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jarofstyles · 4 months

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Baby, It's Cold Outside

So basically this was meant to be a shorty, but it turned into almost 9k of cuteness and smut. So happy holidays, my loves! Here is some friends to lovers cuteness and filth <3

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Warnings: Smut

WC- around 9k

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Y/N hadn’t meant to fall asleep on Harry’s couch. Honest.

But anyone who had the pleasure of sitting on the cloud like crimson couch could tell you, it was hard to get out of it once you were in. Harry had to answer some business emails, of course, because as much as she liked her friend, she was well aware he was a workaholic. Lawyer by day, and by night. He had invited a few people over for a movie night but Y/N was the only one who was free- but it was fine. It meant more popcorn and pizza for them anyways- and he had been a doll and ordered her the BBQ Chicken pizza on a flat crust. She got it all to herself as they watched the original claymation of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, which was a classic if you asked her. Her stomach full, she still picked at some of the M&M’s and tried to ignore the little jump her heart gave when their hands brushed. Their thighs had already been knocking together and Y/N had been trying to talk some sense into herself considering she knew there was no meaning to it. He sat close to her so they could both reach the popcorn and share the candies! He kept the bowl balanced on his thigh so she could reach over and get it. Duh.

But after their second movie, Elf, his phone began to ping. Why, Y/N didn’t know. It was literally 9 in the evening, there was no reason to do so, but when Harry asked if she was okay with him stepping away for a few moments to answer some things in his office, she didn’t make a fuss. No, she continued watching albeit with a slightly heavier heart when 30 minutes had passed and he hadn’t reappeared- but that was neither here nor there.

She can’t remember doing it, burying her face in the pillow that he had been using and curling up into a little ball on his couch, snoozing away. The warmth of his home was welcoming, and she was vaguely aware that the wind had picked up outside- but she fell asleep shortly after. Firmly planted in dreamland where she was picking blueberries for a pie in the summer. Why that exact dream, she wasn’t sure. What she did know is that she stirred to the feeling of a warm hand stroking her head, soft whispers of her name coaxing her from the impromptu nap.

“Y/N?” He murmured, sitting next to her with a furrowed brow. Her eyes peeled open and blinked sleepily at him, confusion written in them as she looked over his face and the fact that the TV had the ‘are you still watching?’ notification on the screen. “Hey, sleepy girl.” He smiled slightly before it dropped. Her heart fluttered in her chest from the close proximity and fondness in his tone. “M’so fucking sorry. Time got away from me and before I knew it I was up there for an hour and a half- and m’a shit friend.” He frowned, unaware of the tantrum Y/N’s stomach was throwing from his hand resting on the side of her head. His thumb was brushing right before her ear, the slight sound tickling a part of her brain she hadn’t even known existed. He made her so nervous.

“Oh.” She said quietly, unsure how to reply. It kind of sucked that he had spent their movie night tucked in his office. Y/N didn’t get to spend a lot of time with Harry lately, his workload picking up, and she had been going on about how good it was to see him for once. The lighthearted teasing held a semblance of truth and Harry could tell, which made him feel pretty shit right now when he saw the slight dejection on his face. If only she knew.

“I know. M’sorry.” He whispered. “But uh….” his eyes strayed to the window. “We’ve got a bigger problem now.”

This had Y/N sitting up, silently mourning the loss of his hand that had flexed slightly as it fell back to the couch. “What do you mean?” Her nerves shot up, turning to look at the window as well. It was significantly cooler in the house now, her arms erupting in chills as her blanket fell from her shoulders as she got up to look. She’d seen a peek of white, but she hadn’t been prepared to see the truth outside. The blur of snow, piling up high and showing no sign of stopping. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, cursing under her breath. She’d gotten an uber here, but there was no way in hell any would be out right now. “Fuck.” Her tone was a soft groan, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “There’s no way I can get a ride home now.”

“I know.” Harry said back. “But it’s a good thing I’ve got lots of blankets, yeah?” He didn’t want to admit to her that there was something in him that was almost excited that she would be trapped here with him. That the reason everyone else had canceled was the weather, apparently, that neither of them looked into until Harry had checked his phone just moments before waking her up. It was going to snow all night, and all day. Y/N was stuck here, and he didn’t know for how long.

“Are you sure?” Nibbling her bottom lip, Y/N worried. She didn’t want to be a pain but there was no way she was walking home in this. No way Harry would ever let her either- and it wasn’t like she could ask him to drive her, it wouldn’t be safe. There was no other option other than staying.

“Course I am. Are you kidding?” He scoffed. “We can just continue watching. I really am sorry- we’ve got this case, the wife is trying to take half the assets.” He moved towards the couch and began to move things back to neaten it up. “We were trying to negotiate but then the PI that the husband hired found the proof of her infidelity, so it changed the case structure completely. I got in my own head, and I apologize.” It was obvious he actually felt really bad about it. Harry was passionate about his job, working with personal injury, divorce, and estate law. It made sense to her considering he was a busybody, and apparently could argue with anyone about anything- she’d seen it first hand with a tipsy Harry and Niall at karaoke night, arguing over the perfect color for those little drink umbrellas.

