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moluvies · 30 days ago

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celestial alignment ꔛ armin arlert x reader (pt. 2)

a/n: the banners just get weirder.... part two to in your orbit but idk if u need to read that one to understand this one lmao 😝🙏 #idk why this one is so much longer than part one but yolo

words: 9.6k

cw: nerd!armin, college au, she/her pronouns and fem anatomy for reader, fwb (kinda) to lovers, confessions, smut, blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, MDNI !!

ꔛ

The morning after the party, Armin woke with a pounding headache and fragments of memories that made his face burn crimson against his pillow. But even through the haze of his first-ever hangover, he couldn't bring himself to regret a single moment of what had happened between you.

Three weeks had passed since that night, and your astronomy project had become both the most productive and least efficient academic endeavor of Armin's college career. What should have been straightforward work sessions frequently dissolved into lingering touches, stolen kisses, and eventually, hurried excuses to abandon the library study room for somewhere more private.

Armin frequently worked shifts at his part-time job at the cinema on top of being the project leader. It was confusing to you how he had time to do anything besides work and school, but he managed to play an unhealthy amount of games and watch an embarassing amount of anime whenever he got the chance.

That was, unless you were around. After your hookup at the frat party in Jean's room (something Armin would never allow him to know), you and him had spent a considerable amount of time together.

You continued working on the project together, the other members eventually showing up to the meetings Armin hosted, but things were obviously different than they had been—and no, Armin did not regret anything.

In fact, he'd shown you how little he regretted the encounter many times since then. He'd act as though he wanted your special input on the project when he invited you over, only to not keep his hands to himself the entire time you'd be at his place.

You'd sat beside him at the desk in his room, looking at his PC where you were looking over the slides and ideas from your groupmates.

"This one's just ridiculous," he said, his chin rested in his hand. "I suppose graphic design doesn't come easy to everyone."

"I don't know," you teased, "that neon green and purple combo really makes the statistical analysis pop, don't you think?"

Armin groaned, running his fingers through his blonde hair. "It's physically painful to look at. I'm going to have to redo this entire section before submission."

"Always the perfectionist," you said, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"Someone has to be." He clicked through a few more slides, his knee occasionally brushing against yours under the desk. "Otherwise we'd be presenting with clip art and Comic Sans."

You reached for the mouse, your hand briefly covering his. "Let me show you mine."

Armin leaned back in his chair, watching you navigate through the shared folder. You could feel his eyes on you rather than the screen, that subtle attention he'd been giving you since the party. It made concentrating on the project increasingly difficult.

"Here," you said, opening a new file. "This is what I was working on last night."

Armin's casual expression shifted as he leaned forward, eyes widening slightly as he reviewed your slides. The casual criticism vanished as he scrolled through your work.

"(Y/N), this is..." he paused, scanning the detailed analysis you'd prepared. "This is really good. The way you've visualized the data is exactly what we needed."

You felt a flush of pride at his genuine appreciation. "Yeah? I spent way too long on it, honestly."

"It shows." He turned to face you, his expression softened. "You didn't have to go this in-depth."

"Well, you're not the only perfectionist around here."

The corner of his mouth twitched up into that half-smile you'd grown increasingly fond of. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

"I think we deserve a break," he said quietly.

Without waiting for your response, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek. Unlike the urgent, heated kisses you'd shared before, this one was gentle, appreciative—sweet in a way that made your heart flutter unexpectedly.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced your cheekbone lightly. "Sorry," he murmured, not looking sorry at all. "I've been wanting to do that since you walked in."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You don't have to say sorry anymore, Armin. Not for that."

His smile widened, and he leaned in again, this time catching your lips with more confidence. The kiss deepened slowly, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he pulled you closer. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the way his lips curved against yours when you smiled into the kiss.

One of your hands found its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. His other hand slid down to your waist, thumb brushing against the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. The touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you let out a quiet hum against his lips.

Armin pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks slightly flushed, eyes bright with affection—and something else, something warmer. "You're distracting," he murmured, his voice low.

"Me?" you teased, nipping lightly at his lower lip. "You're the one who started this."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your mouth as he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring it. His fingers traced idle patterns along your side, his touch feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch.

Just as you were about to shift closer, a loud bang rattled the door, followed by an exasperated shout.

"ARMIN!" Connie's, Armin's roommate and friend you had met a few times and who was always nice if not a little wild, voice carried through the wood, sharp and impatient. "I swear to god, if you don't get your ass out here and deal with the dishes, I'm throwing them all in your bed!"

Armin groaned, dropping his forehead against yours with a defeated sigh. "I told Sasha to clean them last night."

You bit back a laugh, watching as he reluctantly pulled away, his expression torn between irritation and lingering amusement.

"I'm not kidding, man!" Connie banged on the door again. "Sasha refuses to touch them, and I'm not doing it! You live here too!"

Armin exhaled sharply through his nose, casting you an apologetic glance. "I should probably... handle this before he actually follows through."

You grinned, giving his hand a quick squeeze. "Go. Save your bed from dishware."

Armin sighed dramatically but pushed back from the desk, giving you one last lingering glance before heading toward the door. "I'll be right back," he muttered, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

You turned back to the slides, clicking through them with half-hearted focus, but without Armin beside you, the work suddenly felt dull. The silence of the room—now free of his quiet murmurs and occasional frustrated sighs—made the minutes drag.

Bored.

After a few more lackluster attempts at editing, you finally gave up, pushing the chair back and stretching before wandering out of the room. The sound of running water led you to the kitchen, where Armin stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing at a stubborn plate with a sponge. His hair was pushed messily behind his ears, slightly damp at the temples from the steam rising from the hot water.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy muttering under his breath about "Sasha’s stupid cereal bowl crusted like cement." The sight was unfairly endearing—his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his forearms flexed slightly as he scrubbed, the way his lips pursed when he was annoyed but trying not to complain too loudly.

Leaning against the doorframe, you crossed your arms and just watched for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"You know," you finally said, making him jump slightly, "I didn’t take you for the domestic type."

Armin turned, blinking at you in surprise before his expression softened into something playful. "And yet here I am, saving our apartment from a dish-based apocalypse." He flicked soapy water in your direction, grinning when you yelped and dodged.

"You’re terrible," you laughed, stepping closer.

He smirked, rinsing off the last plate before setting it in the drying rack. "But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, moving to stand beside him. Without thinking, you reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind his ear, fingers lingering just a second too long.

Armin's cheeks flushed a soft pink as he dried his hands on a dish towel, hesitating for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Uh—so," he started, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I was thinking... I have free tickets to the movies. Since I work there. And—well—I was wondering if you'd... maybe... want to go? Sometime?"

The words tumbled out in a rush, and he cringed slightly at how awkward it sounded.

"But—!" He held up a hand, suddenly looking panicked. "Not just because it's free. I mean, it is free, but that's not—that's not the point." He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before trying again.

"What I'm trying to say is... I'd like to take you. On a date. If you want."

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the towel, his expression caught somewhere between hopeful and terrified.

You grinned, stepping closer and nudging his shoulder with yours. "Armin Arlert," you said, voice teasing but warm, "are you asking me out on a proper date?"

He swallowed hard, then nodded, a shy smile finally breaking through. "Yeah. I am."

You pretended to think about it for a dramatic second, tapping your chin—just long enough to watch his shoulders tense in anticipation—before grinning.

"Obviously, yes."

The relief that washed over his face was instant, his whole posture relaxing as he let out a breathy laugh. "Really?"

You rolled your eyes, reaching out to tug lightly at his sleeve. "Yes, really. I'd love to go on a date with you."

His smile was brighter than you'd ever seen it, boyish and genuine. "Good. Great. I—uh—I'll figure out the details. Make it... nice."

You couldn't resist. Leaning in, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling back before he could react.

"Looking forward to it."

Armin blinked, momentarily stunned, before his grin turned lopsided, a playful glint in his eye.

"Me too."

ꔛ

The theater’s neon lights flickered against the pavement as you spotted Armin waiting near the entrance, hands shoved awkwardly into his jean pockets. The second he saw you, he straightened up, eyes widening slightly before a warm, nervous smile took over.

"You—" He cleared his throat, stepping forward. "You look pretty... cute. I mean pretty and cute. Like. Both. At the same time."

You bit back a laugh, watching as his ears turned pink the second the words left his mouth. It was ridiculous—considering the things you’d done together, the way he’d whispered filthy praise against your skin just last week—yet here he was, stumbling over his words like this was his first-ever date.

God, he’s adorable.

"You clean up nice too," you teased, nodding at his slightly-too-big button-up and the way his hair was trying to be neatly styled but already falling out of place.

Armin exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath, before hesitantly reaching for your hand. His fingers laced with yours, warm and slightly shaky, and when you squeezed, he squeezed back like he was afraid you’d disappear.

"You nervous?" you asked, bumping his shoulder as you walked toward the ticket line.

"No," he lied immediately, then groaned. "Okay, yes. But only because I—I don’t know. This feels different."

You knew exactly what he meant. Hooking up was one thing, but this? The deliberate choice of each other, the quiet intimacy of a date—it was terrifyingly sweet.

Armin led you past the concessions stand, waving casually at his coworker who shot him a knowing grin and a thumbs up. He'd insisted on paying for popcorn despite the fact that most of his perks came free with his job—"It's a proper date," he'd said firmly, handing over actual money when you tried to protest.

The theater was nearly empty for the late showing, just a couple of pairs scattered throughout the front rows. Armin guided you toward the back row, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

"I hope you like horror," he said, settling into the cushy seat beside you. "Jean and Eren said this one was supposed to be good."

What Armin wasn't telling you was the entire embarrassing conversation that had led to this choice.

"Dude, horror movie. No question," Jean had said, sprawled across Armin's couch while Eren nodded enthusiastically from the floor.

"I don't know..." Armin hesitated. "What if she doesn't like being scared?"

Eren rolled his eyes. "That's the point. She gets scared, you comfort her, she feels safe with you—boom, instant connection."

"We've already connected," Armin muttered, his cheeks warming. "Multiple times."

"Yeah, but this is different," Jean insisted, sitting up to look more serious. "This is you being the strong, protective one. Plus, dark theater, back row..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Eren threw a pillow at Jean before turning to Armin. "Look, trust us. It's the perfect first date movie. You can protect her if it gets too scary."

As the lights dimmed and the previews began to play, Armin lifted the armrest between your seats, allowing you to slide closer. The warmth of your body against his side made him acutely aware of his heartbeat—too fast, too loud—as the movie title splashed across the screen in dripping red letters.

Twenty minutes in, it became abundantly clear that Jean and Eren's advice had been... flawed.

A jump-scare sent Armin practically out of his seat, his hand clutching yours so tightly it almost hurt. You bit back a laugh as he quickly tried to play it off, clearing his throat and settling back down. Another ten minutes passed before a second scare had him actually yelping—a small, startled sound that he immediately tried to cover with a cough.

"You good?" you whispered, leaning closer to his ear, amused by the way he'd tensed up.

"Totally fine," he whispered back unconvincingly, his eyes still fixed on the screen where a shadowy figure lurked behind the protagonist. When the inevitable jumpscare came, he flinched again, harder this time.

You couldn't help it—you laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "It's gonna be okay, Armin."

His face burned in the darkness, visible even in the dim light from the screen. "I don't usually watch this stuff."

"It's fine, really." You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling him gradually relax against you. "It's cute, though, how scared you're getting."

Armin turned slightly, his breath warm against your temple. "Cute wasn't exactly what I was going for, but I'll take it."

The movie continued, a predictable parade of creaky doors and bloody apparitions, but you found yourself paying less attention to the plot and more to the way Armin's thumb absently stroked the back of your hand. How his breath would catch before each scare, how he'd release it slowly afterward, trying to play it cool.

Halfway through, during a particularly tense scene, you glanced up at him—his profile illuminated by the flickering blue light, his features etched in concentration despite his obvious discomfort. Without thinking, you pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw, just a light brush of contact.

Armin stilled, his attention immediately diverted from the screen to you. His eyes, wide and questioning, found yours in the darkness.

You smiled innocently, but when his gaze dropped to your lips, the air between you shifted. The movie faded to background noise as he leaned closer, hesitating just a breath away. His eyes met yours in question.

In answer, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, testing kiss. He responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you there as the kiss deepened. The taste of buttered popcorn lingered on his tongue as it slipped past your lips, exploring with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

A particularly loud noise from the movie made him jump again, breaking the kiss with a startled gasp before he laughed softly against your mouth.

"Sorry," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Don't be," you whispered back, shifting to get a better angle.

This time when you kissed him, it was less cautious. Your hand slid up his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he pulled you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair. The armrest dug into your side but you hardly noticed, too lost in the way he kissed you—deepening from sweet to something hungrier, something that made heat pool in your stomach.

The protagonist's screams provided a bizarre soundtrack as Armin's hand moved from your cheek down to your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive spot beneath your ear that he'd discovered weeks ago. You shivered, and he smiled against your lips, clearly pleased with himself.

"Thought you were scared," you teased quietly, nipping at his lower lip.

"Distracted now," he breathed, kissing down to the corner of your mouth, your jaw.

You glanced around quickly—the nearest couple was rows away, focused on the movie—before sliding your hand to his thigh, feeling him tense beneath your touch. His own hand moved to your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush warm skin.

The kiss turned deeper, messier, as his tongue slid against yours. You could feel him getting bolder, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted closer, your hand inching higher on his thigh. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat that sent a pulse of want straight through you.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped quietly, feeling his smile against your mouth. This was a different Armin than the one who'd stumbled through asking you out—this was the Armin who knew exactly what you liked, who'd mapped your body with his hands and mouth, who'd made you come undone with just his fingers on multiple occasions.

"We should—" he started, pulling back slightly, his breath warm against your lips. "We should probably watch the movie."

"Yeah. I don't want your coworkers making fun of you," you whispered with a smile.

A woman on screen shrieked as something lunged at her, and Armin tensed again, his grip on you tightening reflexively. You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Maybe we should have gone with a comedy," he admitted, his voice low with embarrassment. "Eren and Jean said horror would be—" He cut himself off, realizing he'd said too much.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What exactly did they say?"

Armin's hand fell from your waist as he ran it through his hair, messing up the careful styling even further. "Something about, uh... you getting scared and me comforting you." His ears were burning again. "Which obviously backfired because I'm the one jumping at every shadow."

"I don't know," you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. "I think I like comforting you just fine."

He shivered, his hand finding yours again in the darkness. For the remainder of the movie, you stayed close, your head on his shoulder, occasionally stealing kisses during the less intense scenes. Whenever a jumpscare hit, you'd squeeze his hand, feeling him relax against you as the moment passed.

By the time the credits rolled, Armin had practically forgotten his embarrassment, too content with your warmth against him, the smell of your shampoo as you rested against his shoulder. As the lights slowly brightened, he turned to look at you properly, taking in your slightly disheveled appearance—lips a little swollen from his kisses, hair mussed where his fingers had tangled in it.

He looked just as affected—cheeks flushed, blonde hair falling messily across his forehead, lips pink and just a touch raw. The sight made your heart flutter.

"So," he said, voice hoarse as he helped you gather your things, "on a scale of one to ten, how bad was my movie choice?"

You laughed, standing to stretch your legs. "Well, I didn't really see much of it, so I can't judge fairly."

His smile was slow, a little smug as he stood beside you. "Me neither."

You both lingered in the theater as others filed out, neither quite ready to end the night.

"We could..." Armin started, then stopped, suddenly looking shy again. "We could go back to my place? Connie and Sasha are out tonight, so..."

The implication hung between you, charged with possibility.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. "Let's go."

His smile was bright enough to rival the theater's exit signs as he pulled you gently toward the door, the forgotten horror movie already a distant memory.

ꔛ

The door to Armin's apartment swung open, his hand fumbling slightly with the key as he stepped aside to let you in. The familiar space greeted you—Sasha's mismatched throw pillows scattered across the couch, Connie's gaming setup in the corner, and the subtle scent of Armin's sandalwood candle that he always lit when studying late.

"They're definitely out?" you asked, slipping off your shoes by the door.

Armin nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as he set his keys on the counter. "Until late. Frat party, I guess."

There was a beat of silence—a moment of shared understanding—before you both moved at once. Armin's hands found your waist as he backed you toward his bedroom, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that made it clear he'd been restraining himself at the theater. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly in the way you'd discovered made him groan.

He navigated the hallway without breaking the kiss, blindly pushing open his bedroom door. The familiar space—desk cluttered with textbooks and astronomy notes, walls adorned with star charts and anime posters he'd shyly explained on your first visit—welcomed you like an old friend.

Armin walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed, his hands steady at your waist. He broke the kiss, looking down at you with eyes darkened by desire, a question in them that you answered by sitting down at the edge of the mattress.

Before he could make another move, you reached for the button of his jeans, watching his breath hitch as your fingers worked the metal through the hole. His hands moved to your shoulders, gentle but trembling slightly.

"You don't have to—" he started, his voice cracking embarrassingly in the middle.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "I already told you, I want to."

The flush on his cheeks deepened, but he nodded, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered his zipper. His fingers twitched against your shoulders, anticipation building in the way he shifted his weight.

The contrast between drunk Armin and sober Armin had fascinated you from the start.

Drunk Armin was all impulse and confidence—hands everywhere, whispered confessions against your skin, boldly telling you exactly what he wanted with none of his usual hesitation. The first night at the party, he'd been liquid courage and hungry eyes, pulling you into Jean's room without a second thought.

Sober Armin was a slow burn—starting tentative and sweet, checking in with gentle touches and questioning looks, always making sure you were comfortable. But what made him so intoxicating was the transformation that happened when pleasure built—how his careful control would gradually unravel, revealing the intensity he usually kept hidden beneath his quiet exterior.

As you tugged his jeans down his thighs, you could see that transformation beginning. His fingers flexed against your shoulders, his breathing already uneven despite how little you'd done.

"Is this okay?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes, your hands resting on his hips.

He nodded rapidly, then cleared his throat. "Yeah—yes, it's... it's more than okay."

You smiled, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, enjoying the way his abdominal muscles tensed in anticipation. Slowly, you pulled the fabric down, revealing him inch by inch until he sprang free, already hard and straining.

Armin's breath caught audibly, his hands moving from your shoulders to card gently through your hair. The touch was reverent, careful—so typically Armin at the start.

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling him pulse against your palm as you stroked slowly from base to tip. His eyes fell shut momentarily, lips parting on a shaky exhale.

"You're already so hard," you murmured, thumb circling the sensitive head.

"Been thinking about this all night," he admitted, voice strained but still controlled. "Since the theater."

You leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip, watching his pupils dilate at the contact. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed an anchor.

When you finally took him into your mouth, Armin's quiet gasp filled the room. You started slow, taking just the head between your lips, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge before dipping into the slit. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, restraint evident in every tense muscle.

"That feels—" he broke off as you took him deeper, his voice cracking again. "So good, God."

You hollowed your cheeks, establishing a rhythm as you worked him with your mouth and hand together. Sweet, shy Armin was still present in the gentle way his fingers stroked your hair, in the soft, appreciative sounds he made with each movement of your tongue.

But as the minutes passed, you felt the shift.

His breathing grew heavier, his normally precise vocabulary reduced to fragments and your name. When you took him particularly deep, letting him hit the back of your throat, his hips jerked forward involuntarily causing you to gag slightly.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped immediately, trying to pull back.

You responded by gripping his hips, encouraging him to stay where he was, looking up to meet his gaze. The message was clear: It's okay. I can take it.

The careful restraint in his expression began to crack. His hand tightened in your hair, not painful but definitely more commanding than before, guiding your movements as you continued.

"You look so—" he swallowed hard, jaw clenching as you swirled your tongue around him. "So perfect like this."

This was where drunk and sober Armin began to converge—where pleasure stripped away his inhibitions, leaving raw need in their place. His hips started to move in shallow, careful thrusts that grew more confident when you moaned encouragingly around him.

"Is this okay?" he asked, voice rough with desire, his hand now firmly guiding your head. When you nodded, he exhaled sharply. "Good, because I—fuck—I need to—"

The proper, articulate Armin was gone now, replaced by a version of him that chased his pleasure with focused intensity. His fingers tangled more firmly in your hair, his thrusts growing more deliberate as he watched himself disappear between your lips.

"You're so good at this," he praised, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "So perfect with your mouth, taking me so well."

You hummed around him, sending vibrations through his length that made him curse—something rare from his usual vocabulary. His self-consciousness had evaporated, replaced by a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask.

"Deeper," he urged, voice strained but commanding. "Please, just like—yes—just like that."

When you felt him start to throb against your tongue, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, you knew he was close. His careful rhythm faltered, growing erratic as his control slipped further.

