sneering at Eloise as she rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath.

You shrugged your shoulders, “There’s nothing to forgive, my Lord. I am well acquainted with your sister’s antics I’m afraid-“

“Don’t you dare take his side Y/n!” Eloise screamed, stomping her foot like and annoyed child. You laughed a reply, noticing the man beside you chuckling alongside you “We both know you’re not the biggest fan of society Eloise, I am simply stating fact-“

“I never thought you would betray me like this…how could you” She spoke softly, clutching her chest in mock-hurt as she dramatically slid down the side of the carriage, coming to rest on the step below the door. You heard the Viscount laugh, “Perhaps Miss Y/n here as a point. You will have to be on your best behaviour tonight, so I suggest that perhaps you should start practicing your etiquette before then-“

“You are both the worst” Eloise grumbled, standing up from the carriage step and slowly walking towards the store front before her. “If anyone needs me, I will be inside. The two of you can gossip about me at your own leisure while I suffer numerous dress-fittings inside” She whined, opening the door and disappearing inside.

You once again turned your attention back to the Viscount, looking up at him shyly as you fiddled with your hands in front of you. “Your sister does mean well, you know. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I am lucky to have a friend like her, especially at my status.”

He smiled at your words, his eyes meeting yours and softening on your form. You felt nervous under his gaze, with how he was looking at you with such interest. No Lord had ever looked at you like this, nor even recognised your presence. It was nice.

“I know she has the best intentions, yet it is the way that she goes about them that sometimes hinders her reputation” He replied, sighing heavily as he watched you intently for your reply. You shrugged “Well, she is a part of one of the most famous and revered families on the ton, she is constantly under the public’s watchful eye. What is the harm of having some freedoms here and there?”.

Your question was innocent enough, but you noticed the Viscount’s brow furrow as he thought on your words. His gaze fell to the cobblestones in contemplation, before returning to your figure with a mischievous smile. “You certainly know a lot of the ton. Tell me, how do you know so much?”.

Your eyes widened and a small blush crept onto your cheeks as you stuttered, “W-Well, Lady Worthington and her daughters discuss these sorts of matters quite openly-“

“Wait, Lady Worthington?” he asked, his eyes suddenly wide with what you could only assume was fear. You eyed the Viscount suspiciously, tilting your head to the side as you spoke. “Yes?...What of them?”

“Oh no, nothing. It has only now just dawned on me that you are the same Y/n that Colin mentioned when he returned from the Worthington household after calling on Miss Elizabeth, and the same Y/n that Eloise calls a friend. I feel rather stupid for not realising it until now.”

A smile formed on your lips as you dismissed his revelation, “Well, I’m not the most memorable person around, I am merely a maid-“

“A maid who has the ear of my sister…and now mine I suppose.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your cheeks once again flushing a bright red as you turned to face him. “You’re…you’re not ashamed to be speaking so openly with me?” you asked him softly, your eyes wide with shock as you waited anxiously for his reply.

The Viscount shook his head, lightly lifting his shoulders as he hummed. “Should I be? Anyone who works for Lady Worthington has my sympathies.”

Perhaps he would be ashamed, if he knew who you really were.

You were left speechless, unsure of how to reply to his words as your mouth fell open and closed. Before you could think of a reply, the store door burst open to reveal Eloise, who now looked incredibly pale and distraught. Both you and the Viscount shared a look of confusion.

“Are you alright Eloise?” You asked cautiously. She looked between you and her brother, breathing deeply in a panic.

“My dear brother, if you wish to keep your marriage prospects hidden until the ball tonight…I suggest we run” Eloise replied breathlessly, rushing over to her brother and taking his arm in hers.

“What are you talking about-“

“Oh for the love of god, Lady Worthington and her daughters are inside! We should run, now!”

Your eyes met Eloise’s, and then those of her brother who were just as wide, perhaps even more terrified. Without thinking, your shoved both Eloise and the Viscount down the street, laughing as you did so. “Go! Don’t become trapped as I have!”

The Viscount’s laughter caused your heart to soar, as he waved a quick goodbye while Eloise dragged him away and around the corner, right on time as Lady Worthington, Mary and Elizabeth stormed out of the store in a huff. You returned to stand by the horses, trying desperately to contain your laughter as the three of them stumbled towards the carriage, boxes in hand, and struggling to squeeze into the already overstuffed carriage.

“I suppose you found everything you were after, my lady?” You replied quickly, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from chuckling, “should we perhaps return home?”

Lady Worthington’s icy gaze settled on your form, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Did I tell you to speak? I think not. Just go, we have a lot to do before the ball.”

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hier--soir · 1 year ago

Text

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.”

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source.

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs.

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.”

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration.

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips. “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.”

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

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 @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

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

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