“It’s okay, Harry.” She smiled softly. “I wish I could find something to be as passionate about and make my job. M’just stuck at the cafe for now.” She joked. The cafe was fine, she liked her coworkers, but there was no passion there. She did her job, collected her money and went home.

“You will, love. It’s never too late.” He was always encouraging of her going after her dreams, especially over one drunken conversation about wishing she could do art full time- but Y/N was a realistic person and she had real rent to pay. Being a no-one in the art field would lead to ‘exposure’ work and exposure didn’t pay the bills. She needed to work on it but she was always so tired after work- eventually she would get there, but it was nice to know that someone believed in her. One of her paintings hung over his fireplace, actually, making her smile every time she came over. She painted his cat for his birthday, which had actually made him tear up. That had gotten her a very long hug and a solid appreciation for how muscular he was.

Y/N decided to help him out, readjusting the blankets and pillows as he brought the now cold pizza and treats into the kitchen. It was then that it hit her- she was going to spend the night at his house, and possibly the whole day tomorrow. Snowed in at Harry’s House. He was pretty choosy about the people that came over, citing that ‘his home is his sanctuary and he needs to protect it’, which she sort of liked. When she was in college, she had opened her home up for a bit for the parties and decided that she wasn’t a fan of a lot of people in her space either, so knowing he felt similar made her feel special.

“Okay.” He brought out the hard cider. “I’ve got the holiday version and the regular. Both are good, the holiday version is a bit more cinnamon-y.” He held up the bottles, teetering them in his hands. “Which would you like?”

“I’ll go with regular, please. Too much cinnamon makes me sneeze.” She admitted. “Weird, but even when I get it on my coffee I get a bit sniffly.” It was weird, considering it wasn’t exactly an allergy- but maybe a sensitivity.

“Oh, shit.” He raised his brows. “Okay, We’ll do regular then.” He handed it over to her after snapping the cap off with his bottle opener. “Don’t need a sneeze storm along with the snow storm.” The poor attempt of a joke made her snort, shaking her head. Harry’s jokes were infamously horrible, genuinely cringe worthy, but he had to have some sort of flaw. No one was that good looking and went away without something. Taking the frosty glass bottle in hand, she blamed it for the shivers- and not the fact his fingers brushed her own.

“Let’s get started again, yeah? Let me turn my phone off for real this time.”

—-----

The movie watching had turned to more of a movie and chat. Harry sat closer to her than before, claiming it was ‘cold as fuck’ before starting a fire. The room was dim except for the flat screen mounted above said fireplace, his twinkling christmas tree and the comforting warm glow of the flames crackling

“I really am sorry, you know.” He murmured, breaking her out of thought as he let his fingers play with the ends of her hair. Harry had been a bit more touchy tonight, she noticed. She was trying not to let it be known how much it actually affected her. She’d managed to keep her little crush under wraps for months now, and she didn’t want to slip up. It was hard not to, especially after they’d kissed on halloween. It was a dare, of course, everyone tipsy as shit, but it had done something to her. Their costumes accidentally ended up matching, so it was pushed and she didn’t mind. The girl had been so sure she was immune to Harry’s hypnotic charm, but the kiss had been… really fucking good. It wasn’t something that was rated R, but she got a bit of tongue from him, his hand cupping his jaw carefully enough to not mess up her makeup, and the length… If she had been a bit more drunk, she would have pulled him back for more. Since then she’d been a bit fucked. It was both fortunate and not so that Harry got a lot busier at work after that.

“What for?” She asked, giving him a questioning look. Harry had already apologized for taking so long and it wasn’t something she was still upset about. Not with her body buzzing and heating up with him so close to her.

“I’ve been kinda selfish. Forgot to ask more about you.” He frowned. “We’ve been a gossipy bunch tonight but.. You’ve been holding out a bit.” He teasingly tugged her hair. It was hard to keep her shiver from that hidden, as she really liked the feeling. “Remember you told us you’d been seeing someone. How’s that going?”

Y/N was confused for a moment. What was he talking about? Y/N hadn’t gone on a date in months. She wracked her brain, trying to place what he was talking about- when it hit her. Not too long after they’d kissed, Bradley had opened his mouth and asked Y/N about the date she had been on with his friend. Someone she had been set up with, and definitely didn’t like. Her nose crinkled as she shook her head.

“God, you remember that? It was awful.” She said in distaste. “We went to like.. Two dates. The first one and then the second one only happened because Brad kind of pressured me into it.” Her eyes rolled, still annoyed at her lack of a backbone when it came to hurting people’s feelings. She’d been really trying to work on that. The whole putting yourself on the line just to ensure other people are happy and god forbid you hurt someone’s feelings thing.

“Pressured you?” Harry’s fingers paused in her hair. “How do you mean?” She could see it in his face, his irritation rising. One of the things she liked the most about Harry was how respectful he was towards women. It was a hard thing for some men to conceptualize, apparently, but Harry naturally knew how to be a decent human being. It said more about other men than him.