"I'm going to—" he warned, trying to pull back slightly. "If you don't stop, I'll—"

You dug your fingers into his hips, taking him deeper instead, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His head fell back, throat working around a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him as he pulsed against your tongue.

"Fuck," he gasped, the words falling from his lips as he came, his fingers clenching in your hair, his body shuddering with release.

You worked him through it, swallowing around him until he became too sensitive, his hands gently urging you back as he caught his breath. When you finally pulled away, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, his expression was dazed, cheeks flushed dark red.

Armin was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly, when his gaze dropped to you—eyes dark with hunger, lips kiss-swollen, fingers twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or give you a second to recover.

Then, with a suddenness that made your pulse jump, he pushed you back onto the bed.

You let out a surprised laugh as you landed against his pillows, but the sound choked off when he climbed over you, his hands sliding possessively up your thighs. His glasses—already fogged from his heavy breathing—slipped slightly down his nose, and with an impatient noise, he yanked them off and tossed them onto the nightstand.

"Fuck these things," he muttered, before his attention snapped back to you, making you laugh momentarily before your breath hitched.

His fingers hooked into the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your hips in one smooth motion, exposing the damp fabric of your panties. He exhaled sharply at the sight, his thumbs immediately pressing against the soaked material, dragging slowly along the seam.

"Armin," you gasped, arching into the touch.

He smirked—actually smirked—before dipping his head to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips were warm, teasing, moving higher with agonizing slowness.

"You’re so wet," he murmured, fingertips ghosting over the damp fabric of your panties. "Just from sucking me off?"

You bit your lip, nodding, and his expression darkened with satisfaction.

"Then let me return the favor."

Armin’s fingers curled into the sides of your panties, dragging them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his knuckles brushing against your thighs in a way that made you shiver. The moment they were off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, his hands returned—spreading your thighs wider, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath your hips, like he was memorizing the way you opened for him.

His breath was warm against your bare skin as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the apex of your thighs, teasing.

"You're so cute," he murmured, voice rough with want, lips brushing against your slick folds without giving you what you wanted. "The way you react every time."

You whined, hips lifting desperately toward his mouth, but he chuckled—chuckled, the bastard—and held you down with one firm hand on your stomach.

"I—fuck, Armin—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Hm?" he hummed breath fanning over your overheated skin. Then, finally, his tongue dragged through your wetness in one slow, torturous stroke, and you nearly arched clean off the bed.

His grip on your hip tightened, pinning you in place as he repeated the motion, lapping at you like he was savoring the taste. The contrast was maddening—his usual careful precision in everything he did, now applied to unraveling you completely.

Armin's mouth was relentless—hot, wet, and hungry as he devoured you with the same focus he usually reserved for his astronomy charts. His tongue laved broad, slow strokes through your folds before zeroing in on your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make your thighs tremble.

"Fuck—yes, like that—" you gasped, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly as he worked you over with his lips and tongue.

He hummed against you in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Then, without warning, his fingers joined—two of them pressing against your entrance before sliding inside in one smooth thrust.

"You like that?" he asked, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he curled his fingers just right, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

All you could manage was a desperate nod, your voice failing you as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

Armin’s lips curved into a smirk—smug bastard—before his mouth descended again, tongue flicking over your clit in quick, relentless circles as his fingers fucked into you with growing insistence.

"You sound so pretty," he muttered against you, the vibrations making you writhe. "Always." His movements were precise, almost scientific, as if he’d studied exactly how to make you fall apart.

"Armin—" you panted, your grip tightening in his hair as his fingers pumped in and out, his thumb brushing your clit in tandem. "Don’t stop—please—"

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down—sucking your clit between his lips, fucking you with his fingers at a steady, maddening pace. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open for him as he worked you toward the edge with terrifying efficiency.

You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach, your breathing coming in ragged gasps as he pushed you closer and closer.

"Come for me," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with arousal. "Let me feel it."

And just like that, you shattered—your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your body clenching around his fingers as he coaxed every last pulse of pleasure from you.

When you finally slumped back against the bed, boneless and breathless, Armin pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Fuck," was all you could manage.

"Good?" he asked, like he didn’t already know.

You simply whined, lips curling into a grin at his pleased expression. Armin crawled up your body, his lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath your palms as he settled between your thighs.

His fingers tangled in your hair, cradling your head as he kissed you thoroughly, unhurried now despite the way his arousal pressed insistently against your stomach. Each sweep of his tongue was deliberate, each gentle bite to your lower lip calculated to make you gasp.

He sat back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, subtle muscle of his chest and stomach. Not bulky like some of his friends, but defined in a way that made your mouth water. You reached up, tracing a finger down the center of his chest, feeling him shiver under your touch.

"Let me grab something," he murmured, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before leaning over to his nightstand.

He pulled open the drawer, retrieving a small box of condoms that still had the plastic wrap on it. You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Recent purchase?" you teased.

Armin's cheeks flushed, but he nodded, tearing open the box with slightly fumbling fingers. "Got them last week. After, uh—" he met your eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. "After I decided I never wanted to use Jean's condoms again. Completely ruined the mood knowing they were his."

You laughed, the sound turning into a soft gasp as he tore open a packet and rolled the condom onto his length with careful precision.

"Plus," he added, his voice dropping lower as he settled back between your legs, "I wanted to be prepared. For you."

His hands slid beneath your knees, gently pushing them back and open, exposing you completely to his gaze. The position left you feeling vulnerable, but the reverent way he looked at you—like you were a particularly fascinating celestial phenomenon he'd just discovered—made heat pool in your stomach.

Armin positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick folds without pushing in. He guidded his cock with his hand, coating himself in your wetness, watching your face as he teased you.

You whimpered, trying to shift your hips to take him in.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he continued the maddening tease. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You didn't answer immediately, distracted by the pleasure building again as he rubbed his dick against your sensitive clit.

"Tell me," he prompted, leaning down to kiss your neck. "I want to hear you say it."

You threw your arm over your face, suddenly embarrassed despite everything you'd already done together. "You know what I want."

"I do," he agreed, nipping lightly at your collarbone. "But I want to hear you ask for it."

Something about his tone—not demanding or smug, but genuinely wanting to hear your desire—made heat pool in your stomach. You peeked at him from beneath your arm, taking in his flushed cheeks, the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth, the eager anticipation in his eyes.

"Please," you whispered, the word barely audible.

His smile was gentle, encouraging. "Please what?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "Please fuck me, Armin. I want you inside me."

The words sent a visible shudder through him, his breath catching as he lined himself up properly. "Like this?" he asked, pushing just the tip inside, watching your face carefully.

"Yes," you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he sank deeper, stretching you deliciously. "Just like that—god."

Armin's breath hitched as he pushed in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs with increasing pressure. You watched his face transform—the careful control giving way to raw sensation as he buried himself inside you completely, his hips finally flush against yours.

"Fuck," he breathed, eyes falling closed for a moment as he adjusted to the feeling. "You feel—you feel incredible."

He stayed like that for a heartbeat, fully seated inside you, his thumbs drawing small, soothing circles against your skin. Then he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, pulling back slowly before pushing in again with careful precision.

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his shoulders. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

The praise sent a visible shiver through him, his rhythm faltering briefly before he found it again, setting a deliberate pace that had you arching beneath him. Each thrust was measured and deep, hitting exactly where you needed it.

Armin bent down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as he continued to move within you. His hand slid from your thigh to your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric of your top.

"Take this off," he murmured against your mouth. "Want to see all of you."

You nodded, and he helped you pull the shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. The moment you were bare beneath him, his eyes darkened with appreciation, his hands immediately moving to cup your breasts.

"Beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, watching your reaction with fascination.

The dual sensation of his cock inside you and his fingers on your sensitive nipples had you moaning, head thrown back against the pillows. Armin took advantage, his lips finding your exposed throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin there.

His thrusts grew deeper, more insistent, each one drawing a soft gasp from your lips. You'd almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you—the past few weeks had been rushed encounters between classes, hurried orgasms from his fingers and tongue, but not this. Not since that first drunken night in Jean's room had you felt the delicious stretch of him inside you, and your body was reacquainting itself with the sensation.

"You feel so good," Armin breathed, his voice strained as his hips snapped forward with increasing force. "So fucking tight—god—"

His cursing sent a thrill through you—the contrast between the polite, studious Armin who explained Europa's atmospheric composition with such precision and the Armin currently fucking you into his mattress, hair falling messily across his forehead as sweat beaded on his brow.

"Harder," you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

Something flashed in his eyes—a momentary hesitation, then resolve. "You sure?"

"Yes—please—"

He didn't need to be told twice. His next thrust came with enough force to make the headboard hit the wall, drawing a surprised moan from your lips. His hands found yours, fingers interlacing as he pinned them beside your head, using the leverage to drive into you with newfound intensity.

"Like this?" he asked, voice rough, eyes dark with concentration as he watched your face for every reaction. "This what you need?"

"Yes—fuck—just like that," you gasped, arching beneath him.

A particularly deep thrust had you crying out, and Armin groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his hips worked against yours.

"Missed this," he confessed against your skin, the words tumbling out between thrusts. "Thinking about fucking you again—couldn't focus on the project—kept remembering how you felt—"

You whimpered, the admission sending heat spiraling through your core. The idea of him daydreaming about this while working on those meticulous slides, wanting you while discussing celestial phenomena—it was both ridiculously endearing and intoxicating.

"Me too," you admitted, "got wet thinking about you in class, when you were sitting right next to me—"

Armin groaned, his hips stuttering before finding their rhythm again. "Yeah? While I was discussing Titan's atmosphere?" His voice was playful despite the strain, his lips curving against your neck.

"Especially then," you teased back, gasping as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Something about the way you talk about space—ah!—really does it for me."

He laughed, breathless and surprised, before pulling back enough to look at you. His expression shifted to something more serious, more vulnerable, as his pace slowed momentarily.

"I'm falling for you," he admitted quietly, the words hanging between you as his hips rolled in a slow, deliberate grind. "Not just this—though fuck, this is amazing—but all of it. You."

Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the physical pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your heart swelled at his confession, but before you could respond, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed vigor, stealing the words from your throat.

"But right now," he continued, voice dropping to a husky whisper as he picked up the pace, "right now I just want to make you come around my cock."

The filthy words from his usually proper mouth sent a shock of heat straight to your core. You watched, transfixed, as his lean muscles tensed with each thrust—the subtle definition of his abs contracting, the way his biceps flexed as he held himself above you. His golden hair, usually so neatly combed, now hung in sweaty strands around his flushed face, his blue eyes dark and unfocused with pleasure.

"Fuck," you moaned as he shifted, the angle changing just enough that the head of his cock dragged perfectly against your g-spot with every thrust.

"There it is," he murmured, a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice as he noted your reaction. "Found it."

He slammed into you harder, making the bed frame creak beneath you, each thrust precise despite the increasing desperation of his movements. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and arousing.

"You're so fucking wet," Armin groaned, watching where your bodies connected. "Taking my dick so perfectly—shit—"

You whimpered at his words, clenching around him involuntarily, which made his eyes flutter closed for a brief moment.

Just as the tension was building, coiling tight in your lower belly, a sound from the apartment's entrance made you both freeze.

"Armin? You home?" Connie's voice carried down the hallway, followed by the distinct jingle of keys.

"Shit," Armin whispered, his eyes widening in panic. He glanced at the door—which, you realized with a jolt of adrenaline, neither of you had thought to lock.

Before you could process what was happening, Armin's hand clamped over your mouth, his body still buried deep inside yours.

"Yeah, I'm here!" he called back, voice remarkably steady despite the situation. "Just working on some stuff in my room. Don't—don't come in, I'm changing!"

His eyes met yours, a silent question in them—okay?—as he remained perfectly still, his cock pulsing inside you.

You nodded against his palm, heart racing with the thrill of nearly being caught. To your shock, instead of pulling out, Armin began to move again—slower now, more deliberate, his hips rolling in shallow thrusts that maintained the pressure against your sweet spot without making the bed creak.

"We brought pizza!" Sasha's voice called. "Extra pepperoni! You want some?"

Armin bit his lip, stifling a groan as you clenched around him again, the danger of the situation somehow heightening every sensation.

"Maybe—ah—maybe later!" he called back, his voice hitching slightly as you deliberately tightened around him. He shot you a warning look that only made heat pool lower in your belly.

"Suit yourself," Connie replied, his voice thankfully moving toward the living room. "We're gonna watch that new anime you were talking about. The one with the monsters."

Armin's hips stuttered at the mention, and you couldn't help but smile against his palm, imagining him trying to focus on serious conversation while balls-deep inside you.

"Go ahead!" Armin called, then lowered his voice to a whisper meant only for you. "If you make a sound, I'll stop."

The threat—not truly a threat given how desperately you both wanted this—made you shiver.

The moment he was satisfied his roommates were settled in the living room, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed force, his hand pressing harder against your mouth. His eyes were wild, a mixture of arousal and danger as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Gotta be quiet now," he breathed, his voice trembling slightly as he picked up the pace. "Can't let them hear how fucking wet your pussy is for me."

You whimpered against his hand, feeling yourself clench around him at the unexpected dirty talk. This was a side of Armin you'd glimpsed before—the way he'd whisper filthy praise against your ear when you sucked him off, how he'd gotten bolder with his words each time you hooked up—but never quite this raw, this uninhibited. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting seeming obscenely loud in the quiet room.

"Look at you," he continued, watching your breasts bounce with each powerful thrust. "Fuck, you're so perfect."

His free hand moved to cup one breast, thumb circling the hardened nipple before pinching it lightly, causing you to arch beneath him. Your muffled moan was captured by his hand, which pressed more firmly against your lips.

"Shh," he warned, but his eyes were dark with satisfaction at your reaction. "They'll hear you."

The position shifted slightly as he leaned more weight on the hand covering your mouth, his cock driving impossibly deeper. You could feel his heavy balls slap against your ass with each thrust, adding to the obscene symphony of skin against skin.

"You're dripping," he groaned quietly, glancing down at where your bodies joined. "Soaking the sheets, fuck—"

Despite his assertive words, Armin was falling apart above you—his composure cracking with each thrust. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he tried to stifle his own sounds. A whimper escaped him when you deliberately clenched around his length, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment.

"Do that—do that again," he pleaded, voice breaking slightly as you obliged, squeezing your inner muscles around him. "God—feels so good—"

His rhythm faltered briefly before he found it again, driving into you with precision that belied his trembling thighs and stuttered breathing. The head of his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you with each thrust, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

You tried to say his name, the sound muffled against his palm as your hands clutched at his back, nails digging into the smooth skin. Armin hissed at the sting but didn't slow down—if anything, the pain seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping forward with increased fervor.

"You like this?" he whispered, sweat-dampened hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you. "Like me keeping you quiet while I fuck you? While my roommates are right outside?"

You nodded frantically, eyes wide as pressure built inside you, coiling tighter with each precise thrust.

"Such a—fuck—such a dirty girl," he continued, voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. "Getting off on this—on me—ahh—holding you down and—and fucking you while—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence, too caught up in the sensation. His expression was a beautiful mess—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes glazed with pleasure. When you clenched around him again, he let out a whine that he immediately tried to muffle by burying his face in your neck.

"Close," he gasped against your skin, his rhythm growing erratic. "So close—need you to—need you to come with me—"

His hand slipped from your mouth just long enough to slide between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease. The sudden stimulation made you gasp, and his palm clamped back over your lips instantly.

"Quiet," he reminded you, but the command lacked authority as his own breath hitched. His fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles as his cock continued to pound into you, the dual sensation rapidly pushing you toward the edge.

"Come on my cock," he urged, words turning desperate as his control slipped further. "Want to feel you—feel you squeeze me—God—squeeze me when you come—"

Your orgasm hit without warning, crashing over you in intense waves as your body clenched rhythmically around his length. Armin's hand barely muffled your cry as pleasure flooded every nerve, your back arching off the bed.

The feeling of your walls pulsing around him was too much. Armin's hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering completely as he buried himself deep inside you with one final thrust. His whole body tensed, a choked whimper escaping his lips as he came, his cock throbbing within you as he spilled into the condom.

For a long moment, he remained frozen above you, trembling with the force of his release. Then, slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with his lips in a gentle, almost apologetic kiss.

"Sorry," he whispered against your lips, still catching his breath. "Got a bit... carried away."

You smiled, reaching up to brush sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "Don't apologize. That was... wow."

A flush that had nothing to do with exertion spread across his cheeks, the shy, sweet Armin returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. The transformation was as endearing as it was fascinating—how quickly he could shift from filthy-mouthed confidence back to soft-spoken tenderness.

"Yeah?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice despite what you'd just shared.

"Yeah," you confirmed, pulling him down for another kiss. "Definitely wow."

Armin carefully pulled out, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before climbing off the bed and padding to the bathroom. You heard water running briefly before he returned, condom disposed of and a warm washcloth in hand.

"Here," he offered softly, gently cleaning between your thighs with a tenderness that made your chest ache. When he was done, he tossed the cloth into his hamper and climbed back onto the bed, immediately pulling you against his chest.

His fingers combed through your tangled hair, pushing sweaty strands away from your face. "You okay?"

You nodded, nestling into his warmth. "Perfect."

Armin reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a half-empty water bottle and offering it to you. "Drink something."

You took a few grateful sips before passing it back, watching as he drank deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. The care in these small gestures was somehow more intimate than what you'd just shared.

After a comfortable silence, you traced a finger along his collarbone. "So..."

His eyes met yours, a hint of vulnerability in them. "So?"

"You said something. During." You bit your lip, suddenly shy despite everything. "About falling for me."

A blush immediately spread across his cheeks, but to his credit, he didn't look away. "I did."

"Did you mean it?"

Armin exhaled, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining. "Yeah. I did. I am." His thumb stroked the back of your hand nervously. "Falling for you, that is."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you smiled up at him. "Good. Because I'm falling for you too."

The relief that washed over his face was almost comical—like he'd been genuinely worried after everything you'd shared. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Does that mean... I mean, would you want to..." he trailed off, then took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet your eyes. "Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?"

You couldn't help but laugh—not at him, but at the endearing formality of it all, asking you to be his girlfriend while you were both naked and sweaty in his bed.

"Yes, Armin," you said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "I'll be your girlfriend. Officially."

His answering smile was brilliant, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your stomach flutter.

"Great," he said, voice soft but steady. "That's... really great."

A loud burst of laughter from the living room reminded you both that you weren't alone in the apartment. Armin glanced toward the door, then back at you.

"We should probably..."

"Join civilization?" you suggested, already reaching for your scattered clothes.

"Yeah," he chuckled, climbing off the bed and searching for his boxers. "Plus, there's pizza."

You both dressed quickly, stealing glances and sharing small smiles as you put yourselves back together. Armin ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it back into something presentable while you straightened your clothes and checked for any visible marks he might have left.

When you finally emerged from his bedroom, Connie and Sasha were sprawled across the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table between them and some colorful anime playing on the TV.

"Well, well, look who finally emerged," Connie said, giving you a knowing grin as he paused the show. "Thought you said you were changing, Armin."

Armin froze for a half-second, his ears turning bright red as he fumbled for words. "I was—I mean, we were just—"

"Uh-huh," Sasha smirked, grabbing another slice of pizza. "Changing."

Armin's shoulders straightened suddenly, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "Well, I have a girlfriend now, so..." he trailed off defensively, the statement hanging in the air like he wasn't quite sure where he was going with it.

Connie and Sasha were silent, amusement on their expressions at Armin's words.

"Yeah, I have a girlfriend now, so what does it matter if I change in front of her?" Armin challenged more confidently, chin lifting slightly despite the blush still coloring his cheeks.

Connie rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing a wadded-up napkin in Armin's direction. "Yeah, yeah, just rub it in our faces, why don't you? Some of us are still single and suffering."

But there was no real bite to his words, just good-natured teasing as he scooted over to make room on the couch.

Sasha couldn't seem to stop smiling, her eyes darting between you and Armin with barely contained delight. "About time," she said, pushing the pizza box toward you both.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Armin asked, guiding you to the spot Connie had cleared.

"Dude, you've been talking about her non-stop for weeks," Connie snorted. "Pretty sure Sasha and I could recite your astronomy project by heart at this point."

"That's not true," Armin protested weakly, but the way he avoided eye contact made it clear Connie wasn't exaggerating.

Sasha leaned forward, stage-whispering to you. "He's had a crush on you since like, the second week of class. It was painful to watch."

"Okay," Armin interrupted loudly, reaching for a slice of pizza. "Can we please just watch the show now?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his embarrassment, settling comfortably against his side as Connie hit play on the remote. The anime resumed—something about giant humanoid creatures that seemed equal parts fascinating and terrifying—but you found yourself more interested in watching the easy camaraderie between the three roommates.