“Well.. After halloween I told Brad I wasn’t feeling it with his friend when he asked me how it went, but he told me how much his friend liked me and I shouldn’t give up on it so quickly. Give him another shot. And then I was a stupid baby and decided to put the random man’s feelings above my own, and it was a second sucky date. I mean, there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with the guy. I was just bored. He just wasn’t my person, y’know? I felt bad wasting his time and giving false hope.” Her lips twisted in a grimace. It wasn’t a thing she was proud of. “But yeah, I know you’ve been busy lately. Though I would have thought Brad would have told you when you guys worked out? You two love to gossip like old hens.” She knew they met up every week.

“Yeah. I would have thought so too.” He said, something underlying in his tone that she didn’t quite get. “He uh.. He told me that you guys still saw each other occasionally, though?” He looked thoroughly confused which in turn, made her even more so.

“I mean, yeah. Kind of? He comes into the cafe and we’re friendly enough. I ended up telling him after the second date that I wasn’t seeing it go anywhere but I’d like to be friends. I’d say we’re more acquaintances than anything else, but he’s got a girl he’s seeing. I served them the other day.” Y/N wasn’t sure why Harry looked upset, almost annoyed at the information, but she was going to find out. “I’m sorry, are you okay? You just look annoyed, is all.” She tried her best to be soft about it, but she had no idea why on earth he would be annoyed about what she just said.

“No- no, s’nothing you did.” He assured her, rubbing over her back once he realized she was taking his expressions personally. “It’s just- he kept saying you guys hit it off and made it seem like… like you were taken by him. I dunno why he’d do that when…” He paused, shaking his head. It confused her even more, unsure as to why Brad would do that either. What did he have to gain by lying- or stretching the truth?

“When, what?” She asked. What would be in it for him?

“I don’t want t’make it weird, but he knew I was plannin’ on asking you out after Halloween but… he told me you and his friend had hit it off.” He stiffened slightly. “I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, it’s water under the bridge, but I’m just a little upset that he lied.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“He did what?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure… what the motive for that was.” He scratched the base of his neck uncomfortably. It was obvious he hadn’t necessarily wanted to divulge that information to her but she was really fucking glad he did.

She was also angry. Brad knew damn well Y/N and his friend didn’t hit it off and he had told him, albeit politely, straight to his face. It pissed her off immensely if he was being honest. It only made her hypothesis more glaringly correct the more she thought about it, but it wasn’t her place to tell Harry that Brad most definitely had a nasty, big crush on him as well. It was hard not to have one on him, having fallen victim to the Styles Charm herself.

“I don’t either but… No. M’single. I have been for months.” She admitted, not sure if the feeling in her stomach was caused by the alcohol, the anticipation, or the revelation. “I would have said yes, by the way. If you’d asked.” Finding the nerve to meet his eye, she was taken aback at the pure green mixed with a splash of oceanic blue. She’d been up close before but this felt other worldly. Knowing that he was planning on asking her out in any capacity had the feeling in her stomach intensify, looking into eyes that were so pretty it shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yeah?” He asked quietly, the air stilling slightly in the room. He was looking back just as intensely, just as intently, making her body react in ways she hadn't felt in a long time. Giddy, like a kid on christmas from the revelation. “Well… I feel a little silly now. Should have just asked you myself. But… he said you were happy and I didn’t want to intrude on that but it was hard t’be around and not want to tell you so, I kinda buried myself in work for a bit. I didn’t want to be a miserable bastard, like some child who had his toy taken away, but I felt sad that I’d missed my chance.”

The frown on his face made Y/N want to coo. He was so, so sweet. This man. He was incredible, wasn’t he? So human, but honest. Admitting his honest feelings to her despite them being potentially embarrassing. Y/N took a bit of his confidence in tow as she replied to his words, still anxious but knowing that if he could, so could she.

“I missed you. Was sad you stopped coming around.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. There was a new energy, a static between them that she could feel on her fingertips. “It wasn’t silly, though. Your feelings are valid. I understand. I’d probably be a bit hurt if I had a great kiss with someone and then found out they were supposedly seeing someone else not long after. It’s an icky feeling.” Y/N truly couldn’t blame him. She could blame Brad, though. She would.

“Yeah, but I should have… I dunno. Something felt off, I should have trusted my gut as you like to say.” He teased lightly, moving his hand up to the side of her neck. “But… ‘great kiss’, huh?” His raspberry lips, still wet from his sip of beer, turned up in a smirk. “You thought so? How great was it, really?”

Y/N could feel herself flush. God, she had been speaking truth so it hadn’t crossed her mind on how she worded it but somehow, she wasn’t regretting it. If anything, she felt a bit of relief, though his teasing made her flustered. “Stop.” She pushed his shoulder. “I was just- I was just saying.” She grumbled, eyes falling from his back to his curled mouth. She remembered just how good it felt against her own, how his hand had tightened on the back of her costume and urged her closer while the other had delicately held her jaw. A gentle, commanding presence. A will she was willing to bend to.