Despite their teasing, it was obvious how much Connie and Sasha cared about Armin. The way Sasha would occasionally glance over with a soft, approving smile, or how Connie had immediately made space for both of you, accepting you into their little circle without question.

As the show continued, Armin's arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his body and the comforting weight of his arm. His fingers traced absent patterns on your shoulder as he focused on the screen, occasionally leaning down to whisper explanations of characters or plot points you might have missed.

It felt natural. Easy. Like you'd always belonged here, nestled against Armin's side while his friends bickered good-naturedly over the last slice of pizza.

When Armin's phone buzzed with a text from Eren asking how the date went, he simply smiled, typing back a quick response before tucking his phone away and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Good?" he asked quietly, and you knew he wasn't just asking about the anime or the pizza.

"Perfect," you confirmed, settling more comfortably against him as the next episode began to play.

#armin smut #nerdmin #nerd armin #smut #aot x reader #aot x reader smut #aot #aot smut #armin arlert #armin arlert x reader #armin x reader smut #attack on titan

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wafflefries13 · 4 months ago

Text

Blood in the Water (Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You get your period and Floyd is confused.

AN: Gonna be honest, this is mostly for me. I'm having the absolute worst cramps and writing this is mostly cathartic. I need a good comfort fic every once and a while. Thanks for reading!

Cross posted on my AO3 TheGhostIsTheKitchen

Warnings: AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, menstruation, cramps, nausea, brief mention of assault but no actual assault, can be read as romantic or platonic

There was a familiar twist in (Y/N)’s gut and she groaned. Putting a hand to her stomach, she leaned against the wall in the library, sinking down between the bookstacks as her head went dizzy and a knot of pain grew in her belly.

When her period had started this morning, two days late, she’d felt mostly fine. Sure maybe a little bloated and sluggish but that was par for the course. For a minute she’d been able to fool herself into thinking this would be one of those easy periods. It would last a few days without the plummeting change in emotions, the barbed wire cramps in her lower stomach, and every inch of skin feeling way too sensitive. Now that seemed like wishful thinking.

The first time she got her period here she desperately looked through the stacks of pain medication at Sam’s, wrestling with the unfamiliar brands to try and decipher which were good for period pains and which might make it worse. Thankfully, a trans Scarabia student had seen her struggling, pointing out which products they used. Sam had thrown in a free heating pad shaped like a huge dumpling. She’d almost cried.

She wished she had that heating pad now. She closed her eyes, thunking her forehead on her knees as she curled up. This was supposed to be a free study period, but she now suspected she’d spend the whole hour hiding in the library, afraid to move for fear of agitating the growing bundle of pain in her abdomen. She took a deep breath through her nose, exhaling through her mouth.

(Y/N) sensed the presence before she saw him. Months of being startled by Lilia or Chenya breaking onto campus had sharpened her skills in being ready for surprise attacks. She cracked open an eye, catching the fleeting glimpse of teal colored hair ducking behind a stack. She pressed her lips together. She normally loved having Floyd around. She appreciated his vibrant, if not volatile, personality, how surprisingly talented he was in domestic tasks like cooking. Jade had once mentioned that (Y/N) was able to sense Floyd’s mood swings with almost as much accuracy as his own brother, anticipating the shift and adjusting accordingly. And, to be honest, she loved how he would squeeze the life out of her at any given chance. But right now, when she was fighting a wave of nausea? Now was not the time.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Floyd stalked through the stacks, more like a shark than an eel. When she saw him ready to pounce, muscles tensing, ready to strike, she quickly held out her hand in a ‘stop’ motion, cutting him off mere inches from his arms enveloping her.

“Floyd,” She said, exhaustion seeping into her voice. “If you squeeze me right now I’ll throw up on you. That’s not a threat, it’s just what will happen.”

Floyd pouted, his posture deflating. “Boo,” He said. He blinked, just now taking in (Y/N)’s curled in form. “You okay, Shrimpy?”

(Y/N) chuckled mirthlessly. “All my insides want to be my outsides, but other than that I’m good.”

Floyd blinked, wide eyed, mouth dropping open in alarm. His features almost immediately switched to steely anger. “Who hurt you?”

If (Y/N) wasn’t so preoccupied by the lethargy pulling her body down, she might have found his protectiveness cute. “Just Mother Nature, Floyd. And I don’t think even you have much of a chance against her.” At his puzzled expression, she added, “I’m on my period.”

“Oh.” He stood there for a moment, long limbs awkward now that he couldn’t use them for violence. He shifted on his feet before collapsing down to sit next to (Y/N). He tapped his feet, trying to dispel ounces of his endless energy. “So, your period?”

(Y/N) hummed in response. “Yeah. It’s a few days late, but it’s here. At least I’m not pregnant, right?”

Floyd jumped, eyes wide. “Pregnant?” He asked, voice cracking. “You have a boyfriend?”

(Y/N) scoffed, waving him off. “God, no. It’s enough juggling everything else that’s happening here without worrying about a relationship.”

“Then,” Floyd thought for a second, eyebrows furrowing in anger. “Is somebody hurting you?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, just now noticing his angry confused face. “Hurting me? No, I’m not - Oh, wait, no! Not like that, no! I’d tell someone if anything like that happened, I promise.”

“So you’re just seeing someone?” He almost looked hurt with his pout.

“No, I’m not, casually or anything serious.”

“But you thought you might be pregnant?”

“Every girl thinks they might be pregnant when their period is late, even if they’ve never had sex before.”

“When your period is late,” Floyd repeated.

“Yeah, it’s universal. Ask any girl. Or a person with a uterus. You know what I mean.”

It was quiet again, Floyd tapping his feet more aggressively this time. Just when (Y/N) was about to ask him to stop, that the tapping sound was adding to her hammering headache, Floyd asked, “What’s a period?”

(Y/N) turned her head from her knees to look up at him, and, realizing he was serious for once, jerked straight up. “Wait, really? You never heard your mom talking about it? Or any girls you know?”

Floyd shrugged, looking away and rubbing the back of his head. “I’ve never heard mer-girls say anything about it. And you’re really the only human girl I know.”

(Y/N) had momentarily forgotten that her and Floyd’s biology was far more different beyond physical sex. Now that she thought about it, it would make sense if mermaids didn’t have periods, right? She found it hard to believe that Floyd could be willfully ignorant of something that affected half the human population, (come to think of it, did beast women have periods? Or fairies?) but if he didn’t have extended contact with humans who suffered monthly, his confusion and concern would make sense.

“Oh,” (Y/N) said, feeling herself blush. “I didn’t think - yeah, no, I’m fine. This is normal. It sucks and hurts, but it’s normal, I promise.”

“It’s normal to hurt without getting hit or something?”

“Yup. Totally normal. Did you… want me to explain it to you?”

Floyd cocked his head, peering at her. “Well, if it’s important to Shrimpy then it’s important to me, right?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and said. “Yeah, sure. Okay, human biology 101.” (Y/N) held out her fist, pinkie and thumb extended. “Okay, so biological females have an organ called a uterus, down in the lower abdomen right above the pelvis. Branching out from the uterus are fallopian tubes connected to ovaries on either side.” She wiggled her pinkie and thumb to demonstrate. “The ovaries have eggs, not like chicken eggs or fish eggs. It’s a cell, like a skin cell or blood cell or something. During the month, the uterus builds up this cushioning of blood and tissue and an egg gets sent down from the ovary. If the egg isn’t fertilized by a sperm cell to make a baby, then the body needs to get rid of that tissue. So the uterus contracts,” (Y/N) opened and closed her fist to demonstrate. “And pushes all that out through, uh, the vagina. You basically bleed for three to seven days down there, depending on the person.”

“You’re bleeding?” Floyd said in shocked horror. His eyes darted down to (Y/N)’s lap before quickly cutting back up.

“Yup. Mine usually last four to five days.”

“And you’re bleeding the whole time?” (Y/N) nodded. “Wow, you’d be calling every shark from miles around in the ocean.”

(Y/N) smirked. “Then I guess it’s a good thing mermaids don’t have periods.”

“So how do you, like, stop it? Are you bleeding right now?”

“Pad or tampons, mostly. I know some people who use a cup but I’ve never tried one.” At his blank look, she continued. “Pads are like a flat piece of cotton. One side is sticky so it stays on your underwear. Tampons are cotton cylinders you wear internally. So if I did want to go swim in the ocean I’d wear one of those. Not sure if a shark would be able to smell me though. You mostly just have to watch out for toxic shock syndrome.”

“Sounds like something from a jellyfish.”

“It’s a little more intense, although I guess that depends on the jellyfish. It’s blood poisoning or a bacterial infection, I think? If you keep in a tampon for too long you can get toxic shock syndrome, and that can lead to hospitalization, amputation, or death. I think you’re only supposed to have a tampon in for up to eight hours. Everyone who uses tampons that I know was terrified of it. It’s really rare though. After a while you kind of get used to wearing stuff, but it’s always at the back of your mind.” (Y/N) looked over at Floyd and laughed at his pale shocked face. “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

He shook his head slowly. “So that’s what’s making you hurt?”

“No, not that. Like I said, the uterus contracts getting all the stuff out so it causes cramping. It can also make you feel really nauseous, which is what’s going on with me right now. It could be worse. I knew a girl back in my world that had endometriosis. That’s when all that tissue I was talking about grows outside the uterus instead of inside. It can be super painful. But even if you have a normal period it’s a pain. Your hormones get all thrown out of whack. Some people get angry real easy, but I just end up getting really teary. If I ever just burst into tears for no reason it might be because I’m on my period. But never ask a girl if they’re on their period if they're angry or sad or something. There’s this whole thing where people dismiss any extreme emotion a girl has as being because of her period and not a valid reaction to something. It’s super annoying. To be fair, this world seems more up to speed with gender equality, so maybe it’s not that big a stereotype here.”

Floyd didn’t say anything, stuck in a rare contemplation. “Can I help?” He asked.

(Y/N) smiled softly at him. “This kind of help, just talking about it. Heating pads help too. Having that pressure helps ease the cramps.”

Floyd hummed in thought. He reached over and tugged her blazer. “Scoot forward.” (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow at him but did as he asked. Floyd slipped in behind (Y/N), long legs stretching out around her. He pulled her back into his chest, his hands coming down to gently press against her stomach. His thumbs rubbed in small circles. “Does this help?”

(Y/N) leaned her head back against his chest, closing her eyes. “Yeah, thanks.”

A few days later, (Y/N) was hanging out with Ace and Deuce on the quad. They were talking when they heard a loud, “Shrimpy!” Ace and Deuce flinched back as Floyd bounded over. He stopped abruptly a breath away from (Y/N), arms outstretched.

(Y/N) laughed and held out her arms. “Go ahead, I finished the other day.”

Floyd gave a cry of delight and immediately scooped (Y/N) up in a huge squeezing hug, tight enough to make up for the last lost few days.

#twisted wonderland #fanfic #wafflefriesfic #twst #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #reader insert #comfort fic #twisted wonderland x reader

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neilsbeloved · 30 days ago

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practice on me

summary: the one where you make excellent use of clark kent’s luscious lashes and incredible fingers

warnings: 18+ pure smut, established relationship, all legal aged characters, fingering, love bites, dirty talk, reader’s kinda a bitch to people aside from clark, semi-public sex (unlocked door), overstimulation, no use of y/n

It all started as a genuine way to let you get off some steam; you called Clark, ranting and raging all the way from the Talon after that one girl in your class came there only to piss you off.

You needed to hear his voice as soon as possible or else you would have thrown the whole coffee machine at her.

The moment he registers that tone of yours, he knows he needed to get you. Thankfully it was just thirty-minutes left 'til the end of your shift so he dashed to the back of the Talon. He couldn't take the truck since his parents were out of town for their anniversary.

Your shift ends and both of you head back to his house. Clark, being the concerned boyfriend he is, kept on pestering you about what happened. Knowing full well that there is something angering you even more considering how you were still brimming with rage.

A little bit of persuasion and bartering, you two finally agreed on something: you'll tell him everything, and he'll let you practice your mascara routine on his eyelashes.

So there you both now, on the couch of the Kent living room. You straddling his lap, only having on his shirt and some random boxers he had thrown you. Barely paying attention to the television playing some random football game at back.

Clark sports an amused smile as you grab his face, slotting his chin on the web between your thumb and pointer finger, tilted his head slightly up to get a better look at his eyelashes. One big hand resting on your hip, while the other was gently rubbing your bare thigh.

He had just gone through the torture of eyelash curling with that medieval tool you call eyelash curler. Inside his head, he's blaming the tool for nearly poking his eye out despite you being the one handling it—of course, he would never blame you for anything.

"See, I wouldn't care if she came by the Talon. Who cares? More money for the business—but get this, she literally kept following me like a damn dog with a bone. Me, I was the bone, Clark! She kept following me!" You let out exasperatedly. Waving your mascara around.

Clark chuckles, "Maybe she just wants to be friends with you."

"I don't want to be friends with her!" You reply back with irritation. The scowl on your face going even deeper as you remembered her bothering you when you were just trying to work.

"You don't want to be friends with anyone, baby." Clark says softly.

You glare at him. He always calls you baby at times like these where you're too heated up to think about anything else aside from picking apart someone until they're basically stripped and humiliated. He knows it flusters you, thus helping you calm down.

"Woah, easy there with the weapon." Clark cautiously holds your wrist. You had just taken out the wand from the tube, the extra product piling on the tip of the wand.

"I have people I want to be friends with, for your information." You say with an attitude. Lips pouting as you begin to swipe the first layer of mascara on his left eye.

Clark raises an eyebrow, "Really?"

You nod. Your forehead creases in concentration, ignoring the way his other hand went up to your hips too. Both of his hands now squeezing the flesh in a loving manner.

"And Jessica isn't one of those people?" The name of that girl from your class rings in your ears. You pull your hands away, making a move to fully withdraw from his lap when he pulls you back in with a teasing laugh.

He grabs the make-up bag from your hand and places it back beside him. "I'm just playin', baby. I know you hate Jessica. I hate her too." He pushes your hips closer to him, your core running against the semi-hard surface of his lap.

"You hate her?" You scoff indignantly. "Can't believe the Clark Kent, Smallville's nicest guy, the one who saved countless of people, hates a girl he hasn't even met."

Clark's hands removes themselves from your hips and moves to the top of your thighs. Moving them up and down, slowly moving closer and closer to the hem of your—his—shorts.

"Yeah, well, my baby hates 'em so I automatically do too." Your breath hitches. His hand sliding in the insides of your shorts to massage your cheeks over your panties.

Heat starts pooling in your core. The sensation hindering you from smoothly applying the same coat on his right eyelashes.

"What else bothers you, baby? Just that girl?" He furrows his eyebrows, the jut of his lips beckoning you to continue.

You swallow down on nothing. Inhaling sharply as you slot the wand back in its component only to swirl it around and get more product. When you pull it out, you feel his hands leave your shorts.

"T-There's this guy in Chemistry," you start. You lick your lips and decide to rest your free hand on his shoulder instead. "Damn know-it-all. He keeps on reciting in class. The teacher doesn't even notice me with how loud he keeps calling—Clark."

His hand daringly slides in the waistband of your shorts. Snaking directly to your panties and cupping your core. His fingers immediately playing with the wetness he's met with.

"What? Go on, baby. Tell me more. I'm listening." He rubs sweet soft circles on your bud. The feeling makes your hips twitch and your hand still. You only continue when he pinches your outer thigh with his other hand.

You let out a low and breathy moan. Doing your best to avoid giving him the satisfaction of not being able to finish your work on his eyes. And so with a steadying breath and will-power to prove him wrong, you continue swiping layers of mascara on his lashes.

"I can't participate in class because of him. He's stealing... steal-stealing my... my credit points," you stammer. Head dropping down to look at his hand inside of your shorts as he has just inserted one thick finger inside of your cunt.

When you look back up, Clark's smirking at you.

"Clark, we're in your living room." You say lividly. Head snapping to glance at the locked—or unlocked, who knows—door.

Clark looks around with faux innocence. "So? Why don't you continue your work baby. C'mon. Keep going." He curls his finger upwards, lips stretching wider when you mewl out deliciously. Your hips involuntarily jerking.

You do the same routine of putting the wand back in and twirling it inside for some product. This time you move to his other eye. Gripping the wand tightly as you try to gather as much control as you can, trying to ignore the pleasure he's giving you with just a singular finger.

Your words of hatred to that guy in Chemistry spills out continuously albeit stopping and stammering at times. Clark inserts another finger, the stretch of his middle and ring finger inside your pussy making you moan out this time. His name leaving your lips like a broken plea.

"Oh shit, you're tightening up on my fingers, baby," he chuckles darkly, "All that anger got you so frustrated huh? My pretty baby's so fucking frustrated?" He moves forward to lick a stripe up your neck. Sucking on your favorite spot

"God—Clark, you're so irritating." You whimper, ryes rolling back. Unable to stop yourself now that you're fully riding his fingers. His other hand rubbing circles on your clit. All the sensations you're feeling at one making your head dizzy.

Clark laughs. "You hate me now too?"

He continues his attack on your neck. Nipping and licking at various spots. Not caring whether or not it'd blossom to a pretty bruise the next day. The pace of his fingers quicken when he hears that hitch in your breath. Curling them at the perfect angle as he hits your spot with practiced precision.

"You-You're not letting me work. I—fuck, right there, please. Clark, don't stop—More!" You cut yourself off mid-way with a wanton gasp. Mouth falling open as your eyes flutter shut. Your hips stuttering as you continue to ride his fingers to your climax.

Clark pulls his head away from your neck to look at the pleasured strain on your face. His canines making an appearance as he takes in the concentrated look on your face, eyes glued on the way your eyebrows furrowed upwards.

"Right here, baby?" He shifts his fingers in the subtlest angle. Your breath quickens. "And more too? Aren't you a greedy little baby." He inserts a third finger and you're done for.

Stars appear in your vision. The thin string holding you together finally snaps and you release all over Clark's hand. Riding out your high on his fingers—and you're sure it's dripping down that veiny forearm of his—as he helps you get through it. Mumbling sweet nothings in your ear as you let out screams and whimpers of his name.

Clark places soft kisses all over the column of your neck as you slowly drift back down onto Smallville. Tired eyes fluttering open only to see him grinning like a little shit.

He keeps his fingers inside of you while his other hand slips out of your shorts to massage your side.

“I didn’t get to finish your eyes!” You complain, glancing at the wand and component on your hands. You place the two together, about to unscrew them again when you feel Clark’s fingers move. again.

Your head shoots up in alarm. Clark licks his lips, the look on your face making his cock even harder than it was before.

You place both hands on his wrist, mascara dropping from your hands. “Clark.” You say as a warning.

“What?” he asks quietly, letting you hear the squelching of his fingers inside you. “You’re still not finished with your story and my make-up, baby.”

A distraught groan leaves your lips, mouth falling open again. Your lower stomach tightening as you clench involuntarily on his fingers. “H-how can I when you’re… you’re…”

“I’m what?” Clark tilts his head.

You close your eyes, finally letting go of his wrist after your feeble attempt at stopping him. You swing your arms around his neck, burying your head on the crook of his neck as he picked up the pace.

“God, just shut up—please.” Clark smiles victoriously as you finally surrender your whole self to him. Head empty with nothing but the pleasure in between your legs and the man in front of you. “Don’t stop.”

He cranes his head to yours, pressing a peck on your cheek. “Atta girl.”

hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated ✸

#00:works #clark kent smut #smallville smut #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #superman smut #clark kent fic #superman x reader #clark kent blurb #dc comics #tom welling smut #dc x you #clark x you

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femmesport · 14 days ago

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Three Strikes, We're Out

prompt: paige and azzi never meant to be a secret. it took subtle changes for the teammates to catch up. wc: 1.6k an: hii!! i know i just posted, but i saw a tiktok and idk i was inspired. please please pleASE send me prompts or ideas i need some ahhh also please ignore any mistakes - i'm too tired to edit ahhh

neither paige nor azzi meant to keep their relationship a secret. honestly. well, partially. it was meant to be private not secret from fans, but then staying quiet about it became too easy. their love was never the loud type anyway. they showed love in small interactions but never seemed to find the words to tell their closest people. it was easy that way. not that they would ever lie if anyone asked, but no one did.

to be fair, their teammates never thought to question them. anyone with eyes could recognize that paige looked at azzi like she hung the moon. and azzi would occasionally shut down and only let paige in to work through it. in the team’s eyes, this was simply the product of years of friendship long before they had even heard of their other teammates.

the shifts came in paige’s final year at uconn. they were small, but the team was observant.