“Oh, don’t look away, sweetness. M’just teasing.” He cooed, lifting his knuckle to bump her chin back up. “Look cute when you’re embarrassed though. It’s sweet.” His confidence seemed to rise again at her words, which relieved her slightly. At least one of them was feeling it. “For the record- it was a really, really great kiss. S’part of why I wanted to ask you out, hm? Wanted more of that. You’re such a sweet little thing. Always so kind to everyone, maybe a little shy but… s’cute.” Laying on the praise was making her feel like she was boiling, a shy mewl leaving her mouth as she went to divert her eyes again but was interrupted by his hand.

“No more of that. Let me see your pretty eyes when m’talking to you.” It was like he had shifted, making her eyes widen. Her body wanted to respond, blinking rapidly before nodding at him slowly. “Good. Can’t believe there was so much wasted time. M’gonna have words with Brad later, but I don’t think we should wait much more. Do you?” his thumb brushed her bottom lip, making her thighs want to squeeze together. This was a side of him she had only seen the tiniest blip of when they kissed, but god, did she like it. Her body hanging on to his words.

“N-No.” She tripped over the word. “How d’you mean?” The tone was breathless, still in awe of how the situation had shifted. How his hand held the back of her neck and his hand kept her chin up so he could see her eyes. They hooded slightly, tummy twisting in anticipation. He was close, much closer than she had originally thought, and holding her face in a similar fashion to their first kiss.

“Shouldn’t wait to do what we both obviously want. I’d like t’take you out when we’re able to get out of the house, but we were held back because of some lies… and I had a lot planned for us all from that one little, really good kiss.” He murmured. The side of his face was illuminated by the roaring fire, the movie fading into the back of her mind as her eyes searched his face. “It’s been hard to be around you knowing what this mouth tastes like and knowing the pretty little noise you let out when I went t’pull away. Didn’t even want to but you seem to forget to breathe when you’re being kissed, silly girl.” He chuckled under his breath.

“Only with you.” She whispered. It hadn’t been something she meant to say out loud but seeing his smile was worth it- even a tiny bit of a blush if she was seeing correctly. He was stealing a bit of her brain power, she thinks, but at this point she didn’t mind. Harry could take over and she would happily follow.

“Yeah? With me?” He taunted, leaning closer and feeling his nose brush hers. It was cooler than his own, the fire only now starting to heat the room up- but he wanted to keep her warm in another way. At her nod, he let out a sigh. “So can I kiss you again? It’s all I can think about, y’know. When you’re around. Been dying to kiss you and even more. Such a sweet thing, y’are. So good to me. Make me laugh, make me smile. Was gutted when I thought you were with someone else. I’ll tell you a secret.” his thumb brushed her chin again, close enough that his breath could be felt against her lips. “It drove me mad, thinking about you with some other bloke. Someone who I know can’t make you feel half as good as I can. Can’t treat you like the perfect thing you are. Proper princess, aren’t you?”

Y/N was hanging on to his words, nodding along. She always wanted that, wanted to be treated like she was a diamond. To be delicately handled when need be, spoiled with affection. Harry had that quality to him, a man who could take care of business but also come home and dote. At least it seemed that way. She had to imagine him after work, suit jacket strown against the side of the couch and his tie undone, glass of bourbon in his hand. Imagine climbing in his lap and pressing kisses to his face and watching the tension in his body melt away. Let him take out his frustrations on her body instead of letting it fester on his own.

“I can be.” She replied, leaning into him. “I’d like it, a lot.” It felt hard to come up with the right words to express how she felt, how much she genuinely felt the urge to just jump on him- but he beat her to it.

Buttoning their lips together, he scooted closer to her and held her jaw tenderly. Touching her in a way reminiscent of the way he had before, she was stiff for a mere moment before melting into his touch. He was warm, much more so than her, and the blanket that had been thrown over his lap shifted so he could get closer to her. Y/N followed suit, lifting her hand to his chest, palm down on the heated shirt. His heart could be felt thumping away underneath her grasp, cluing her into the fact he was just as worked about about it as she was.

When he pulled back for a second she let out another whine, though the air felt good in her lungs. It was hard to breathe when he was kissing her, not wanting to waste a single second of the experience. Her brain was a loop of his name, not thinking about the oxygen she needed. Now she was needy, knowing that her feelings were returned in a way. She whined again as he halted her from going in again. “Breathe, sweetness. I’ll keep kissing you, but you’ve got t’remember to breathe for me.” His voice was hypnotic and he had all the control. Y/N willingly let it go. She wanted to give it to him.

“Sorry.” She peeped. “It’s hard.. Hard to think.” There was nothing but honesty in her tone, making him want to coo. Y/N was so precious, it hurt. Harry loved that he had this effect on her. The girl was putty in his hands, marshmallow fluff seeping between his fingertips. He hadn’t gotten to see this side of her before and he loved it. Being a man who was in charge most of the time and thoroughly enjoyed it, he loved that she put her trust in him and made herself malleable.

“Mm? S’hard to think when I’m kissing this pretty mouth?” He smiled, “Good. You don’t have to think. I’ll take care of you, sweet thing.” He brushed hair off her face before sitting back on the couch. “Come sit on my lap, darling. Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.” He was taking the reins now, and Y/N eagerly followed. Clambering onto his thighs, he had shucked the blanket to the floor and let her warming body settle on top of his. Her body melting into his lap, she clutched his tee shirt before surging back in and connecting their mouths back together.

Y/N was needy in a way she hadn’t experienced before. One of her hands slipped into his hair as he returned the kiss with matching fervor, sliding his hand down her waist and pulling her in so she was pressed against him. Breasts against his chest, the plushness of her body making his fingers dig a bit deeper as he licked into her mouth. She was his willing accomplice, his sweet escape as she mewled softly against his tongue. This was even better than their first kiss, in the privacy of Harry’s home where she could let herself go fuzzy. She’d known him long enough, trusted him, pined after him- Y/N was ready and willing for him. Spreading her thighs over his lap further and making sure they were touching in every single way possible.

A noise she wasn’t familiar with left her throat, a little grumbly moan as he sucked on her tongue and pulled off before taking more. She hadn’t been kissed like this before, her body burning as it got heated rather quickly.The revelation of returned feelings, the pining they’d silently been doing, the kiss they’d shared that haunted them, the desperation to make up for lost time- it all was a perfect concoction to the perfect storm. Hand sliding over one another, revving up the neediness as she slowly began to shift in his lap. Rolling her hips. A dangerous but necessary move.

“Careful, Darling.” The warning was mumbled against her mouth. “M’burning for you. Keep rubbing yourself against me like a little kitten and m’gonna take care of it.” All of the pent up neediness was showing itself, rearing its head and spilling over onto the carpet. Y/N would be embarrassed if she wasn’t so into him, and if he didn’t help guide her hips on him. She wanted to be his, wanted to know what he sounded like. She was in awe of how good it felt to just rub up against him. The large hand cuffed around her waist while their spit slicked lips hungrily kissed one another. Harry was unraveling her and he barely had to try. Pathetic, maybe, but he had a strong effect.

She continued the movement, even going as far to rub a bit harder before she was physically stopped, his hand gripping her chin and tugging her away. It was disorienting, making her whine in sadness, but she looked at him with a bleary gaze ad his thumb wiped at some of the wetness smeared under her mouth. “Need you to tell me how far t’go.” Harry wanted to be sure he wasn’t crossing any boundaries. He needed to. With any of his partners he established those, but Y/N especially. He would weep if he misunderstood and make her uncomfortable. “C’mon, pretty girl. I know you’re a bit out of it, but let me know what you want.” He could feel her squirm on his lap, but a simple raise of an eyebrow made her freeze.

“Anything.” She whispered. “Anything, please. Just want…” She swallowed, trying to say it properly. “Just want to make you feel good. Want you to want me. S’cold, I need you to keep me warm.” Her tone was a little pathetic, but Harry seemed to enjoy it. Relish in it, actually, with how much she was desperate for it.

“Oh, sweet baby. Want you regardless of what this body offers me… But if you want me to do anything I want, you won’t mind me slipping these off?” He plucked at the waistband of her fuzzy pajama pants. Light blue with little penguins and snowflakes. “And this?” Her white cropped tank top. Her cardigan was hung over the back of the couch, and he had access to the bare skin of the sliver of her stomach. “Yeah?” He replied to her head bobbing in agreement. “I can see my pretty girl and keep her warm?”

“Mhm.” She agreed. “Take it off. Want it off.” Her hands tugged at his shirt, making it lift up slightly. It was well known he was covered in tattoos but she wanted it up close and personal. She wanted bare skin against her own, wanted to bite on the curve of his neck and see what sounds he would make.

“Okay, needy thing.” He laughed through his nose, tugging his shirt over his head to expose himself. Swallows at the collar bones, a dusting of chest hair, the butterfly on his stomach. His arms showing off more ink, his muscles- god, he was good. So fucking hot that Y/N felt herself ruining her panties even further. How was it possible for a man to work her up just from a little kissing and grinding, merely looking at his shirtless form in the way it had for her? “How’s it, hm?”

“So pretty.” Her voice mumbled, running her hands hesitantly down his chest. Brushing his nipples slightly, making him groan before they reached his butterfly tattoo. “You’re so pretty, H.” It made the man’s ego raise up, not really being called pretty all that often. Sexy, handsome, sure. But pretty was a newer one.

“You’re prettier.” He kissed her jaw, tangling his digits in the hem of her top. What he hadn’t expected was for her bare breasts to be exposed as he lifted it up. The top had a built in bra, leaving little to the imagination to begin with but… god, he was in heaven. Dipping his head down, he kissed the top of her chest before making his way down with sticky kisses. “God, fuck me. You’re fucking gorgeous.” He hissed, palming one of her tits. “Been trying to hard to keep my eyes away from these but, but I keep droolin’ over them. Imagined them covered in my cum, did y’know that?” He worked over the curve of the exposed one whilst squeezing the other. Enjoying the feel of her in his palms. “That’s the only way they could look prettier. Covered in me.” His tongue found her nipple, making her squeak.

Y/N let out a squeak, moving a hand to his hair as he worshiped her chest. Licking, kissing, sucking, even biting down softly on her nipple before switching sides, letting his thumb brush over her now wet and slightly swollen nipple. Her cunt wept, her clit throbbing as her breathing got heavier and she tried to withhold her noises. She was making some, sure, but it was embarrassing how much wanted to pour from her lips.