“paige” azzi huffs out as she falls onto a bench after extra sprints, “can you please tie my shoe? i am going to pass out if i have to bend over.” azzi explains leaning back her head and throwing an arm over her eyes.

paige had been a few feet in front of her hunched over and not appearing to be doing much better. this had been the first set of sprints after a summer of strength training and basketball practices. everyone was struggling with conditioning.

kk and ice had snorted, waiting for even paige to laugh in azzi’s face. this seems to be the annual routine on the first day of conditioning. however, the routine snapped when paige nodded her head in azzi’s direction and bent down in front of her to tie her shoe laces.

paige takes her time and gently laces it up and looks up and smiles at azzi, who has finally leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. their faces were only inches apart and it seemed so intimate. as paige finishes she wraps her hand around azzi’s calf without breaking eye contact.

“thank you,” azzi whispers with her eyes never leaving paige’s.

“anything for you, pretty girl,” paige whispers in return with a gentle squeeze to azzi’s calf before standing up to walk towards her water. azzi’s eyes follow paige’s retreating figure with a soft smile.

“i know y’all playin’ right now,” ice offers out while sarah simply looks at the two and shakes her head.

“that was too whipped even for you guys,” jana pipes in.

to their credit, azzi and paige had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed before standing up and returning to the court. everyone else just shook their heads and tried to justify their mental gymnastics being used to explain the behavior. conditioning resumed and everyone quickly became too focused to think of the interaction any longer.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the next incident happened on media day. the music had been flowing as the team sat around an oversized makeup room while people fluttered in and out taking care of various people’s make up, hair, and any other micro detail that the camera could pick up on.

someone had a speaker set up blaring 30 for 30. the upperclassmen were sitting around and goofing off waiting for their turns to be called. some had been filming tiktoks and others just sat and relaxed in the few moments of silence. seeing each other all done up like this was always a little weird.

in a small group of players, paige had pulled azzi forward with her hand gently on azzi’s jaw. paige somehow had acquired the lip gloss that the make up team had been using. she took it upon herself to reapply it for azzi.

now, it wasn’t this act itself that made the team pause and really look at the two. it was how their faces were only a few inches apart and they were smiling softly at each other. it was how azzi was humming to the music with her hands set gently on paige’s hips. it was when paige paused her work to smile for azzi.

“only want your love if it’s solid” paige mouths to the lyrics with a smile. azzi just grins in return through the next line of the song before catching up.

“that’s the way i like it�� she mouths in return and paige grins before pulling back as the two return to a respectable distance.

they turn back to their team and their smiles quickly turn to look sheepish. various people were sitting around staring at them. some with slack jaws and more theatrics than others. kk looked like she just witnessed the resurrection of jesus.

“uhm, so what was that?” kk hurries out with a point in their direction. she pointed more at paige knowing azzi was more likely to shut her out.

“what do you mean?” paige responds with a shrug pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“girl boo, you know what i am talking about. don’t even play” kk responds and azzi smiles and stands up as her name is called from the media team.

“nope. no idea what you are talking about,” paige then pushes herself up, “i’m going to go do my annual media day tiktok.”

as paige left the rest of the team groaned and then simply sighed and returned to their earlier activities. they knew they weren’t getting any answers and decided that pushing it was not worth it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the final straw came in a moment that was relatively subtle compared to the previous two. it came during a team hangout at the dorms. kk, sarah, and jana had found someone’s uno cards and began the most unseriously intense game. ice and aubrey were arguing over a tiktok. caroline and ayanna were raiding the cabinets for food.

paige had been sitting on the couch scrolling through tiktok. azzi had been in her room finishing up an assignment, but finally approached the chaos with a tired smile. her eyes scanned the room before landing on paige and moving in that direction as if with a gravitational pull.

paige looked up and raised her arm for azzi to settle into her side. azzi leaned into paige’s side with her head resting on paige’s shoulder. her body was pressed up against paige’s and at the proximity of the older girl, she simply melts.

“hey, beautiful” paige smiles down, “did you finish your work?”

“mm, i think so,” azzi mumbles sleepily letting her eyes flutter shut and somehow managing to snuggle closer into paige’s side.

“you’re clingy” paige jokes in a whisper down to azzi who just sighs.

“‘m sleepy and you’re soft” azzi murmurs and paige holds her tighter, leaning her mouth down to azzi’s head.

“just for you” she presses a kiss into azzi’s head and then looks back up realizing the room had gone silent. all eyes were pointed in their direction with everyone seemingly paused in the middle of their actions.

“...yes?” paige offers out after a moment of staring and for a moment you could hear a pin drop.

“you guys do realize you’re in love right” kk blurts out stunned in which paige and azzi both chuckle softly.

“i mean after two years together i would hope so,” azzi says nonchalantly while paige smiles down at her.

“pause” kk stands up and jana is quick to follow, “two years together? you’re lying!” kk is gesturing wildly while the rest of their team stands in shock.

“what do you mean two years together?” ice rushes out and paige looks back at them with a smile.

“i think we are past the half year point, so it actually might be closer to three” paige smirks, “but yeah, we have been dating for that long.”

“and why didn’t we know” ayanna groans out and aubrey starts laughing from somewhere to the side.

“you never asked” paige shrugs and azzi opens her eyes to look around with a smile.

“why would we think to ask? we had trust that our teammates–who are like family, mind you–would tell us something this wild” kk sputters out.

“guess we were thinking a little differently,” azzi adds, sitting up but remaining in paige’s arms. sarah simply shakes her head.

“i wish i could say i didn’t believe this” caroline offers.

“wait, who had that bet going” sarah pipes up and ice looks in her direction.

“damn it!” ice groans out, falling back into the chair.

“what bet?” azzi frowns as everyone starts getting louder.

“yes!!” caroline shouts out and runs over to hug sarah dramatically, “i completely forgot!”

“there was a bet going on when you guys would stop just looking at each other and actually do something about it, and carol was the only one who had faith in you guys getting together before paige graduates” aubrey laughs and paige feels her phone vibrate as she was sure someone was notifying the team chat.

“nah, you guys are crazy for that” paige laughs sitting forward.

“please tell me we won’t have to deal with you guys being all couple-y and gross now” jana groans, falling back dramatically.

azzi shrugs, “i mean we have been together and couple-y for two years without you guys noticing.”

“hey, but now, i can be a little louder and prouder to show off my girl” paige says with a smirk as she wraps her arms around azzi’s waist and presses her face into azzi’s neck.

“nope, absolutely not” ayanna mumbles while everyone else freaks out.

paige lifts her head and smiles at azzi before leaning in to press her lips to her girlfriend’s. the reactions become far louder and dramatic and the two can only smirk as they rest their foreheads against each others’.

“guess, everyone knows now” azzi mumbles, eyes drifting to paige’s lips before settling back on her eyes.

“good” paige whispers and leans in, pressing another kiss. the room around them was loud, but this? this was all them.

feedback would be appreciated!! tysm <3

-- tea ★’*•.¸♡

#pazzi fic #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd fic #uconn wbb fic #pazzi fics #tea writing femme fics #paige x azzi #wcbb fic

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uyuforu · 4 months ago

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Part of Fortune in Solar Return Chart Houses

Pictures from my personal Instagram (@/softnae), Dividers from Tumblr; Credit go to owner.

Literally saw no posts about it and thought it was a duty to at least make one! I hope you'll enjoy this content, as always thank you a lot for your support <3

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⭑.ᐟ Part of Fortune in the Solar Return Chart represent our luckiest event of the year, where we will be the most lucky, where will we have the most abundances, and where the happiest event of the year will take place, etc.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 1H

POF in this house could be about having a luck when it comes to your appearance this year. You could have a glow up, feel more confident about your appearance this year. You could either feel more good looking, feel like you do your make up better, or you can learn new skills about how you do your appearance, how your present yourself. You could also perhaps have the sensation you are more attractive to others this year. This could also be related to face, hair, body, outfits, etc. You could also draw more attention to yourself, people can stare at you more this year, and you can also have a feeling you are more popular.

⭑.ᐟ The year I had this placement, I got a glow up physically, used better make up products, my hair got more beautiful, and I knew how to present myself in a more feminine way. And it wasn't truly one of my goal, it just happened naturally. I also got more attention physically, meaning that I was often found more attractive physically.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 2H

POF in the 2H can make one have more luck this year with money. You could feel like you handle money in a better way this year, but you can also have more opportunities to make more money. This can be a year where you feel like you ar happy with your money situation, you could also have more luck so that means if you struggle this year, you could have an easy time to come up with a solution. You can feel more stable when it comes to money as well, but also feel more stable in general in your life. This can be a good year to gain money as well, in a sense that you can get a raise, you can also get money more easily. You attract abundance this year.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 3H

POF in the 3H is a sign of having more social interactions this year, perhaps meeting more people. It can also be you being more popular in general, such as having often people texting you, writing you, call you, etc. You could spent a lot of time on social medias, and perhaps get more attention online, it can also be you having people interact with your contents more. You could feel like you are more extrovert this year, talking to a lot of people online, and you can also feel like you can learn more languages or informations this year. You can meet more people online, but so you can learn more knowledges as well.

⭑.ᐟ The year is had this placement, I had a little more popularity online, at least I noticed this is the year I got more attention online for me, like not for a specific content. I also got a very flourishing social life.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 4H

POF in the 4H could mean you could have more luck when it comes to your house, and home. This could be a year where you can move in in a place you really like, but also a time where you can feel like things are more peaceful at home as well. You could feel better in your home, perhaps stay home more often because it becomes a strong safe place to you. You can also invite more people in your home this year. You could have better relationships with your family, and perhaps your mother as well. You can also have more luck if you are searching for a new home or if you want to get pregnant. This can be a good year also to stay at home, but also you could enjoy loneliness more as well.

⭑.ᐟ The year I had this placement, I reconnected with my dad after 3-4 years of not speaking, I also had a very good relationship with him afterwards, and I also got a good relationship with my mother. I moved out of my house for the first time.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 5H

POF in the 5H could be about having a better luck this particular year when it comes to friends, you can feel like you are more extroverted, and get more attentions. You can also feel more popular and seen tis year. This can be also a time where you feel like you have more flirts, more romantic interactions. You can go on many dates, have many suitors. You can also feel more creative as well, perhaps you can have any great ideas in general, you can start projects based on those ideas, but if you already are in a creative field, this is a, excellent year for that. You can also have more hobbies, or feeling like you should dive deep into those. You could also be feeling more optimistic this year, have more fun, have more opportunities to go out and be happy.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 6H

POF in the 6H can be a sign where you have more work opportunities, perhaps you can find a new job, or another job, you can also work better, be more productive. You can also have more rewards when it comes to your job, how you work, and you can be noticed for your hard work. You can get a raise, get a promotion, you can also get new opportunities when it comes to your career in general. This placement can also suggest you can also have better care when it comes to your health. This can go from the physical health, having an excellent health, wanting to work out more, etc. To also having a better mental health. You could also go to therapy, and decide to improve your day to day routine as well. This can be a good year to also adopt a pet if you desire it. You can also decide to do a lot of self care this year.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 7H

POF in the 7H can be a sign of entering in a relationship if you are single, you could meet someone you have a good connection with. Though POF is about luck and good things, so often you can meet potential partners you feel like are doing you good. But it doesn't necessarily means you'll be with them, or you will be into a relationship. This can also be a sign of having a better relationship with your current partner, creating happy and good memories together. But also this could totally be more about you learning valuable lessons about relationships and connections. You can realize some things about your relationships and how you are into them, and you can decide to work on those patterns. This is a good time to work on better outcomes when it comes to relationships. Many people could want to date you or be with you, but this is a good year to choose carefully, and sometimes just choose yourself.

⭑.ᐟ The year I got this placement, I went out of a toxic relationship and I learned a lot of lessons when it comes to relationships. I had a lot of men wanting to get with me, but I was more trying to heal some traumas and toxic patterns I had. I also met someone who helped me heal and it felt like a soulmate connection to me, we were very much alike. A strong connection.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 8H

POF in the 8H can mean you can have a year where you are blessed with money. Perhaps you can have more money when it comes to others, money can also come unexpectedly. This can be a year where people can buy you things, give you things, you can win money as well perhaps. You can also get more into spirituality, or esotericism. Perhaps you can develop your intuition and psychic abilities, you can also feel like it's easier for you to know lies and the truth. You can perhaps also have a better time to figure things out. This can also be a good year for self work, going to therapy, perhaps also working on yourself, doing shadow work, mental health matters. You can feel like you have many opportunities to work on yourself and work on your inner health. Wanting to heal.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 9H

POF in the 9H can be a sign of having strong opportunities to learn more this year. This can manifest in you entering college, or getting a course, or wanting to learn more school wise. You can be very much into studying, and learning, perhaps having a thirst for knowledge. You can also want to learn more in life in general, so perhaps just learning more on your hobbies, etc. You can also want to develop your skills for your job as well. Moreover, this could also mean you can develop your religious or spiritual skills, meaning you can have a better understanding and get to learn some deep lessons. You could also want to learn Astrology, or learn more tools about it. You can also travel or have more travel opportunities.

⭑.ᐟ The year I got that placement, I traveled, and I also learned strong spiritual lessons. I also learned soooo much when it comes to Astrology, life in general, but I developed my spiritual and esoteric side as well.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 10H

POF in the 10H can be a sign of having more opportunities in a work or a job, in your career in general. This can be great to have more job opportunities, change your work, change your career field, etc. You can also have a better reputation at work, you can get a promotion, better pay check, you can also be seen at work and recognized for your good job. So this can indicate you can also be happy in your work this year, perhaps thinking it's a good time to evolve in your career. Thought, this can also be about you being more popular and seen in general, such as getting noticed. You can feel like people stare at you more this year, and you can also have a feeling you are more popular and known. You can also have a good opportunity to change your reputation, change your status in how society sees you, so an example could be getting visa for example.

⭑.ᐟ The year I had this placement, I didn't have a job, but I got a specific visa to travel and live in a foreign country than mine. My identity changed in a way since I was seen as a foreigner there. I also had a reputation where I lived, I learned I was known weirdly. I also got more popular in a way. I was seen for sure.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 11H

POF in the 11H can mean you can have more success this year into making friends. You can feel like you can meet better people, important connections, this could also be a year where you can have an easier time to connect with others. You can also better your current connections and friendships. You can be more extroverted that year, but also, you can be wanting to connect with people. This can be a very easy time for you to connect to any kind of people in fact, you can befriend literally anyone this year. You can also spend a lot of time online, perhaps also meeting people online, having long distance friendships too. You can also have more views and popularity online if you create content, but this can also be a year where you want to create and post more contents as well.

⭑.ᐟ The year I had this placement, I made new friends, met so many people mostly at work, and I also spent a lot of time online, talking to people, to my friends, etc. This is the year I did some vlogging, and I also started a YouTube channel.

⋆˙⟡ Part of Fortune in 12H

POF in the 12H can mean that you can have a better time being on your own. You can perhaps experience more solitude, but enjoying it. You can also have a better relationship with yourself, and perhaps work on yourself, such as doing mental health, shadow work, etc. You can also develop your spirituality this year, or religious matters. You can learn a lot in being on your own, perhaps being more independent, or reflecting a lot on your past, and you can see the benefits of it. This can also be a year where you can travel, but also where you can feel you have a better sleep quality. Perhaps also having more good dreams.

Thank you for Reading!

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mountainsandmayhem · 11 months ago

Text

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing.

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin.

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club.

The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about.

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met.

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud.

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me.

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home.

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it.

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again.

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone.

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste.

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time.

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants.

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges.

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive.

“I can too!”

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?”

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.”

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?”

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.”

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.”

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

“I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated.

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.”

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.”

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle.

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask, “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?”

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours.

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.”

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.”

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream.

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.”

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years.

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo.

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him.

You

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night.

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!”

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.”

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.”

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.”

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs.

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?”

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?”

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?”

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind.

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.”

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!”

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes.

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops.

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself.

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile.

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo.

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man.

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning.

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve.

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it.

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear.

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in.

Spanking, five.

Whips and Crops, five.

Paddles, five.

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point.

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five.

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel.

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied.

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours.

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you.

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call.

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears.

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs.

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller.

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel.

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he��s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips.

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you.

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on.

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently.

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives.

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging.

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table.

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms.

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

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rumisgf · 1 year ago

Text

“ATTITUDE PROBLEM” - bakugou x reader

summary: a match made in hell heaven: a sassy man w a sassier gf. while you’re trying to be productive you end up getting annoyed with him, with how irritating he can be. but, your attitude is nothing new to him. katsuki definitely knows to- no, enjoys putting you in your place.

warnings: college!au, little to no plot, unprotected sex, degradation, dry humping, overstimulation, bakugou talks a lot, reader is black ofc, slight exhibitionism

“what’s the attitude for?”

bakugou dragged you to his dorm after you being all pouty the whole day. it’s currently the afternoon and you’re supposed to be studying, but instead he decides to deal with you. you both studying together is never a good idea, simply because you both have a smart ass mouth.

“cause you keep trynna act like i’m stupid or somethin’ and we’re doing the same thing, won’t even let me check my phone without sayin’ shit.” you nearly mumble, purposefully to show you don’t even wanna explain yourself. he rolls his eyes and you smack your lips, making a “mmcht” noise. “‘n there you go.”

he looks at you, ready to open his big mouth. instead, he looks at you for a good few seconds. he examines your little stank face, your eyes looking at him with your fresh set of lashes done, his beanie that you stole from him on your head. your brat attitude at the moment. so fucking adorable… he thinks to himself as his eyes can’t help but catch your plump lips. “maybe if ya actually got somethin’ done i’d be off yer lil ass but ‘xcuse me.”

just as you’re getting ready to retort back, he cuts you off with a kiss before you can even speak. you stare blankly at him, trying to hide how easily flustered he can make you. but he already knows.

“now can we do this shit so we’re not clueless on our next patrol?”

“who is we?”

this earned you him rolling his eyes again, before swiftly lifting you out your chair and into his lap. “fix this lil attitude you got before i fix it for you, lil bro.” he says with a stern, yet not completely serious tone. he’s messing with you right now, but if you don’t stop he’s about to, how do you say, stand on business. “lil bro is crazyyy.” you reply in a fake annoying tone. just like he likes this, you like agitating him because you know exactly where it leads. no matter if you’re still annoyed or not you’re still having fun.

“and what if i don’t fix it, the fuck? you don’t scare me.”

with that you find your lips smashed onto his, his hands fiercely gripped the side of your face while the other is gripping your waist, moving you on his lap closer to him. “watch who you talkin’ to.” he mutters into the kiss. his voice is still calm, but much lower in tone and more serious. you smirk into the kiss, hands disappearing into his hair. you go to unbutton his pants and he grabs your hand. “nah, watch out.” he instead turns his chair and places you on his bed, climbing on top of you shortly after. his lips travel to your neck, and he revels in the soft noises spilling out your mouth. you can feel him biting down on the flesh, sucking dark spots wherever he wants. you can also feel him grow harder on your crotch through the fabric of your leggings. “kats-”

he stops, and looks down at you, so vulnerable for him already. “hmm? what happened?” he makes himself seem so oblivious, even though he knows exactly what’s he’s doing to you. he becomes even more amused when you start to chase him lips and softly grind on his erection, slowly becoming so needy for him. he simply laughs, then begins to pull down your leggings. his fingers brush past your clothed wetness and the smirk on his face grows wider. “that easy? ain’t even touch ya yet and you makin’ a mess through your panties?”