“Don’t hold back from me.” He pinched her nipple harder than before, making her squeal. “Said I wanted to hear those noises, didn’t I? Be good for me.” The slight scolding only made her hotter. Something about the tone, something about Harry having complete and utter control over her body in this way had her panting.

“Sorry, m’sorry.” She simpered, spreading her legs further on his lap. Her hot cunt needed some relief, desperately. Her clit rubbing against him and the fabric of her now useless panties had her mewling, his mouth sucking harder on her nipple, hungry for it. “It feels so good, I can’t think.” Her words came out almost as a cry. She was obsessed with this feeling, albeit a tad overwhelming.

Pulling away fro her nipple with a soft pop, Harry licked over his shiny lips before cooing at her. “Who said you need to think, baby?” He stroked her hair, tangling his fingers in it and firmly tugging her head where he wanted it. “My silly girl. Just let me do the thinking. All you’ve got to do is focus on warming my cock so I can keep you nice n’warm too, yeah? Let me take over a little bit.” His tone was intoxicating, the cadence of his speech placing her under a spell. She wanted this, she wanted him to do this for them. “Good. S’time for these to come off. Want to take a peek at that pussy.” He playfully smacked her ass, motioning for her to stand on her shaky legs and let him tug her leggings down.

“What have you done, sweetness?” He crooned, looking at her panties. “Messy little thing, you’ve soaked right through them.” Nimble fingers rubbed over the gusset of her panties, the warm, wet fabric doing nothing to hide her cunt. The soft pink had gone transparent and sticky, making his cock jerk in his sweats. God, she was exquisite. A complete angel. How had he managed to keep his hands off of her? “Love that you got this sticky for me, baby. Y’like me that much?”

It was almost humiliating, the burn in her cheeks making her hot but… she liked it. She liked how he was talking to her, sweet but a tiny hint of condescending to it. It wasn’t something she knew she liked until this moment- perhaps it was something she just liked with Harry. But she shivered at the feeling of his warm fingers finding her pearled clit under the fabric, rubbing lightly over it. “I do.” She whispered. “Like you a l-lot.” Her words stuttered when he pressed his thumb over her, wiggling it back and forth. It was slightly humiliating, standing in just her wrecked panties in front of the man, but the shame licked into flames of arousal as he pulled her in and peppered kisses to her stomach. Soft, sensual ones that left a print of his saliva there before he pulled back to tug the silly waste of fabric down her legs. They were tossed to the side, Harry switching positions to have her sit on the couch.

“Good. Like you too, sweet girl. Felt so guilty, cumming all over my fist while imagining you. That perfect mouth and these pretty thighs…” He hissed, running his hands over them as he got on his knees in front of her. “But part of me didn’t care. Thought I was fantasizing about someone else’s woman, but it was you. So I did it anyway.” His lips found her sensitive inner thighs, kissing tenderly as he spread her open. “It’s a shame we wasted so much time, but m’not wasting another second.

He didn’t. A gasp tore from her mouth as he licked up her slit, tasting the sweetness he had been deprived of. Something started to unfurl inside of him, settling further as he hooked his hands under her knees and urged them to stay spread as his arms moved to their place. His fands looped around, placing one hand on the mound above her cunt, eyes peering up at her as he took his time. Languid, long licks as he cleaned her up. She had made a mess of herself, and he was taking care of it. Of course he was. He had wanted to do this for months, now. Spreading her open and tasting her right from the source.

It was like he fed off of her sounds. The tiny bucks of her hips that he quickly eased by holding her down slightly, only making her more wet. He was taking mental note of the things that she liked, and being controlled was one of them. He’d never have guessed, but he was having a beautiful time figuring it all out. His cock was throbbing, in need of relief, but he ignored it in favor of her pleasure. Pulling up momentarily, he kept their eyes locked as he let a line of split dribble from his lips to her cunt, stringing over it before he lowered his angled hand and gave her clit a few taps.

“Fuck.” Y/N whimpered. “You’re too good at this. Gonna make me cum.” She was a mess, but Harry wasn’t going to give her that. Not yet, anyways.

“No, sweetness. You’re going to cum around my cock. M’just getting you warmed up.. Although you didn’t seem to need it.” He slipped his finger inside of her after releasing a thigh to rest it on his shoulder. “Nice and wet for me already. I’m just being selfish. Wanted to taste you for ages.” His crush had been there for longer, he supposed. It had grown slowly over time, blossoming into what it was now.

He was torturing her, she was sure of it. His finger, thicker than her own, curling slightly as his mouth attached to her clit, suckling on the swollen bud. How could she hold back from orgasm when it felt this good? She was getting closer and closer with each pull into his mouth, the wet, sounds of sucking filling the air and her hands clenching around his hair, pulling him further into her cunt. His nose brushed up against her and little she could do but take it, he continued on it, working her until her thighs began to shake and the pleasure began to boil in her tummy, almost- until he stopped. Cooing at her as she began to whine, squirming in his hold and almost tearing up at her orgasm that she had been robbed of until he rose up and shut her up with a kiss.