“shut up..” you can’t respond properly. any smart remark has flown out your brain through your ears, he won and he knows it. “just do somethin’ about it.” and he does just that. he pulls your underwear to the side, and his thumb finds your clit. you whine at his touch, feeding his ego. “like that?” you nod frantically and he chuckles, keeping a dreadfully slow pace that has you feening for more. he looks down, seeing your slick being to drip out your sweet cunny, landing on his bedsheets. “damn..” he sounds breathless, admiring what he caused. “so wet f’ me, princess.”

his hands immediately go to unzip his pants, and he throws off his hoodie. you instinctively slide off your underwear, biting your lip as you keep eye contact with the bulge in his boxers. “yeah take that shit off f’ me.” his voice is making you hotter by the minute. you look up at him puppy eyed, and he smiles at you. “what’chu want?” he asks tauntingly, already knowing the answer. “i need you now, please.” you whine, pulling him closer

he follows that command, pulling down his boxers. his dick springs out of them and you swear your mouth actually starts watering. his hands spread your legs wide open, and he begins to push himself into your sopping entrance. “fuuuck..” you moan, feeling every inch of him go in. he wastes no time pumping into you, hand placed on your lower stomach. “you still got an attitude? huh? you wanna be a fuckin’ brat? you- ah shit- you still wanna get smart with me, slut?” he looks down at you, looking at your closed eyes. you shake your head, leaning into the pillow. he can’t help but fall weak to how wet and warm you feel on his dick as he slips in and out of you. “look at me, baby.”

his pace quickens, thrusting harder into you while looking you straight in your eyes. you moan out his name and it sends him flying inside. “yeah… yeahhh take that shit.” his hand moves to your hips, pushing you down further onto his dick. “fuck, b-baby..i- can’t..” you cry, feeling the knot in your stomach form. but, he doesn’t care one bit. you were gonna stand on how you were acting. “take this dick, be a big girl.” he says, voice much deeper the second time as he presses his hand back on your lower stomach. his begins to pant with his thrust as he feels your walls tight around him. your hand tries to hold onto his stomach in at attempt to push him back, but you can’t even get yourself to reach because he’s too much. “uh huh, such a big girl. take it f’ me like a good lil slut.”

your moans grow louder as your orgasm begins to creep up on you. “kats i’m close- fuck!” you throw your head back in pure bliss. “yeah, you gonna cum? huh baby?” he grips one of your asscheeks and squeezes it. “yess…fuck kats i’m gonna cum..” you can barely speak through your moans. “mhm, let everybody in that hallway know who my little slut is.” shivers begin to flow down your spine as you begin to do what he has said and cream all over his dick, practically screaming and crying out his name as he continues to drill into you. this sends him over the edge as he chases his own high, leaning his body onto yours. he buries his face into your neck as he pounds into you, overstimulating your soaking cunt. “shit.. ah shit- fuck baby, i’m close.” strings of curses flow out his mouth into your ear. the combination of your lewd, near pornographic moans and your warm walls fluttering around him is almost too much for him. then, he starts to let out a sharp, low moan that lingers on as his orgasm comes over him. he pulls out, letting go on your stomach and moans becoming more breathy as his seed spills out in heavy loads.

he immediately shifts up off you, grabbing multiple tissues out the box he has on his nightstand. you’re still fucked out, breathing heavy and eyes barely open so all you can do is lay there as he wipes you off. after both of you are cleaned off with your underwear back on he plops over next to you, then pulls you on top of him. you both take a second to catch your breath, then he locks eyes with you. one hand finds your ass, softly massaging the skin while the other cups your cheek. “you’re a real brat, y’know that?” you look back at him for a second, then smile lazily at him “i know.” he smacks his lips and you giggle into his chest, purposefully unconsciously shifting on his lap. “stop playin’ before fuck the shit out of you again.”

spoiler alert, he did. about three more times actually.

#bakugou katsuki #i’ve had this draft for months #bakugou x black reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x black reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki smut #katsuki x reader #mha #mha smut

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lokidjarin-7567 · 5 months ago

Text

The Alchemy

Hwang In-ho (professor AU) x Reader

Your chemistry professor caught your eye the moment you walked into class, and as time went on, you couldn’t deny your feelings anymore. Did he feel it too, or were you doomed to heartbreak?

fem!reader x Professor Hwang In-ho, smut, fluff, a little angst and everything in between, badly edited, multiple POV, 18+ MDNI

8.5k words (sorry not sorry)

And here it is!! I’ve been obsessed with him for a while now, so very glad Squid Game is giving him the recognition he deserves from a Western audience. Decided to da a Professor AU because yum, so hope you enjoy x

Taglist: @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @nunita23

TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

You knew it was wrong. Your obsession with him. Everything about him was thoroughly captivating to you: the way he spoke, the way he dressed, the way he walked around the lecture hall with such confidence. You were enthralled every single lesson, so attentive and studious, hanging on his every last word like it was some kind of spell for everlasting life. Really, if you thought about it, it was actuallly a good thing. Your grades were better, you hadn’t missed a single lecture since the term began, and you were putting more effort into your studies in a desperate effort to impress him. And the cherry on top of the cake was that he had noticed. He knew you by name, he always picked you first if you had your hand up, and he even added complimentary comments to your papers. Even if he was old enough to be your dad, even if there was a power imbalance, even if nothing could ever happen between you, your crush only continued to grow stronger.

“I know, I know, class is nearly over, but we’ve got a few more things to cover, so let’s wake you all up with a little organic pop-quiz.” A few groans echoed around the room, but you smiled. Organic chemistry was your favourite, especially when he taught it, so you watched as he drew a few molecules on the whiteboard. A formula, and a damn easy one.

“Can anyone tell me the primary product here?” Your hand was up before the question was finished, but you tried to limit your keen nature - only half-raising your hand lazily as you doodled the finished equation on your notepad. You liked to think you were quite good at hiding your adoration for him. Yes, you could listen to him talk for hours, but you knew when to watch him and when to take notes. You knew when to speak up and when to stay quiet. You could control your face, aside from the occasional blush, never sitting there with puppy-dog eyes or biting your pen like they do in the movies. You were subtle - small smiles after a compliment, gazing with admiration when he wasn’t looking, answering any questions quickly but with professionalism and confidence. The perfect student. But you never, ever flirted. You knew that was academic suicide, especially with a Professor as influential as him. You were content with detached obsession. For now, at least.

Your heart did flutter, though, at the smile and small chuckle he gave when he saw your hand.

“Of course, the only student I have that actually enjoys organic…” You heard a few hums of agreement from the students behind you, saw the nods from the ones in front. You smiled at your reputation.

“What can I say, at least you always have someone to answer your questions…” Another laugh, music to your ears.

“That is true. Go ahead.”

“Well, that’s ethanol and that’s ethanoic acid so you would produce ethyl ethanoate.”

“Ah, I made it too easy for you! Should have mixed up the length of the polymers so you would have to think about which prefix came first.” Another flash of a smile.

“Rookie error.” You joked, and it was the closest you’d ever been to flirting. The back and forth was making you blush, the way his eyes were fixed to you from the front of the classroom. You were in your usual spot in the third row - the perfect distance to see him clearly, but not too close to look keen. Although, that point was kind of defeated by the amount of times your hand was first up, no matter how nonchalantly you tried to do it. His eyes were glittering with a slight playfulness now, head slightly cocked and you were bewitched as a few locks of his neat hair fell across his forehead.

“In that case, come and draw it for me please.” Fuck. He looked pleased with himself, hand brushing the fallen strands back, small smirk playing across his features. You sighed, heading to the front of the room in defeat. He handed you the whiteboard pen, fingers brushing yours just slightly. They were soft, delicate and warm, and his eyes were firmly fixed on you as you muttered a quiet thank you. You didn’t get to see him this close often, but you didn’t have time to take him in beyond the deep brown of his eyes, his height compared to yours, and the light scent of sandalwood that seemed to cling to the air around him even after he had walked past you back to the front of the room.

“While she’s doing that, can someone else tell me the uses of this ester please?” You were grateful your back was to the rest of the class, a furious blush spreading across your cheeks at the proximity. He glanced back at your shorthand sketch, giving you a small nod of encouragement.

“Good, and in full please.” You obeyed wordlessly, just finishing the second bond on the oxygen when the bell rang.

“That’s it for today then, everybody. Check the online portal for the homework.” He called out above the sound of bags being packed. “Oh, and there are more practical classes this term, so your timetables are also on the portal for those. I know they’re boring, and I know you’ve done them all a million times, but you have to do them again to pass!” He sighed, half the class already gone by the time he finished his sentence. He turned back to you, holding his hand out with a smile and you passed the marker back to him, careful not to brush his hand this time. As much as you wanted to feel his skin against yours again, you would blush too obviously to get away with it. “Thank you,” he said to you quietly, “I know at least one student will show for the practicals.”

“No worries.” You didn’t want to leave yet, allowing yourself to enjoy the being around him a little now the rest of the class was clearing out. He was wearing your favourite suit today - charcoal grey wool - with a soft, baby blue shirt and a navy tie. He was meticulous as ever: understated silver tie pin perfectly level, tie itself knotted immaculately, hair brushed back neatly. Even his shoes were perfect, not a single scuff on the leather. Being around him like this was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but talk to him just a little more as the last student filed out of the room. “What will the first practical be, out of interest?” You asked, forcing yourself to move back to your desk and slowly pack up your things.

“Just a distillation, I think...” He replied, trailing off and absentmindedly flicking through a few papers on his desk. You nodded, sensing his loss of interest, slinging your bag over your shoulder with just a hint of disappointment.

“Ok, sounds good. Thank you Professor…” You turned towards the door, but froze when you heard him call your name. You turned back around to see him looking at you slightly expectantly, a nervous energy buzzing from him that you’d never seen before.

“Before you go, I was just wondering if you’d picked an advisor yet? I know the decision is coming up in a few weeks.”

“No, I haven’t actually…” In all honestly, you had two options. And he was one of them. Of course he was. He was the best in the university, not to mention one of the best in his field. You learnt the most from him, you had the best relationship with him compared to the rest of your Professors. There were only two reasons why he wouldn’t be a perfect choice. Firstly, he was very picky with who he takes on, but if this conversation was going the way you thought it was, problem solved. The second, and much bigger, issue was your little obsession. If he was your advisor, you would see him one-on-one every two weeks at least, on top of class time, practicals time and in between all of that if you had questions. And for most people that had a crippling crush like you did, they would be jumping for joy at the opportunity to spend more quality time with them. But you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to make a move on him, or make your feelings for him obvious because it could destroy everything you had worked so hard towards. But equally, having him on your side was a great accolade, and it would do you wonders in your academic career.

You were a big girl. You could handle a little crush.

“Well…” He continued, hand running through his hair again before starting to pack up his own things. “I would very much like to fill that role unless you had anyone else in mind. You’re incredibly talented, and passionate about the subject in a way I don’t see often. You don’t have to decide right now, of course…”

“I would love that.” Your mouth had answered before your brain caught up, but his wide smile solidified your resolve.

“Excellent. Well, how does Friday sound for our first meeting? I think that’s when you’re scheduled for the practical, so that makes it easy…”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, again, Professor Hwang, I appreciate the opportunity…”

“Not at all. The pleasure is all mine.” His wide smile warmed your heart thoroughly, and you left before you could melt into a puddle on the floor at the nature of his words.

It had been a couple of months now, and dear God, it was driving you insane. You’d made a huge mistake, and unfortunately for you, it was an unfixable one. He was the perfect advisor in every way - attentive, intelligent, willing, passionate, everything you could ever want. But being so close to him was driving you crazy. Once a fortnight, it was just you and him in his office, talking for an hour, joking, laughing, fighting every urge in your body to climb across the desk and give in to your desires. You had even started to dress up for him - purposely putting in extra effort the days you knew you had a meeting. The crush was getting much worse too, obsession starting to take over. For days after your meeting, all you could do was analyse every tiny interaction you had, every time he looked at you or spoke to you or even breathed differently. And fucking hell it was driving you insane.

You were sure it was getting harder to hide too. Before, it was less of a crush, more an admiration. Yes, you were aware he was attractive, but more than anything, you were capitavated by his teaching and passion. Now, all of that was still true, but all you could think about was how much you wanted to fuck him. Twice just that week you had missed half the class caught up in a daydream, not even being able to answer him when he called on you, too busy thinking about him bending you over his desk and having his way with you. Your last paper got a B because every time you tried to write, all you could think about was him reading it. What he would be wearing when he graded it at home. Comfortable clothes, surely, hair messy and uncouth. What he would think of it, whether he would smile at your words and add little notes when he agreed with what you were saying. Whether he truly thought as much about you while reading it as you thought of him while writing it.

You’d fucked up. You’d gotten too close, irreversibly so, and now, you had to see him today. You knew he would have something to say about your grades dropping. It was getting too obvious. You just hoped he would accept whatever bullshit you managed to invent on the spot. Your knuckles rapped against his office door, heart stuck in your throat.

She had caught his eye the minute she stepped into his lecture hall that first day of term. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly about her, whether it was her eyes, or hair, or lips. Or maybe it was just her. The confidence she seemed to exude, her sense of style, the studious and determined look she always seemed to have on her face. She was the most active participant in his classes, and every time he called on her, she would answer with such enthusiasm and excitement. He could tell how much she genuinely enjoyed the subject from the very first lesson, and even as the term continued, her passion didn't waver like some students’ did. She hadn’t missed a single lecture - always there in the same spot on the third row, and he was grateful for her choice of seat. It was close enough to see her, not too close to make it obvious that he was staring, and it was also far enough into the classroom that he had time to admire her while she made her way to her seat. To watch her while she was focussed elsewhere - namely, walking down the stairs without falling over. He enjoyed the time it gave him to work out how she was feeling on a day, whether she seemed dejected or excited, shy or outgoing. He liked how easy it was for him to read her.

And, if he was honest with himself, he liked the attention too. The first time he saw her, he knew he would be head over heels for a little while, and he accepted that. She was his student, and nothing could happen, so he buried it and got on with his lectures as usual, with only a few extra glances thrown her way when he knew she wouldn't be looking. But then he noticed it. The coy smiles, the extended glances, the occasional time he caught her biting her lip or pen. The way she blushed furiously if he ever caught her in the act. The first few times, he wrote it off as coincidence and wishful thinking, but eventually, it clicked that there was something there. Something charged. And he thrived off that energy.

That was why he had put forward the idea of being her advisor. If he was honest, he knew it was a terrible idea. That it could get messy, that he could get too close, that he would hurt his own feelings. But ultimately, he wanted to be near her as much as possible, and at the end of the day, in every scenario of shit hitting the fan, he was always the one that got fucked over. His feelings were clearly stronger than hers - something he had noticed recently swelling in his heart unreciprocated - and he was the one with his job on the line. He was the only one at risk, and he was willing to take that risk to be closer to her.

Recently, though, she’d seemed different. Distracted. Stressed. Avoidant. Her grades were dropping, she was barely talking in class and when he spoke to her one-on-one, he would catch her shrinking back into herself if she laughed too much, as though she was second guessing everything she did. He’d done everything to hide his feelings, and honestly, he thought he was doing a good job, but maybe she felt uncomfortable around him. Maybe he was being obvious and he’d misread her feelings. Or maybe she was just going through a rough patch in her personal life.

He had a meeting with her today, and he couldn’t think of anything but seeing her for the whole day. What she would be wearing, how or if he would broach the topic, what he should even say to her… He was struggling to concentrate on his lectures, mind wandering to her.

The relief washed through his body when he heard her knuckles softly knock against the door. He was worried she wouldn’t even come.

“Come in.” She opened the door cautiously, small smile on her lips. She looked more beautiful than she ever had somehow. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, just some natural blush and mascara, and her hair was down and framing her face perfectly. Her outfit was simple but classy; all black, simple satin skirt and skintight tee, chunky knit cardigan over the top.

“Hi Professor.” She replied cheerily, but there was a hint of something unreadable in her voice. Weariness, maybe? Stress? “How has your day been?” He smiled as they fell into their usual chatty routine, mind slightly at ease.

“Not too bad, thank you, although a few too many lectures for my liking. How was yours?” She laughed lightly, the sound warming his heart.

“Same problem for me too. A lot of lectures, none of them particularly interesting…” it seemed as though she wanted to say something else but bit her tongue, and he couldn’t help but feel himself deflate. He wanted her to be able to feel more comfortable around him, but she was holding herself back.

“That’s because I wasn’t teaching them…” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them, but to his relief, she smiled, a small chuckle escaping from her.

“Something like that.” She paused for a beat, seeming awkward and unsure. “Look, Professor, before we get into the stuff about my dissertation, I just wanted to talk to you about something…” The serious nature of her tone made his heart lurch, and he wanted to reach out and hold her hands, to drain away her evident nerves. She wasn’t even meeting his eyes, just wringing her hands in her lap as she tried to say what she needed to.

“Of course, my office is always an open space to talk about whatever you need to.” He hoped his words were comforting, and by her small smile, they had at least offered some small reassurance.

“I just wanted to apologise. I know my grades have been slipping a little the past few weeks, and I just wanted to make sure you knew that I’m on it and I’m doing everything to get them back up. I think I’ve just been a little distracted, and I don’t know really…” She was rambling, and his heart hurt for her. Yes, he had noticed her grades slipping a little, but it was from an A to a B for maybe two papers and a quiz. It wouldn’t affect her overall grade, and it certainly wouldn’t affect his opinion of her. He couldn’t help but wonder why she felt the need to apologise or explain herself.

“You have no reason to apologise. Everyone has better weeks than others, and it’s not going to affect your performance in my class or anything like that…”

“But…” she looked confused, as though she was genuinely trying to figure out why he wasn’t annoyed with her. “You’re Professor Hwang. I mean, you’re the best in your department, maybe even in the whole university. You pick your students that you want to advise because they’re the best, and I’ve not been…”

“First of all, I definitely am the best Professor in the *whole university*, thank you, but more importantly, that’s not why I pick people to mentor. I pick people based on their passion, talent, and work ethic. Not because they’re a machine who churns out A* papers every single week and has nothing else going on in their life that might affect that.” Once he’d finished talking, he looked up at her to see her close to tears, still staring at her hands in her lap.

“I, um…” she cleared her throat, finally meeting his eyes with a gratefulness he hadn’t seen in her before. A vulnerability he didn’t recognise, but wanted to see more of nonetheless. “Thank you for saying that. Really. None of my other Professors seem to think in that way.” Then under her breath, barely audible, she added something extra. “Neither do my family for that matter.”

“Well, as I said, my office is always open. If you ever have something you need to talk about, I’m here.”

“Thank you, truly.” She replied earnestly, and found himself struggling to reply as his heart swelled. He hadn’t realised how protective he felt over her until he saw her upset, but now, hand clenched by his side at the thought of someone making her feel unworthy over a few grades, he realised that maybe his feelings had blossomed a little more than he wanted them to.

The day after was another practical class. Just a titration, a check box more than anything with the calibre of his students. They knew what they were doing. Especially her. It would hopefully be an easy half hour; just let them do their thing, tick it off in the system, and be finished with it.

What he hadn't banked on, however, was the student that seemed to spend his whole time flirting with her.

She had been the first in the classroom that afternoon. She seemed tired, the last lesson after a likely busy day, but even more so than usual, her normally flawless makeup doing little to hide the puffy bags under her eyes. Her outfit was clean and put together, but a lot more basic than what she usually wore, just jeans and a baby tee, with none of her usual quirky flourishes. He was about to ask if she was ok, to talk to her more than the perfunctory hello she had thrown his way at the door when another student entered the classroom close behind her. The whole space was empty, but he decided to sit directly beside her. She seemed annoyed, making polite small talk but not much else and he just didn't seem to be taking the hint. He was leaning too close, laughing too loud, looking at her for too long…

His own jealousy surprised him. It was rage, pure and simple, white hot and blinding. He felt inordinately possessive, wanting nothing more than to shove him across the classroom and teach him a lesson about personal space, but as more students piled in to the space, all he could do was glare and hope he got the hint. Eventually though, she solved the problem herself. He had been so close to interfering, so blinded by anger he had started to move towards her bench, but she just stood up, and walked away from him mid sentence, ignoring him completely. The look of shock on his face was priceless, but the joy it brought him was quickly replaced with anger once again as the kid shifted in his seat, blushing red and muttering ‘bitch’ under his breath. If In-ho had a knife, he genuinely could have killed him in that moment. Because how fucking dare he.

But instead, he breathed in deeply before moving over to him calmly and giving him a menacing, tight-lipped smile. The student met his eyes with a perplexed look, but he just spoke over him before he had a chance to say anything else.

“If you ever talk about one of my students, let alone a woman, like that again, you will be barred from my class and the entirety of the chemistry department for the rest of your academic career, both at this school and wherever else you may choose to study. Is that crystal clear?” He said it so calmly, so coldly, that the kid just sat there in stunned silence for a moment, and he had to raise his eyebrow to prompt him to answer.

“Um… yes… yes Professor.” He stammered, and he smiled again without any warmth.

“Good, now find a new desk and complete your practical, or else you’ll have to retake my class, and you really don't want that, do you?” He shook his head frantically, scrambling away with his things and finding a space near the back of the room.

She looked confused for a moment when she got back to the now empty bench, but on glancing around the room and meeting his eyes, she smiled warmly at him in gratitude, blush spreading across her cheeks. He would do anything if it meant she smiled at him like that.

It had been an hour, and apart from one broken conical flask, there had been no major mishaps, and almost all of his students had finished their titrations. Except for her. She was on her fourth attempt now, the last student apart from her silently filing out of the classroom, and she was getting increasingly frustrated each time. He was trying to be subtle, to not make her feel pressured at all, but he couldn't help but watch as she turned the stopcock so slightly, letting a single drop fall into the flask, and he watched it turn colour perfectly… until the stopcock wasn't closed properly, another few drops sneaking through and pushing it past the end point colour.

“Fuck!” Every other attempt, it had been a quiet frustration, hidden under her breath, but this time she couldn't help it, cursing loudly and slamming her hand on the table. He could hear her heavy breaths even from across the room, her hand dragging through her hair in annoyance. She almost looked close to tears, just staring at the failed experiment. He muttered her name in concern, standing up ready to help her, but she just shook her head, grabbing the flask and heading to empty it.

“I’m so sorry for my outburst, Professor, my language was completely inappropriate…”

“No that’s not it at all, curse all you want…” He moved over to her desk as he spoke, but she was busying herself setting up again, not meeting his eyes. So he said her name again, firmly but kindly, garnering her attention without upsetting her. It worked, and she stopped moving for a moment, slightly out of breath in frustration. “Are you ok? You don’t seem yourself at all…” She was grinding her jaw as he spoke, trying to hold her emotions back, but a tear fell from her eye regardless, rolling down her cheek. She huffed loudly, wiping it away quickly and looking to the ceiling, trying to blink back the other tears that were threatening to spill.

“I’m fine.” She insisted, but her voice cracked as she did, another tear escaping as she muttered another curse under her breath. “Sorry, I’m just wasting your time today…”

“Never.” He said firmly, moving to her side of the desk. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what going on, I just can’t seem to…” another tear rolled down her cheek, his heart broke for her.

“Hey, take a second, just breathe, ok? Sit down, cry if you need to, just take a moment.” She nodded, sitting down on the lab stool with a snuffle. He sat down too, tucking his stool slightly closer to her and waiting until she was ready.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just overwhelmed. I didn’t sleep too well last night, so I’ve been exhausted all day. One of my professors gave me shit for being late even though the bus broke down on my way here, and that ruined my mood. Another lecture turned out to be some surprise test thing nobody had prepared for so that was horrible. And… well I’m just rambling now and I don’t know if I’ve told you this yet but I might as well at this point because I guess it’s something you should know as my advisor - I have general anxiety disorder and…” she paused, catching her breath and scoffing slightly as she continued speaking quickly, “well, and a whole host of other things I don’t have time to go into but I’ve spent most of the afternoon warding off panic attacks hence the…” She trailed off, holding up her hand which was shaking like a leaf. “So I can’t focus, I can’t control the equipment even though I’ve done at least 30 titrations in my academic career and I was honestly just looking forward to seeing… to doing something practical with my day but…” He didn’t think she’d even noticed the tears starting to fall, but he did immediately. He also noticed the way her voice was getting breathier, and the increasingly frantic look in her eyes. He was worried. She seemed worn out, way too thinly strung and now here she was, crying over an experiment he knew she could do in her sleep. She needed to take care of herself for a bit, to take it easy. But right now, maybe he could help.

His hand moved to her face, brushing the tears away before moving to her shoulder and squeezing.

“Hey, slow down. Look at me. Breathe.” He took a long deep breath, his eyes fixed firmly to hers as she copied, repeating the action a few times. He watched as she slowly seemed to calm, shoulders dropping and tears drying up. “That’s better.”

“I’m so sorry, this was only supposed to take like half an hour. I’ve derailed your whole afternoon, I just don’t know what’s come over me today.” He sighed. The way she felt she had to be sorry for being human made him feel so protective of her, so willing to hurt anyone who made her feel this way.

“You’re stressed, you didn’t sleep well and your anxiety is flaring up. None of that is something you have to apologise for. And you definitely don’t have to apologise for derailing my day - my evening consists of grading papers and getting an early night. Both of those things can wait even if this titration takes all night.” She laughed, wiping away the last of her tears with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.” Her hand moved to rest atop his, which was still sitting on her arm, squeezing slightly. His breath caught briefly at the contact, and it took all the self control in his body to not lean into her touch, to kiss her then and there.

“Always…” he muttered, smiling softly, and after another beat, he slid his hand away, feeling cold at the lack of warmth from her. “Now,” he took a deep breath, grounding himself to reality. *Student, teacher, do the maths - not a good idea.* “Let’s finish this practical.”

His presence was so calming to you. After four failed attempts, you were already doing a lot better - hands steady, breaths even, a serenity you hadn't felt all day. He wasn’t even helping you; just being nearby was enough. He’d grabbed a few papers from his desk and was quietly grading while you worked, the occasional turn of paper and scratch of pen relaxing you. It was starting to get to the difficult part now, but your hands didn't fail you, adding the titrate drop by drop, swirling the flask until… it stayed pink. Just enough, a soft wash of magenta, and you couldn't help but grin.

“See…” he muttered, not once looking up from his papers, “I told you you could do it.” You smiled even wider, holding back every urge within you to hug him.

“Thank you.” You settled on the sentiment instead, jotting down the final measurements. “And…”

“I swear if you try to apologise again, I will kick you out of my class once and for all.” God he knew you so well. You chuckled lightly, biting your tongue to stop you from apologising for that as well.

“Never again, I promise.”

You had packed up, moving as quickly as possible to ensure you didn't waste any more of his time, but honestly, you wanted to be around him just a little longer. Today had taught you that maybe your ever-growing feelings might not be a problem, but a help. He was so calming to be around, so good at putting your doubt and anxiety at ease, and talking to him was easy, terrifyingly so. His company was soothing, and on bad days, at least you knew you had a place to go.

And now, you had to face the long bus to your off-campus apartment, followed by an evening alone with your thoughts.

You had sorted your things, putting on your coat and pulling up the hood, bracing yourself to head out in the dark and rainy evening.

“Thank you again for everything, Professor, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Wait…” he called out your name as you opened the door, and you paused, internally sighing in relief. “How are you getting home?”

“Just the bus from campus, its not far to the station from here…”

“I’ll take you, I’m leaving here anyway.”

“No, I couldn't ask you to do that, Sir…”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Where am I taking you?” You blushed at his comment, heart leaping at the authoritative tone, but telling him anyway. “That's only a few streets away from me, it’s not out of my way at all.”

“Only if you’re sure…”

“I wouldn't have offered otherwise.”

You had made it to the awning of the building, the last moment of peace before you were bombarded by the rain. He followed you out, sighing slightly.

“Do you smoke?” He asked, and the question surprised you slightly. He’d never struck you as the type, but now, as you turned around to see him standing with a cigarette dangling between his lips, you couldn't believe how natural it looked.

“Yeah…” You were relieved. You had been desperate for one all afternoon, but hadn't had a chance. You moved to open your handbag, unsure of where you'd left them, but he had already extended his pack out towards you. You smiled.

“Thank you…” He lit yours first, shielding it with his hands for you, and you couldn't help but notice how close he was to you. He lit his own, and you watched it awe at his beauty as the lighter illuminated his face. His first drag was long and desperate, the deep sigh he let out when he breathed echoing your own relief. You wondered if that's what he’d be like when you were on your knees for him quiet but needy, hand running through his hair and…

“What are your plans this weekend?” You blushed, not at the question but what it had distracted you from, taking a drag while you composed yourself.

“Not much, just studying, finishing a few papers, the usual.”

“No plans with friends? A boyfriend?” He asked almost shyly, then blushed profusely. “Or girlfriend, or partner… sorry I didn't mean to assume.” You laughed at his embarrassment.

“No, no plans. Friends are all out of town or doing the same as me, and no boyfriend to have plans with.” You weren't sure why you felt like you had to clarify that. It was an instinct more than anything, something in you felt like he should know. “What about you? Any plans?”

“Nope, no plans either. Friends are all married with children, so they don't have weekends anymore. And my brother is out of town with work, so that just about rules out everyone.” Your heart sung at the lack of a girlfriend or wife mentioned, but you somehow managed to control your face. “I got a new jigsaw I might try…” You couldn't help but laugh out loud at that, and he laughed with you. “Sorry, I know thats like the oldest old person thing I could've said…”

“No I just… I was thinking the same thing but didn't want to seem old.” His turn to laugh loudly, a sound that warmed you through.

“You don't have to worry about that…”

“Neither do you.” You had replied quickly, without thinking, and suddenly the air was charged. He was looking you in a way that was unreadable, almost curious but there was something else brewing just under the surface. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you found yourself unable to look away, not letting yourself to be the first to break contact. You weren't sure what it was about today - maybe just because of how shitty you’d felt the last few days, how kind and caring he had been, how many times you’d been in touching distance of him - but you wanted him to know you were an option. Even if it was a bad idea, if it could ruin both of you, if it could destroy everything you'd ever worked towards… you suddenly didn't care. You needed him to know you were here, arms open and waiting, if he ever wanted you.

The car ride was quiet, silence only broken by the occasional attempt at small talk. It was as though the look you had shared earlier had shattered your ability to speak to each other normally, a cloud hanging over the both of you, threatening to pour. Eventually, you pulled up outside your building, and your heart broke that it was over. You had to leave now, to be alone in your flat, to try and relax without thinking about him. His touch, his laugh, his smell.

“Thank you for the lift.” You managed to croak out after sitting silent for a moment, voice laced with disappointment you didn’t have the energy to hide.

“Anytime.” He muttered back, and your hand moved to the door, eyes glazing over at the sight of the raindrops hitting the car window. You weren’t sure why you didn’t just leave, open the door and run inside, out of the rain, out of the tension. Maybe it was the weather, pushing you to take comfort somewhere warm and welcoming. Or maybe it was the scent of sandalwood and cigarettes that clung to the leather surrounding you. Or maybe it was the way your arm was still tingling where he had touched you earlier, his hands warm and expansive and calming. It didn’t really matter though. Regardless of the reason, you still chose to open your damn mouth one more time.

“I don’t want to wait until Monday to see you again.” Your voice was barely a whisper, barely audible, but from the way he muttered your name warningly, he heard. You flushed furiously, feeling so fucking stupid. You’d ruined everything. He was your advisor, your professor, your whole support system felled in one swoop. God, you were an idiot. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’ll go.” You reached for the handle again, tears springing to the corners of your eyes.

“Wait.” His voice was… well, you weren’t sure. It sounded frustrated, sure, but also, there was a desperation in it. A need. He didn’t want you to leave either. “God, I’ve thought about how this might go so many times and never once landed on what I’d want to say.” There was a lump in your throat, and your hands fell back into your lap, turning to see the slightly pained expression on his face, almost pleading. His hair was messy, one hand raking through it as his eyes met yours. “There’s obviously… I mean it’s undeniable the way I… but I just…” He was so nervous, eyes scanning across your face frantically. “I’m your advisor. I’m your Professor. I’m in a position of authority here, its a power imbalance and I’m old enough to…” You had sat calmly listening to him ramble, so grateful that your feeling weren’t unrequited that you didn’t care what other excuses he would try to come up with.

“I don’t care.” He whispered your name again in warning, but softer, and you could see his resolve eroding with every second he was in your presence. “I mean it. You said it yourself, it’s undeniable. And now we’ve addressed it… what’s the harm in trying?” He still looked confused, pain wrought into his features as his eyes locked onto yours. And then, it was like you could see him accept that he couldn’t stop this now. That he didn’t want to. The fear gave way to longing, his hand cupping your jaw in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I need you to…” The nerves were still clear in his voice, but his hand was definite, thumb brushing your lips and you leant into the touch, body naturally caving towards his. “Please tell me your want this. I need to be sure.”

“I want this.” You were so firm in your response, so final, he had no choice but to believe you.

He leant in, cupping your face in his hand, touch so strong, so definite, that any residual doubt melted away as his lips touch yours. It was fleeting, unsure, but not a moment before he had pulled away, you pressed back into him. Your kiss was desperate and bruising, hard and needy and full of months of pent up desire. He returned so fervently you sighed into his mouth, relief and arousal washing over your body. His hand moved to grip your hair, keeping you close, and you cursed internally that you were still in the car, centre console blocking your body from his. You were desperate to touch more of him, to feel his skin under your fingers, to run your hands across the ridges of his chest and up his arms. His grip was still strong in your hair, but you broke for air, watching with a smile as his lips chased yours. His evident need spurred you on, hand moving to rest against his chest and grip the pressed fabric of his shirt as you shared the air in the space between you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He muttered half-heartedly, but his blown pupils and subtle smile told you differently.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

The elevator ride was tense, hand gripped in his, half expecting him to run away, but as soon as your door was open, his lips smashed into yours once more. His hands explored your waist, pressing you to the now closed door, body touching yours slightly. His mouth was saying something different to his body language: lips hungry and needy, body cautious. You were more confident, hands falling to his back and pulling him as close as possible to you. He groaned in response, a low guttural sound that left you panting into his hot mouth. You wanted to gasp his name, but you realised you didn’t know it, embarrassment clouding your mind. You pushed it away immediately, hands snaking round his solid form to his tie, loosening it like a woman starved and throwing it to the side.

“Hey…” he muttered alongside a pant of your name, fingers tracing your face in a tender way, “are you sure you want this?”

“More than anything.” The answer fell from your lips without you even thinking about it. You needed him. He smiled against your lips, hands trailing from your waist to your hips, an invitation. You started to undo his shirt buttons, hands finally coming into contact with his warm skin, hips bucking towards his. A moment of insecurity washed over you. You were young, younger than him by a long way, and while it didn’t bother you, you couldn’t help but wonder if being with someone with so much less experience would bother him. He’d asked for your assurance twice now, and you had just assumed he wanted the same. Maybe he was just here so he didn’t lose his job…

“Is this what you want too?” You whispered, so shy and unsure you could feel the blush spreading across your cheeks.

“More than anything.” His fingers traced your lips, eyes meeting yours, and he must’ve sensed their slightly hesitant nature. “Since the minute you walked into my classroom, I’ve wanted this.” He smiled slightly sheepishly then, eyes flitting down to scan your form. “You were wearing cord flares and a white tee, leather jacket slung over your bag. You looked so confident, so excited to be in my class… you weren’t even looking at me yet, but I saw a glint in your eye that reminded me of myself in my youth. Everything about you intoxicated me from the moment I locked eyes with you. I want this.” The last statement was so final, so raw, you gave in fully. You smiled, looking deep into his eyes to see them unwavering.

“In that case..” you muttered, puling away from his just slightly, pulling your shirt over your head before unbuttoning your jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He stepped back while you were undressing, eyes darkening as they scanned your whole body with desire.

“Fuck…” he muttered the word quietly to himself, continuing to look you up and down in a way that made you blush profusely. He followed suit quickly, slowly undoing the rest of your shirt buttons with a slight smile. You couldn’t help but gaze half-lidded at his bare form, muscles rippling with every deep breath he took. “Where’s your room?”

Your bra and his trousers were long discarded, your bare form pressed to his as he laid above you, hand resting by your head, holding him up as he devoured your mouth. His kisses were getting lower, pressing against your neck and chest as you could do nothing but pant at his every touch.

“Sir, are you…” you didn’t even finish your question, words lost in your tongue as he bit down softly against the pillowy flesh of your breast, a groan escaping his lips against you at the name you had chosen in the heat of the moment.

“Shh..” the soft sound escaped his lips as he continued to move his lips lower until his fingers hooked your pantries, pulling them down slowly, savouring your squirming.

“What are you…” your words were lost yet again as his mouth enveloped your bare pussy, tongue pressing a firm stripe through your folds. You moaned loudly, the sensation enveloping you as you pressed your hips further towards his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction at the movements from you, hands gripping your hips tightly as your thighs surrounded his head. His tongue was expert, circling your clit with perfect precision and you bucked into him again with a whimper, desperate for some direct contact. He chuckled against you, smiling up between your thighs and you could’ve cum there from the sight of him.

“Relax…” he muttered, surly tone immediately forcing your muscles to loosen, pressing into the bed. His tongue flicked across your clit, and you squirmed, pants and whines filling the room as he continued his assault on your sensitive nerves. “Good girl…” his voice rumbled against your cunt, almost pushing you to the edge there and then.

“Please…” was all you could force out, words jumbling in your mind as the pleasure started to take over. One hand released from your hips, and you barely registered as two fingers pushed inside you, thick and deep. You groaned, an animalistic noise drawn from the back of your throat as he hit the spot inside you that made you sing. Every inch of your body was on fire with need as his fingers filled you, tongue continuing its relentless attack on your clit. You were all but an incoherent mess of moans and pants as he kept going, pleasure building and building close to the point of being too much, nerves burning with desire as he feasted on you like a man starved. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to arrive, fast and brutal, blinding you as your thighs squeezed around him, sobs and whines falling from your lips as you rode out the waves on his tongue.

By the time you had caught your breath, his face was an inch from yours, pressing sloppy kisses your jaw and neck. You whimpered softly, feeling the slick he had left between your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his, blinking up at him stupidly.

“I want you…” his lips cut you off, deep and passionate as your words were swallowed by hood’s mouth. He tasted like you.

“You have me. Body and soul.” Your heart leapt at the sentiment, hand brushing through his hair with affection.

“Then fuck me.”

He was pressed against your back, and was impossibly deep inside you, hitting that spot that made your back arch. His hand was tangled in your hair again, lips to your neck as he somehow pressed deeper, and your hand found his thigh, holding him there.

“You feel so good.” You whispered, fucked out and satisfied, already multiple organs in from his perfect cock.

“I’m close baby,” he muttered against your ear, grinding against your ass as you whined for him so beautifully. He fit so perfectly inside you it felt handcrafted, and he groaned softly as he pulled out quickly, slamming back inside as his hips started to stutter. “So pretty, so perfect for me…” his hand reached around to your used clit, pressing gentle circles as you cried out. You would do anything for him, but you were exhausted and overstimulated, a few tears brimming in your eyes at the bliss and pain it provided.

“Please..” you whispered for the uncountable time that night, hips backing into his as he groaned, deep and animalistic. Your orgasm washed over you as he finally came, moaning against your neck as his teeth clamped down carefully.

“So fucking perfect…”

You felt so effortlessly relaxed beside him, sleep encroaching quicker than it ever had. You were exhausted and spent, but happy. Everything you’d wanted for months but refused to admit to yourself had come true, and tomorrow, you’d have to face the reality of it all. But for now, you were at peace, head rested against his chest and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. Your slumber had started to take you, eyes fluttering closed, when you heard his voice speak softly, as though trying not to disturb you.

“I hope this moment last forever.” You thought confirming his sentiment would somehow diminish him, or scare him off, pretending your sleep had pulled you under, but your heart swelled in agreement. You never wanted to leave this place.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang inho #inho x reader #in ho x reader #hwang inho x reader #fanfic #in ho squid game #squid game s2 #squid game #professor au #student x professor #lee byung hun

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tribalmajesty05 · 5 months ago

Text

Title: The Kiss Hunt

Roman Reigns x Reader

****

It was an unspoken rule by now—before every match, Roman needed his kiss.

No one knew exactly when it started, but somewhere along the way, it became part of his routine. Just like taping his wrists or putting on his vest, he wouldn’t step through that curtain without it. If you were nearby, it was easy—he’d find you, pull you in by the waist, steal a kiss, and head off to dominate in the ring.

But sometimes, you weren’t so easy to find.

Which meant he had to go on the hunt.

Tonight was one of those nights.

“Where is she?” Roman grumbled, already growing impatient as he stormed through the backstage halls.

Jimmy and Jey, sitting on a crate nearby, exchanged looks before Jey smirked. “Damn, Uce. You that desperate for your good luck kiss?”

Roman shot him a look. “You got a problem with it?”

Jimmy raised his hands in defense. “Nope, just funny watching the big uce go on a scavenger hunt for his woman.”

“Shut up,” Roman muttered, moving past them.

Jey laughed. “Whipped.”

Roman ignored them.

He checked catering.

Nothing.

The women’s locker room?

Naomi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, amused as hell. “She left a few minutes ago. You really out here chasing her down, huh?”

“Where’d she go?” he asked, exasperated.

“Somewhere near the production area, I think.”

Roman groaned. He was already supposed to be at Gorilla in five minutes, but he was not stepping out there without that damn kiss.

Meanwhile, you were completely oblivious to the search party forming for you. You had stopped by the production area to chat with Bayley and Rhea when suddenly—

“There you are.”

You barely had time to turn before Roman was right in front of you, hands gripping your waist as he pulled you in.

You blinked. “Uh… hey?”

“I got a match,” he muttered, like that explained everything.

And for him, it did.

A knowing smile spread across your lips. “And what do you need before your match?”

He arched a brow. “You know.”

Bayley, standing off to the side, smirked. “God, you two are disgustingly cute.”

Rhea snorted. “Nah, this is next-level. My man’s been hunting you down like a bloodhound.”

Roman ignored them completely, his focus solely on you. “C’mon, baby. Don’t make me beg.”

Your heart flipped at the way his voice dropped, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “Beg? Now that I’d like to see.”

He huffed. “I swear to God—”

Before he could say another word, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. He instantly melted into it, his grip tightening on your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

The moment should have been sweet, romantic even—if it weren’t for the round of cheers that suddenly erupted around you.