“Told you what I wanted. Don’t pout, as pretty as it is. I’m gonna make you cum, baby.” He brushed their noses together before he walked over to his side table and opened the drawer. One day later she’d ask him about why he had a stash of condoms in there, but for now her eyes were far too focused on the obvious outline of his prick through the sweatpants. Nearly gagging for it, she felt, she peeped up at him as he stood back in front of her. “Normally I’d ask how you’d want it, but since you’re a bit thoughtless today, m’gonna choose. Lay back.” He pointed her in the direction of where he wanted her to lay.

“Don’t- don’t you want me to suck you?” Her voice sounded much needier than she had wanted, but he was endeared. His sweetness was obviously wanting to, looking at him as he palmed over himself and shook his head.

“Not today. I’ll bust right inside that mouth. As much as I want to, and I will have it later… Not now. Want to feel you wrapped around me when I cum.” Slipping down his sweats, Y/N watched as his cock bobbed up and the pulsing between her thighs intensified. He was big, thick, and wet. The tip ruddy, dark pink and weeping with precum and a prominent vein extending over the side, trimmed hair around the base up to the little line of hair that went over his stomach- yes, she had never seen a cock as appealing before, and she was feeling hot over it. He apparently noticed too, a smirk on his lips and dimple extended. “No. You’ll taste it later, but I need to be inside of you.” He liked licking her out a bit too much.

Y/N blinked up at him, nodding her head as she swallowed thickly. Settling between her thighs again, this time on his knees, she watched as he slipped the condom on before taking his other hand and cupped her cheek. He softened his gaze, looking over her face before speaking. “Need you to tell me if you want to stop. Any time, any reason and we can be done and go back to cuddling. I like you for far more than your body, sweetness.” He sighed. “Want this to be good for you. Want you to use your pretty mouth and talk t’me so I know how you feel. Don’t hold back.” He was a homeowner and the walls were thick, so it didn’t matter. No one could hear them past the roaring winds outside. The snow itself was silent, his silent savior for making Y/N stuck with him. “Get me, baby? Words.”

“Yes, I’ll tell you. I want it, I promise.” She whispered. “Think I’ll like anything you do for me. I know I’m safe with you.” And she was. Harry had always been a good friend and she would trust him with her life even beforehand, so handing her body over to his tender care didn’t seem half as scary as it may with someone else. Nerve wracking only because there were feelings there- real feelings they both admitted were felt.

“That’s my girl.” He smiled, brushing the tip against her cunt. “Gonna push in now.” He paused for a moment, leaning over to give her a kiss before righting himself on his knees and giving her what they both wanted. Fuck, was it good.

Y/N had never felt so full in her life. Her fingers curled around his wrists as he held her legs up, her stomaching jumping as she panted, Harry filled her up so well she could cry. So deep, so perfectly curved like his dick had been made for her, she dug her nails into him as she let out cries of pleasure.

“That’s what I wanted, baby. Let me hear you.” He crooned, feeling sweat begin to bead on his brow. Working his cock into her, he listened to the sounds of their sex, how wet she had gotten solely for him, and he was happy. God, he was fucking happy. Not only was he inside of her, but her feelings mirrored his own. She wasn’t taken- but she would be now.

“I feel so good.” She said up to him. “I’m so full and you’re so deep, I don’t know.. How does it feel so good?” It was evident her head was a bit in the clouds, but he was there to take care of her. “Stretching me… Don’t stop.” She babbled, closing her eyes as he hit exactly where she needed.

He continued, watching as her cunt spread open for him. Taking him deep, he was enamored with the sight of her wetness all over his cock, wishing he could ditch the latex covering his shaft. All he wanted was to leave traces of her on his skin, leave her smell and taste. This was only the beginning of their relationship, the very prologue, and he couldn’t get enough of her. “M’not gonna stop, sweet girl. You feel too good.” He exhaled. “S’only our first time. Gonna keep fucking you until you can’t take it.” It was serious. He’d held himself back from her for months now, and it was nearly christmas. “My girl… You take it so well, hm? Think you were meant to take my cock.”

“I was- I am.” She replied, blinking up at him blearily. “Nothing has ever felt so g-good. Want it all the time. Please, I don’t want to feel empty.” Her eyes watered a bit, making his cock twitch as he cooed down at her. Something about it was so erotic to him, watching her cry for his cock. For him. She needed it, needed him and he was the only one that could provide the very thing she needed. He was the only thing she could crave and he would make sure of that.

“Oh, sweetheart. So gorgeous… M’not gonna let you stay empty.” He cooed. “No, I like far too much. Want to be tucked as deep in you, as long as I can. You promised to keep my cock warm, yeah?” He wiped away a tear, bringing it off her face. “I’ll keep you warm too.” And he was. Y/N was beginning to get sticky with sweat. Feeling her hair start to stick to the nape of her neck from the room finally feeling the effects of the fire, or his movements and pleasure, she didn’t know the origin. She was almost hot, but that was welcomed. The storm going on outside, snow was coming down hard, but she was nice and warm with Harry.