“WOOOO! GET IT, TRIBAL CHIEF!”

You pulled back to see The Usos, Solo, Seth, and even Dean standing there, all of them grinning like they just walked in on a damn rom-com.

Seth cackled. “Man, he really couldn’t go out there without it, huh?”

Dean smirked. “You got this man acting like an addict.”

Jey nudged Jimmy. “I told you, Uce. Whipped.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up, all of you.”

Roman, however, was completely unbothered. He smirked down at you, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

You sighed dramatically. “I tolerate it.”

He chuckled, then leaned in to whisper, “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

Your face heated instantly.

The guys lost it.

“OH, HELL NO—”

“TOO MUCH INFO, MAN—”

“DAMN, UCE—”

Bayley covered her ears. “I did not need to hear that!”

Rhea just nodded in approval. “Respect.”

Meanwhile, Roman smirked in victory, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before finally backing away. “Alright, I’m good now.”

Jey threw his hands up. “Oh, now you good?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Man, if y’all ever break up, we’re done for.”

You crossed your arms. “Not happening.”

Roman smirked. “Damn right.”

And with that, he walked off toward Gorilla, leaving everyone behind to recover from the overwhelming amount of PDA.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Dean shook his head with a grin. “Man, y’all are something else.”

You just shrugged, smiling to yourself. Because honestly?

You wouldn’t change a thing.

#roman reigns #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #john cena #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #the bloodline #divas #jey uso #jimmy uso #naomi wwe #wwe fandom #wwe fanfiction #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns smut #otc #loz totk

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blueberrymocha · 5 months ago

Text

on your period ❜┊˚͙۪۪̥◌

┌──────────────────────────────────────┐

ׂ╰┈➤ fluff

➣ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio, hisoka, illumi, chrollo

➣ warnings: f. reader

➣ a/n: brought to you by my excruciating cramps in the middle of walmart AND their broken bathroom :)

└──────────────────────┘

gon

- he’s the definition of “a little lost but he’s got the spirit”

- he’s never heard of periods before, so it caused him great concern as you explained you were bleeding for a week straight

- his intentions are so so pure, but i would personally not trust him to get any supplies

- you’ll ask for heavy pads and he’ll get you panty liners

- or ibuprofen and he’d grab sleeping medicine

- it’s just that as a boy (with no sisters or female friends) who has such a strong immune system, and lives in the middle of nowhere,

- this is probably the first time he’s even stepped foot into those aisles

- but luckily, he provides amazing support and company

- if you want to stay in all day and snuggle up to a movie? he’s on board

- those few days will be entirely about you

- he’d be super reassuring if you bled through clothes or sheets, offering to wash them for you

killua

- similar to gon, he really doesn’t know too much about it

- he’s heard of it before, but has never looked into it

- of course, he’d hate to sound stupid when offering help, so he skims through something like Wikihow for a bit to make sure he has his facts straight

- when buying products for you, he wouldn’t know which one to get

- so he’d buy them all, hiding them in the car while he confirms which you need

(i just know silva would be mad confused seeing a $50 purchase of pads and tampons on the card killua stole from him)

- he’s not a touchy person, even if you’re on your period, so expect to initiate everything

- he’d order from your favorite takeout spot, and get whatever else you asked him for

- so in the future, he’s a lot better prepared

- and the next time you mention your period started again, the stuffed animals and heating pad would already be dug out from the closet

kurapika

- he’s well informed on menstruation, mostly from his understanding of anatomy and books he’s read here and there

- of course, he likely won’t be around all the time

- that is unless you have a particularly bad cycle

- if you’re the type who has super heavy bleeding, sheet gripping cramps, bad mood swings; he’s definitely there for you

- he’d bust out his limited cooking skills, serving up the best dish he can for you (if it’s that bad, he’ll order something)

- though he’s usually not super affectionate, he’d be very gentle during this time, his arms practically glued around you

- he’d stop by on his lunch break and text you the whole day

- now if your period is more tame, he’d still do these things, just to a less frequent degree

- and just saying—he’s not at all scared of a little blood if it’ll alleviate the cramps

leorio

- as a medical student, he has a deep understanding of it

- he’d ask to track your period and symptoms to make sure nothing is abnormal there

- if you were insecure about being bloated or breaking out, he’d instantly shoot it down

- your body is just doing its job, he would never want you to feel unattractive over that

- while he’s at school, he’d send you short texts reminding you to drink water and take it easy

- if you had any cravings, he’d probably tell you no, but then cave and buy it anyways

“don’t expect me to do this next time..”

*does it next time*

hisoka

- is a lot more knowledgeable than you’d expect

- like he might be an apathetic killer clown, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t know the way around a woman’s body

- now unless you get truly horrible symptoms, he doesn’t care if you’re on your period or not

- to him, it happens every month, so you should be used to it enough to not need comfort and help

- unless he saw you—with all your usual strength and power—curled up in pain on your bed

- he has a very begrudging vibe about him

- obviously, empathy and care aren’t quite his style

- but seeing you suffering so much.. it does something to his brain

- he’d stay with you during those few days, running all the supply trips you need

- also, he finds your mood swings very amusing, which is half the reason he wants to be by your side during this time

illumi

- he really doesn’t know what to do, and the only person he can ask for advice is kikyo

- and i imagine she was the kind of person to tell other women to suck it up because it’s ‘not that bad’

- but as he sees you gritting your teeth, moping around—that doesn’t sound right to him

- he’d merely sit there with you, maybe placing a tentative hand on your back

- later that day, all the female butlers are called in for a private meeting

- after weighing in their opinions, and instructing them to take care of you, he’d buy all the items they pointed him towards

- because as emotionless as he is, he understands that someone he loves is experiencing discomfort, and he doesn’t want that

- but your mood swings would definitely throw him off

- he thought he was doing a good job, yet you were still irritated at him

- and the next day, you’d be tearing up over some cliche movie ending

- after you explain it to him, he’s now intrigued by what other symptoms might occur during your cycle

- he’d fall down a rabbit hole, looking for stories of how other people handle it

- and next month he’s even better at taking care of you

chrollo

- he would already have been tracking it for you, reminding you a few days before in case you didn’t know

- he has a good understanding of periods, and makes sure to ask you specifically what you need from him

- your comfort is always a priority after all

- would still go on his usual missions, but has machi, paku, or shizuku check on you while he’s away

- when he is home, he’s remarkably gentle with you

- the house would already be stocked with supplies, so there’s no need for him to make any extra trips to the store

- additionally, he’s very encouraging and respectful about them

- it’s a natural body process, one that’ll allow you to have children in the future, making it almost sacred to him

#hxh x reader #hxh hcs #hxh headcanons #hxh imagines #hxh fanfic #killua x reader #leorio x reader #kurapika x reader #gon x reader #chrollo x reader #hisoka x reader #illumi x reader

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meowrimo · 7 months ago

Text

˖˙ ꔫ — E.A.T. ˚

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : law always knows how to calm your mind during times of distress.

꒰ contents ꒱ : MDNI . Trafalgar Law x reader ; reader has an oral fixation so finger sucking, thigh riding, brief mention of saliva, praise WC : 1.3k

“Enough.” Law commands, his arm reaches out to pull you closer by the waist and brings you onto his lap. One of his hands rests securely on your hip, keeping you in place as you straddle him. “Come here.”

The tower of paperwork he was sifting through sits idly on top of his desk, lain forgotten and left askew as soon as you had burst through the door of his private office.

It wasn’t abnormal for you to drop by throughout the day or even during the wee hours of the many nights he’d stay up far too late, but the sense of urgency had him turning his head in your direction.

The Heart Pirates captain could feel his stomach plummet, turn over in torment as soon as he took in your slightly disheveled appearance.

How your pretty eyes were filled to the brim with crystalline tears that coat your lashes like dewdrops paired with your lower, slightly bitten lip that was quivering enough to slice through the strings that held his heart upright was enough to have him sitting up straight.

Whatever had happened had left your mind in shambles, something he couldn’t whisk away with the simple wave of his hand.

Unlike his desk, he can’t neatly rearrange everything and make it like new again — no, comforting you was much more complex and a task he would never treat so lightly.

If he could, he’d reach into your troubled mind and cut down every negative thought that tormented your pretty head, leaving you only with happy memories and dreamy visions of him.

He may be a skilled doctor but he knows there’s not always a way for him to snap his fingers and take all of that away. But at least he was exceptionally well versed when it came to reading you and knowing exactly what kind of things that would help center you. All you need is something to focus on.

So, he improvises.

“Open.” His tattooed ring finger softly taps against your cheek. Once, twice, before you oblige. Your mental state was far too frazzled to oppose anything, especially with his piercing golden eyes set on you, set alight with concern and a hint of unyielding tenderness. “Good, very good.”

Careful as to not startle you, his hand slowly crawls into focus, the black ink that stretches along his skin comes closer as his fingers brush along your lips. The one decorated with an ‘E’ slips into your awaiting mouth, giving you a little nod that tells you to close it.

Plush lips wrap around the digit almost immediately. Law had to choke back a groan at the sight and accompanying sensation, your obedience stroking his ego to life and his unbridled want for you.

“Suck.” Again, you don’t fight him on this. Instead, you suck on his finger as if it was his cock, your mind growing hazier by the second by the familiarity of something being in your mouth. Law smirks a little, subtle smugness swirling with pride drenches his features and emboldens him to tuck another into your mouth — the ‘A’ this time. “Good job, keep going.”

The weight of the rings he wears sits on your tongue and coats it in something metallic. Curiously, you experimentally roll it over the gunmetal bands, slipping through both of the fingers that are poking and prodding through your mouth.

Law knew that you had an oral fixation and scoffed anytime you tried to deny it. Times like these only further proved his point but he was far too enchanted to start saying ‘I told you so’ right now. Not when he had more productive things to do.

“Wanna take another for me?” His voice was low, smooth as he drank in the sight before him — the way you eagerly swallow down his fingers, resting your hands on the expanse of his exposed chest and slowly begin to grind in his lap was causing heat to pool in his gut.

It was almost too easy.

Once you nod your head yes, he slips in the last one — ‘T’ and marvels at the way your tongue instinctually swirls around his thick digits. The hand that idly rests on your hips twitches before he guides you along his lap, letting your mind fog over with desire and pleasure to combat all of your sadness and anxiety away.

But as soon as you pitifully whine against his fingers with wide, glassy eyes pleading for more, he’s filled with the primal urge to see you come apart for him. To shed tears not from heartache and disappointment but from how good he can make you feel with a few pointed touches.

Quickly adjusting the way you’re sitting on him, he nudges you over to his thigh, tensing the muscle and beginning to drag your clothed cunt against it.

The reaction is immediate, your eyes flutter shut as you take in his fingers even deeper with a wanton moan. Saliva pools in the corners of your mouth as Law begins to greedily thrust his fingers into it, overcome with how much he’s rendered you thoughtless.

The strain of his hardening cock presses against the tight jeans he mistakenly wore, pulsing in retaliation at the restrictive fabric and throbbing with the utter need to sink himself inside of you.

But he was a patient man and you always came first.

“That's it, just like that. I’ve got you.” He coos at you, his velvety voice washing over you. The sweet, muffled sounds that try to slip past your lips were caught by his fingers as he helps your hips move along faster, steering you directly towards your impending high. “Let yourself go for me.”

The tone indicated it was an order, one that you would never disobey. Whenever he lets you finish, you’ve learned to take it and run, letting the ecstasy course throughout your body and fry all your nerves so he could rewire your brain to only focus on how good you feel.

Law basks in his own satisfaction as your legs begin to tremble, hips stuttering while you desperately chase the friction on his jeans. Your nails dig into his skin, unabashed whimpers and whines swirl around his fingers as he brazenly presses down on your tongue.

The final push over the edge was him shoving his digits further down your throat, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finished right there and then with a muffled cry of his name.

Tremors of your climax roll over your body, wiping your mind clean of anything that plagued it earlier. With a satisfied smirk, Law pulls his hands from your mouth and coaxes your head down to rest against his now slightly scratched chest.

“There, better?” He asks as if he didn’t know the answer. His inked hand rests lightly on the back of your head to ensure you stay with him.

“Yes.” You nod, wrapping yourself around his body feeling fully satiated and liberated from the confines of your own mind.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His voice was a little softer now, the welcomed gentleness easing more of the weight off of your slumped shoulders.

“No.” You say with a small shake of your head and an equally quiet tone. “Not yet. Can we just stay like this for a little longer?”

Law hums in understanding, not missing a beat as his lips brush along the temple of your head before sliding his hand down to flatten against your back.

He runs the palm down your spine in a soothing manner before quietly spelling out undecipherable adorations with the simple traces of his finger pads, repeating the comforting motion over and over again until you can make out exactly what he’s trying to say.

The words neither of you had said to each other yet but could both feel it course through your veins as your hearts beat as one.

I love you.

#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law smut #one piece x reader #one piece smut #op smut #op x reader

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mareastrorum · 9 days ago

Text

This is only half a thought so far, but maybe other people want to chime in.

I’m doing Watch Machina (currently at episode 15) and Nein Again (currently at episode 21) while I also keep up with current Critical Role content (Age of Umbra episode 4) and something that bothers me a little is Matt’s current method of narration.

In C1, Matt’s style is very informal with regard to the narration. There’s little added drama via his tone, pace, or choice of words. “Toothy maw” became a meme pretty quickly, but the point of every description was to efficiently set the scene so the players could start their RP and choose what to do. There wasn’t as much precision with his descriptions, and of course that is a talent that takes a long time to hone when you’re describing lots of different things over the course of several hours. However, the narration was far less formal and calculated than his NPC dialogue, so (in combination with voice acting) it was very easy to determine when Matt was in character or not. It wasn’t a bad thing; Matt’s very casual narration and formal dialogue leading up to the Chroma Conclave’s attack on Emon was excellent because it was so sudden, leading the players and the audience to experience the exact same shock the NPCs would have. It’s not a bad way to narrate. If anything, it made the heartfelt moments so poignant, especially at the end of the campaign. That description of snow drops would not have been nearly as impactful if Matt had narrated that way all the time.

In C2, Matt started getting more descriptive and slowed down his narration to match. As Aabria would put it, he “paints a word picture” and includes more environmental storytelling for the setting itself, not just things for the characters to expressly interact with. I think this is part of what led to the Nein interacting with the set dressing more: Matt mentioned it, so it must be important! This led to some fun hijinks as time went on, and it gave Wildemount a different feeling than Tal’dorei. I couldn’t tell you that Emon had a particular vibe to it other than it being a big city, but howdy do we know that Berleben is full of nosy, bored people in a smelly swamp, and we sure know that Zadash is a bustling city with stark class segregation while Nicodranas is a beautiful trade hub with a mixture of different cultures. I think part of that may have come from working on the source books (they have similar language for the plot hooks and location entries). However, that method of narration was mostly limited to first descriptions of a new place or events (“cutscenes” like the attack in Zadash). Within a scene, Matt was still fairly casual in his discussions with the players.

But currently in Age of Umbra, and with a good chunk of C3, Matt’s narration is far more deliberate. There is a consistently slower pace compared to earlier campaigns, usually only speeding up in combat. Part of that may be for production purposes (easier for transcriptions and closed captioning), but it also impacts the pacing of the game itself. There’s also that presence of a new character: the narrator himself has a voice, and that is now part of the story. It’s extremely noticeable when the cast gets Matt to “break character” as the narrator to only be a DM. It requires a baseline level of formality for that to happen, and Matt committed to it in nearly every scene, regardless of the context of the scene. While that doesn’t feel all that strange for Age of Umbra (it fits well with the soulsborne style of game), it does make me realize that it’s part of why C3 felt incongruous. Like, sorry about the dead horse, but I was expecting C3 to be pulpy, which very much benefits from the narration style of C1 rather than the formal narration style Matt prefers currently. Punchy, informal narration sets a player expectation of “you’re here to get something done and I’ll tell you if it works,” while the current style instead lends itself to “you’re part of my story and this is the tone.” The former is great for fast-paced roleplay and the latter is suited to unhurried storytelling—which wouldn’t feel as mismatched if C3 hadn’t been a story where the PCs needed to prevent a second calamity within the course of a few weeks.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that this was a mistake. Matt clearly enjoys how he narrates currently, and every DM is entitled to their preference. However, I think there’s a lesson in here that varying the narration style to match the purpose of the scene and story would benefit the players and the audience.

To be fair here, Matt is not the only DM who doesn’t mix it up very often. Brennan Lee Mulligan (Dimension 20) is far closer to the C1 style of fast, informal narration with very limited, specific instances where he would slow down for drama; there is no “narrator” character in his players’ story. D20 has a far more casual tone to its seasons than CR does in its campaigns. Luis Carazo (Tales Unrolled) narrates similarly to Matt, with a focus on instilling an emotional reaction for the players to deal with, and the players collaboratively join Luis as the narrator for their own characters; it’s a back and forth where the DM and players contribute to that additional presence. Tales Unrolled is on the opposite end of the spectrum from D20, with a clear feeling that it is a storytelling experience.

Again, choosing one narration style over another isn’t necessarily a flaw. However, I think varied narration is a tool that most DMs underutilize. If used carefully, adjusting narration styles within sessions on the fly could enhance the experience of an Actual Play campaign for everyone involved. It could be used as a signal to the players for what type of scene this will be or when a scene is shifting. It could also signal to performers in a show for pacing within an episode (hijinks are over, time for some drama; time to cool down from the tension).

But, as always, it’s easier to point stuff out like this than it is to do it in practice.

#critical role #matt mercer #also #am I the only one doing all three AND d20 AND tales unrolled?#I might have a problem #PS I just realized I wrote snow caps instead of snow drops too late don’t mind me I want little candies

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semperama · 2 months ago

Note

hi erin you should tell us all about what you think happened after ryan followed oliver through the doors of the hotel and they went upstairs together 👀

"Get in here," Oliver says, fingers hooked in Ryan's collar.

"Why are you so bossy?" Ryan stumbles after him, through the door, and he honestly doesn't know which room this is, his or Oliver's, but who cares, who even cares.

"Why are you so infuriating?" Oliver says. Ryan loves how he says it, his accent dancing staccato over each syllable, the 'ing' transformed into a crisp 'en'. He kicks the door shut hard, and they probably just woke up half the hall, but all Ryan can do is giggle.

"How come you can even say infuri--infur--?" He laughs harder, falling against Oliver and pushing his face into his shoulder. He could have sworn they were matching each other drink for drink, but when Oliver starts shaking with laughter, it feels more like he's laughing at him than with him. "Shut up, bro."

"Don't call me 'bro' right now," Oliver says, pushing him backward and stripping his jacket down his arms at the same time. "These fucking suspenders."

"Yeah?" Ryan asks, suddenly breathless. Even more breathless when Oliver grabs the suspenders and uses them to swing him against the wall next to the door, his back hitting it hard enough to make his teeth clack together. Still, he recovers enough to add, grinning, "You want me to call you 'babygirl' instead?"

"Don't you dare," Oliver says, and then proceeds to shove his tongue into Ryan's mouth so he can't.

They do this sometimes. Usually when they've been drinking, but not always. There are no rules. It's a certain glint in Oliver's eye or a tug in Ryan's gut, the way the air crackles between them. They do it, but they don't talk about it, and it's back to normal in the morning.

"Did you do this on purpose?" Oliver asks, mouth against his jaw as he tugs on the suspenders again and then lets them snap against Ryan's chest. Ryan hisses, digs his fingers into Oliver's waist.

"Not everything is about you, babygirl," he says. Only after the words are out does he hear the echo of Eddie in his head, You'd make it all about you, again. He wonders how Buck would like being called 'babygirl'. He thinks Buck would like it.

"I hate you so much," Oliver says, but his mouth is curved into a grin against the skin of Ryan's neck. He kisses down to the base of Ryan's throat and flattens his tongue there, and Ryan rolls his hips forward, and they both groan.

"Bed," Ryan says. "Come on, bed."

He tries to push Oliver backward, but he doesn't budge, his bulk pinning Ryan to the wall. "Nuh-uh," Oliver says. "Not letting you get undressed." He runs his fingers down the suspenders, and then hooks them in the waistband of Ryan's pants. "Just get your dick out."

"Fuck," Ryan breathes as Oliver drops to his knees. His hands go to Oliver's head automatically, raking against the crunch of gel out of his curls, but Oliver grabs him by the wrists and pushes him away.

"What did I just say?" he says.

Between the alcohol and the arousal, Ryan feels like he's moving through jello as he fumbles with his fly. It's not easy, fishing himself through the slit in his briefs when he's most of the way to drunk and still so fucking hard. How long has he been hard? It feels like most of the night, but that can't be right. Someone would have noticed.

"Yeah," Oliver says, like he can't help himself, when Ryan finally frees his cock, strokes it twice. Oliver leans in, tongue out, and Ryan curses under his breath as he feeds himself right into Oliver's mouth.

It's amazing how it always feels like the first fucking time. Ryan still gets the same little illicit thrill down his spine, the same swoop in his gut. It feels insane that Oliver would even want him, but there he is, kneeling in front of him, tugging Ryan's suspenders again to pull him deeper into his mouth.

Ryan's hands go back to Oliver's hair, crunching it in his grip this time to get the product out of it, get to the soft curls underneath. He pulls a little, and Oliver pulls the suspenders in return, and somehow they get into a rhythm, Ryan fucking shallowly into Oliver's mouth, Oliver urging him on, groaning around him. He keeps trying to pull Ryan into his throat, but Ryan can see the drool leaking from the corners of his mouth, and this suit doesn't belong to him. Neither of them are strangers to being careful with a costume; it's second nature. This isn't a costume, technically, but it feels like one. It feels like Ryan has been wearing one all night, but it's stripped away a little more each time Oliver swallows around him.

Sweat sticks the shirt to Ryan's back, and he keeps reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. With alcohol sloshing through his veins, everything feels sloppy and syrupy and warm. He reaches down and presses his thumb to the corner of Oliver's plush mouth, and Oliver hums, and Ryan realizes, suddenly, how close he is. His grip slackens in Oliver's hair, and he lets Oliver take over entirely, yanking him forward again, again, every now and again letting the suspenders snap against his stomach with a sharp, satisfying pop.

"Please," he hears himself say, distantly, and then Oliver pulls him deeper, face pressed to the front of Ryan's pants after all, and Ryan's orgasm kicks him in the gut. He shoots into Oliver's mouth, feels him swallow, looks down and meets his eyes and gasps against the way his heart tries to jump into his throat.

"Come here, come here," he says while he's still coming down from it, but Oliver is one step ahead of him, getting to his feet and tugging Ryan's shirttails out of his pants, fumbling with the buttons. Somehow Oliver manages to get Ryan's shirt open beneath the suspenders while Ryan jerks Oliver's fly open, and then their hands meet on Oliver's cock, wrapping around it together, stripping it hard and fast.

"Mmm, gonna mess up your slutty waist," Oliver says, and Ryan feels the blood rush to his face as he leans in to kiss the shit-eating grin off Oliver's lips.

It takes no time at all before Oliver is spilling warm over Ryan's skin, collapsing forward so he's grinding out the last of his release, their hands trapped together between their bodies. The suit is going to be unsalvageable after all, but Ryan doesn't fucking care. He buries his nose behind Oliver's ear and breathes him in, feels the flutter of his pulse. If they move, his knees might give out, so he's happy to stay here while Oliver's come drips down his abs.

"Shower?" Oliver asks after a minute, but he doesn't move except to press a kiss to Ryan's collarbone.

Ryan peels his eyes open and looks around. "Are we in my room or yours?"

Oliver chuckles, pulls back enough to look at him. "Mine," he says. "Come on. You can borrow some of my clothes after."

The thought of it makes Ryan blush--which seems silly, given what they just did. Oliver notices, reaches up to chase the heat of it with his thumb. They have shit to do tomorrow, and it's going to be hard enough with a hangover and too little sleep. But for this moment, Ryan doesn't care. He lets Oliver take his hand and tug him toward the bathroom. He can't stop smiling.

#ryliver #911 show #this took longer than i thought it was going to but i got so sucked in #i would have just put it on ao3 but i'm deliriously tired now lol #i wanted to push through and finish it!!#and it's probably too late to be posting it but whatever. bon appetit.

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thisapplepielife · 3 months ago

Text

Written for @steddiebingo.

he keeps on loving me (and i keep on wondering why)

Prompt: Proposal | Word Count: 3503 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: AU, Established Steddie, Rural Living, Corroded Coffin Guys, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Living Life Isn't Always Easy, But Loving Each Other Is

Also on ao3 || bonus: mini vid edit

The sun is hot, blisteringly so, and Eddie steps on the edge of the shovel again. Pushing down hard. Digging into the old red dirt that's hidden away under the sod. Twisting, taking another chunk out, before tossing it aside. He'd just gotten the grass looking green instead of brown, at the cost of effort and time, both of which are always in short supply. Now there's gonna be an eyesore of a trench cutting across the yard.

Figures.

Get one step ahead, only to get knocked three steps back. It's all Eddie's ever known.

There's definitely a stoppage, and the rural sewer district insists it's on their side, not the county's, which makes it Eddie's responsibility to fix.

Wayne borrowed a hand crank snake from a friend at work, and they never even met resistance as they worked it down through the drain, as far as it'd go. The cleanout still running water out indicated the clog wasn't in the house, but somewhere else in the line, so they rented a hundred foot snake to run down the cleanout.

Sure that'd get it.

Still nothing.

For plan C, Wayne helped him mark the main line, suggesting he dig it up, further out. The shittiest proposal Eddie's ever heard.

But Eddie's doing it. Calling a plumber would take time and cost money, and if Wayne thinks they can do it themselves, well, Eddie trusts him. Wayne hasn't steered him wrong yet.

Eddie is getting concerned the longer he finds nothing, but fuck it. If he gets to the road, it's no longer his responsibility. He'd just have to eat the sunk time costs he's expended.

Goodie's supposed to be bringing out a borrowed mini excavator tonight, if he can. It's been hard with their schedules to make it happen, working opposite shifts at the refinery will do that, but it's getting dire. Eddie has started to believe that they only used to have a band. Past tense. With two of them working the night shift, and the other two working days, it's been an exercise in futility to actually get together at all these days, let alone play. Families, kids, work, overdue bills, all means music takes a backseat. Has to.

Eddie has considered pawning his guitar a time or two, but has never quite been able to make himself go through with that last resort option.

Doesn't matter right now. He's got bigger fish to fry, like digging this trench with his own two hands, if he'd like the drains to ever work again. The smell alone is motivation to keep digging.

That, and he's scared this might actually be the thing that's gross enough to finally send Steve running back to the city.

Eddie hears the car before he sees it. That's how it works out in the country. It might be Wayne coming back with another shovel, or maybe even Gareth is awake and ready to help. He hopes for Goodie and Jeff, but knows they aren't off work yet. When he catches sight of the BMW crawling along the dirt road, kicking up red dust, Eddie stops and leans against the handle of his shovel, smiling.

Steve.

The pretty college boy that stayed.

The boy in the khaki pants, and polo shirts, that hid a wicked smile and angel eyes. He blew into the bar Eddie was working in, sweaty, dirty, after struggling with a flat tire that stranded him. Wanting to borrow the bar phone to call a tow truck.

Eddie could do it better, and faster, himself.

He walked down the block with him, and it was a production. His tire was definitely ruined, and the donut was a little low, but held air when they took it out to the filling station on the edge of town, Steve riding along in Eddie's pickup, face turned towards the window, wind blowing against his face, happy.

Even with the shitty night he'd clearly had.

Tire changed, Steve wouldn't take no for an answer, shoving a wad of cash into his palm. It was more than he'd make in a night, lugging glasses and dirty dishes.

Eddie told him to go slow, to get a new tire tomorrow, and tapped the roof of the car.

And when Steve pulled away from the curb in that shiny BMW, Eddie assumed he'd never see him again.

But then he just kept coming back.

Steve was charmed by Eddie, for some goddamn reason Eddie will never understand, not fully. With a wallet full of money, and no real responsibilities other than getting his ass to classes on time. All Eddie's ever had were responsibilities beyond his years. Steve would have been easy to hate, if he hadn't been so…Steve. Gorgeous, funny, but tinged with just a little bit of sadness that only seemed to lift once he was sure Eddie wasn't annoyed by him coming and hanging out.

Driving out from the nearby college town to sit in a dingy, small town bar, just to be entertained by the barback that always got less work done on the nights he turned up.

He always seemed kind of lost, until Eddie was the lucky bystander that found him.

Steve's never divulged much about home, about his life back in Indiana, about his parents. He talks about them, sometimes, but says nothing. Eddie feels like he almost doesn't know any more about Steve's family today than he did that first night. Eddie's sure he came from a silver spoon, golden rule, private school, never missed Sunday church, good upstanding family.

But for some reason, he took a shine to Eddie. The blue collar, low dollar, out here where concrete meets old red dirt barback that didn't run him off the second he came back to the bar to do homework. Like the college library wouldn't have been a better place for that. But he kept coming back on nights Eddie worked, and Steve worked hard to charm him, like he didn't have it backwards. Eddie needed to chase him, not the other way around.

When he kissed Eddie for the first time, Eddie didn't expect more than a night or two. To maybe be his dirty little secret, while Steve publicly courted some rich college girl he'd go on to marry.

But that's not Steve Harrington.

No, Steve loves who he loves, and is loyal to a goddamn fault when he's loved back. Even when it meant he got cut off from all that old money. He acted like it didn't matter. Like a cushion of generational wealth wouldn't have made his life exponentially easier. He still stayed.

And has kept staying.

Steve could have anyone, anywhere, but he's chosen Eddie. He's chosen to make his home here in this little inherited farmhouse, with Wayne in his trailer just up the road.

He's chosen to work a job that he's overqualified for, and underpaid to do, just so he can live with Eddie in a house where all the drains are backing up into each other. Not even complaining about standing in the slow to drain shower water while Eddie figures it out.

It sure doesn't add up on paper, that's for damn sure, that Steve keeps on loving him, while Eddie keeps wondering why. Questioning why Steve Harrington is his biggest fan, his partner.

His love.

It doesn't make a lick of sense.

Steve wears his heart on his sleeve, except for when talking about home, no matter how many times Eddie has tried to pry. He just says his parents are out of the country, probably. No reason to go home to an empty house.

They might not stay in one place, but Steve definitely has, stepping out of that fancy car, hanging onto the door frame as he gives a little wave at Eddie, "Still no luck?"

"Not yet," Eddie admits. His hands hurt. He can't stop for long, or he won't want to start again. It's always easier to keep doing the thing that hurts, rather than stop and then have to get going again. Wayne taught him that.

Steve slams his car door, disappears in the house. When he reappears, he's in old jeans, and a well-worn t-shirt. Holes around the neck, and sleeves. And one that seems strategic around his belly button.

Eddie smiles, taking him in.

"Let me take a turn," Steve says, stepping down into the trench Eddie's been digging. Straddling the exposed sewer line. Eddie wonders what Steve's parents would think if they could see him. Their perfect boy, digging ditches, by choice. That he'd rather do that with Eddie than go home.

He could work for his dad, in some fancy office building that most likely wouldn't smell like literal shit.

But Eddie tells him where to dig, how deep, and lets him get involved in the project. Let's him pull his weight, as Steve'd say. That's important to him, even if it's not to Eddie.

They take turns digging until reinforcements arrive.

Eddie and Gareth take off a night from the refinery that they can't really afford. It's dark when Eddie crawls up into the bed of Wayne's truck and then helps pull Gareth up, careful of Gareth's bum knee. It's getting worse by the day, even Gareth is pretending it isn't.

Once up there, both of them hold spotlights for Goodie and Jeff to see what they're doing. Night digging isn't ideal, especially not the night before Goodie's wedding. But it's the only evening they've all had time off at the same time. They have to make due, life demands it.

Goodie's twenty-eight, which is nearly ancient to get married around these parts. Jeff and Gareth both got married right out of high school, it's just what's done. Not Goodie, though. He took his sweet time. He's just lucky Mel was patient enough to wait on his sorry ass.

Eddie razzes him about being last, about being scared to commit, but Goodie snaps back that no he's not last, Eddie's last.

Which is true. He supposes. He wasn't counting himself.

He's not scared to commit to Steve. He's already committed. Besotted. Wrapped around Steve's little finger, and happy about it. Knows he won the goddamn lottery, all for the price of changing a flat tire. Something he'd have done for anybody.

Steve wasn't anybody, though.

And when he wanted to stay, Eddie took the refinery job that he'd been avoiding like the plague, just to make ends meet a little bit easier. Wayne getting him hired on — no muss, no fuss.

Now, Jeff's guiding Goodie along in the dark as he claws the excavator into the yard. Careful not to go too deep. They don't want to make the problem worse. Pulling away dirt, and grass. Not the sewer line itself.

They find it. Smell it. A tree root that's grown far — far enough that Eddie never suspected the goddamn tree of burrowing through the pipe, creating this mess of a problem. At least they know what they need to do to fix it, now. That's better than not knowing.

It's two in the morning, and they scrub their hands with Lava soap at the outside hydrant as Mel, Carla and Di unpack food on the tailgate. Di with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest. The newest one. The other older kids, a mix of Gareth's and Jeff's, are all sleeping in the backseats of the cars.

Eddie bites into a fried pork chop, holding it by the bone. It feels like it did when they were teenagers, hauling hay for a nickel a bale. Sweating their asses off, eating lunch out in the fields, covered glass dishes of homemade fried chicken or whatever else the wives of the farmers they'd been hired by had made for them. It was always good, but often sat heavy in their guts in the summer sun.

Tonight though, it's dark, and cool enough to actually be pleasant. They sit around and eat off paper plates, talking, all together for the first time in a long time. Like there's not a wedding they'll all be at later this afternoon. Like they shouldn't all be home, getting their beauty sleep.

But they don't take these opportunities for granted, they are few and far between, circumstances be damned.

Steve doesn't cook, not really, claims he never learned how. Eddie likes to imagine he had personal chefs and butlers attending to his every whim, and that's how he showed up here, not knowing how to boil water. He just never had to learn.

Because his life had been easier, which Eddie is grateful about, honestly. He loves Steve too much to wish his own childhood on him.

He wouldn't want him to be like the little Eddie that had to pull a chair up to the stove when he was too short to reach, just to heat up a can of Spaghetti-Os while Wayne was at work. He was a latchkey kid after his mother's death. He'd ride the bus home alone, the last kid off, and let himself in with the key around his neck, alone. Where he'd stay until seven, when Wayne got home work. Tired, worn out, but still happy to see Eddie it always seemed. Ready to hear about his day. In return, Eddie learned to be responsible. To not burn the house down. To be good.

To brush his teeth without being told, and to lock the doors and go on to bed on time on nights that overtime kept Wayne away longer.

Eddie minded, because he couldn't afford to lose Wayne, too.

He knows now, that was never gonna happen. But at seven, it sure seemed like a pressing concern.

But Steve didn't live that life, and Eddie's shown him how to do things. He can change a tire now. And now he can dig out a sewer line. He can also make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and boxed macaroni and cheese that's only sometimes over or under-cooked. And that's what he's made tonight. Nobody complains, just eats the potluck of food, eyes drooping. Bone tired like they always are.

Everybody else finally heads home, ready to crash. When Eddie stumbles into the house to shower before bed, he doesn't take the now fully draining shower for granted. Not tonight, not ever.

Eddie's appreciative that Steve made them anything tonight. He definitely didn't need to, he'd made a lot of headway digging before the heavy machinery arrived. Steve's tough as nails, made of hardy stock, even if he doesn't always look like it. Eddie likes to imagine Steve hauling hay. Perhaps shirtless, glistening in the sun as he tossed bales like they weighed nothing. Eddie would have got nothing done if Steve had been there to gawk at, that's for sure. It was much easier to work alongside Goodie bitching, Jeff making him do it anyway, and Gareth struggling with the hooks.

With the water hitting his face, and then disappearing down the drain like it should, Eddie is relieved that it's fixed. Even if they had to do it after dark, under spotlights.

Steve's standing in the kitchen, wearing his glasses, hair a mess after air drying. But he's pouring two mugs of what he calls nighty night tea as Eddie slides into a mismatched vinyl chair at the kitchen table.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Eddie says, picking up his mug. Mindful of the forming blisters on his hands. They're gonna hurt.

In bed, Steve slings his leg over Eddie's, just so they can touch. They both needed to be asleep hours ago. They have a big day tomorrow.

In the morning Eddie knows Steve will dress to match him, he's seen him do it before, as to not overdress for events out here in the sticks. Weddings out here aren't like he's used to back home, Eddie's sure. No black tie. No sit-down dinner. Just cake and punch and cream cheese mints in a church hall basement.

Afterwards, they'll all go out for beers at the bar.

Wedding over, Steve dances with Di, spinning her across the small bar dance floor, her best dress twirling out, as she laughs.

Eddie watches, smiling.

They love Steve as much as Eddie does. Steve might not have grown up here, not like them, but he fits in, did from the jump, honestly. Once they got past his stuffy clothes, and that over shellacked helmet of hair he's grown out longer, softer and let get messy and messier over the years.

He's learned to two-step since he's been here, and the wives are all over him because of it. There's a gracefulness to him that none of the rest of them can replicate. It's natural to him. Innate. A fluidity that Eddie assumes only money can buy.

Steve's definitely tipsy, and edging towards drunk. Eddie can tell just by looking at him. He's laughing, having the best time, Di happily along for the ride.

Gareth isn't looking at them, his head is down on the bar, leg up on Eddie's thigh. Propping that knee up. Not even the shots tonight haven't helped. His knee is fucked, and they're gonna have to do something. Sooner rather than later.

"I can't drum with no knee," Gareth declares, head on his arms.

Well, that's true. But that's the least of their concerns. He can't feed his kids if he can't work, and that's a little more pressing.

Eddie rests his hand on Gareth's calf, rubbing it softly. Steve said he will call in a favor, and Eddie doesn't know what that means. Not exactly. He asked if his dad, or mom, is a doctor and Steve just laughed, so he assumes not.

Whatever trick he has up his sleeve, they'll take it.

"We're gonna get it fixed, don't worry," Eddie tells him, but worry is all they do around here.

The night is winding down. Last call. The bride and groom, long gone.

Eddie settles up their tab. When he goes to collect Steve, he's grinning.

"What?" Eddie asks, unable to keep from smiling back.

"You ever gonna marry me?" Steve asks, a happy drunk, leaning too close to Eddie's face.

Eddie swallows. Well, for one, they can't. Not legally. And for another, he had no idea Steve wanted that. That he's been waiting. It's the best proposal he's ever heard.

"Is that what you want?" Eddie asks, putting his hands on Steve's hips, holding him steady. "You could do better, you know?"

"Pfft, never," Steve slurs, pouting out his lower lip. "Duh, 'course I want you to marry me. Because you love me."

Eddie laughs, patting his hip.

"I do love you, sweetheart. And I'll marry you. Just tell me a time and place."

The grin Steve gives him is blinding, but still slightly wicked. Eddie's not even sure he'll remember this tomorrow. Still, Eddie'll take the proposal for the earnest wish that it is, at least in this moment.

He knows Steve loves him, and only god knows why, because Eddie sure as hell doesn't.

In the morning, Steve's hungover at the table, eyes closed, black coffee steaming in his mug. Oh, it's bad if he hasn't diluted it with ungodly amounts of cream and sugar yet.

"Mornin'," Eddie says quietly, sure Steve's got a pounding headache. He's not about to make it worse by being too loud.

Steve tilts his head backwards, opening his eyes, "In the yard, here at home, after the grass grows back."

"What's that?" Eddie asks, pouring his own cup of coffee.

"Where and when I want to get married. I'm telling you," Steve clarifies and Eddie grins to himself, back still turned away from Steve.

When he turns, he flashes a smile Steve's way, "Okay, sweetheart. That's what we'll do," he says, leaning down. Wrapping his arm around Steve's neck, maneuvering him into position to kiss his face, his cheeks, making him laugh before capturing his lips, sealing the deal.

"But for now, I want hangover eggs," Steve demands, and Eddie can do that. He can definitely do that.

Eddie gets a jar of Wayne's home canned whole tomatoes out of the pantry, and when he's finished, he scoops the tomato and egg mixture onto a plate, next to two slices of toast. Wayne's recipe. He watches as Steve uses the toast to break the first yolk, and smiles. Perfect. Just like Steve.

He drapes both of his arms over Steve's shoulders, down his chest, pressing his face close to Steve's. He's so goddamn lucky.

Steve Harrington not only wants to marry him, but also said that this house, Eddie's little piece of heaven, his mother's childhood house, his childhood safe haven, is home.

He couldn't ask for more, or better. Steve's it. Everything. And he wants to celebrate their already built life here in this place Eddie has lived most of his. With his mom, before, and then with Wayne, after.

And now, forever, with Steve.

Inspired by the song "Wondering Why" by The Red Clay Strays. I also have a little vid edit I made set to the song that inspired this whole idea. It was an earworm that had to be dealt with in fic and video form. It was just screaming to be steddiefied, lol. (Title come from the song, as well.)

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo.

My masterlist for my bingo card can be found here.

#steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingo #prompt: proposal #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fan fic #steddie fic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiebingo

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