Y/N felt a bit speechless. This was not how she had anticipated her night going in the slightest, but she loved every second of it. Each thrust of his cock filling her up led her closer to her orgasm, knowing she was sticky with arousal and sopping wet on his cock, and he took it in stride. Lowering his hand down to thumb over her clit, soft grunts leaving him as he fucked her. It wasn’t too rough, wasn’t too kinky, but it was perfect. He was treating her with the care she needed. Looking at her with visible fondness, only teasing her a bit, it was evident that he cared about her and that only brought her closer.

“M’gonna cum.” She whispered. “I’m gonna- I’m so close. Please let me- I was good.” Part of her worried about him deciding he wanted her to hold it again, depriving her of the pleasure, but he didn’t. He kept his thrusts the same, rubbing her clit a bit faster as he continued.

“Go ahead, my sweet thing. Make a mess on my cock. Cum for me.” She had already dripped all over him, even some towards his thighs, but he wanted more. He craved the mess only she could give him, the wet slap of skin and her puffy pussy contracting around his length. She had been so close on his finger, so he knew she was reaching it from how she squeezed him, but it was almost too good. He was a goner, watching as she arched her back and let out a broken moan, trembling yet again before her mouth dropped open and she came on him. He could feel it, her cunt squeezing him and her body tightening up as it hit her. Pulsing around him as he continued his thrusts inside of her, the delicious heat nearly making him lose his damn mind.

“Shit…” He hissed, feeling his own start to hit him. “Fuck, baby… fuck.” His voice turned slightly whiny as he held tight onto her leg, his thumb pausing on her clit as the first rope of cum spilled into the condom. Her contracting, hot cunt, her teary eyes, her swollen mouth, all of it was so beautiful that he couldn’t stand it. This was a long time coming, of course, but to actually have her on him, to feel her body react to his touch, to see her cum solely because of him? It was otherworldly. He doubted he’d felt this strongly about an orgasm before, jerking his hips as deep groans left him, imagining there was no barrier in between them as he filled the condom. He knew it was going to overflow, but he didn’t care at this moment.

All he cared about was lowering himself on top of her and kissing her senseless, holding her face like it was a precious stone. Recovering from this orgasm and kissing her, the giddy feeling never went away. It stayed as he checked on her, kissing her cheeks and her nose, wiping the hair that was stuck to her face away and murmuring praises to her. “S’my girl. Not going to let you go.” He loved this feeling. “You’re perfect. Can’t believe it took us so long, but now that I’ve got you… M’not letting go.” It was sappy, maybe, but he was finally getting what he wanted. Something he thought he’d lost the chance to have.

“Don’t want you to let go.” She sniffled, taking his face in her smaller hands once she caught her breath, pressing their lips together again before letting him rest his forehead against her own. “That was perfect. I can’t believe it either…” She stroked his hair back, the slight dampness from sweat not bothering her at all. “Does this mean I’m yours?” It felt a little embarrassing to ask, but she wanted to be clear.

“Mhm. And I’m yours. No more games. Don’t give a shit what any of our friends have to say… M’pissed I was kept away so long, but I’m not going to do it now. I wasted so much time…” He gave a bittersweet smile. “Been dying to make you mine.”

“Well…. Merry Christmas.” She giggled, eyes light and bright. Happiness illuminated her features and it nearly stopped his heart. Y/N was so beautiful that it almost hurt. And now she was his. He took her in as the multicolor lights from his tree flashed over the side of her face, heart completely filled with affection. “I’m your gift. No refunds or exchanges.” He laughed, not able to help himself from taking another kiss. “Best gift I’ve ever received.”

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hier--soir · 8 months

Text

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

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

Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ignores you after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His office is sort of beautiful.

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

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

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

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

“Did you know?”

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a moment, he speaks again.

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

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

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

“Joel—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A light knock sounds against his office door.

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

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

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

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

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.

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

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

“Joel—” you start softly.

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

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

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

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

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me,” you murmur.

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

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

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

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

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

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

“But do you want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A firm rap against the door of his office.

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

“You in there Joel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Open,” he orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

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

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

thank you for reading! x

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

3K notes · View notes

enha-doodles · 16 days

Note

Hey can you do a reaction to Slytherin boys reacting to the reader being a bookworm ?

Thankyou 💗💗

SLYTHERIN GUYS REACTION TO YOU BEING A BOOKWORM | ✧⁺。

Pairing : ( Mattheo , Tom , Theodore, Lorenzo, Draco ) x reader

Note : tysm for the request and i hope you enjoy it hehe 🤭🤭

Warnings : none

Mattheo Riddle

Even though Mattheo thinks reading sessions are about as thrilling as watching paint dry compared to his usual parties, he puts on a brave face for your sake because he loves you so much . He sticks around while you bury your nose in books, though his mind might wander to livelier activities. Despite the occasional yawn, he's willing to endure the quiet moments for his darling , he is a romantic and caring guy afterall

Tho he'll complain and whine all the while you won't pay attention to him and roll his eyes upon your books

Tom Riddle

Tom secretly enjoys the peaceful vibe when you're both lost in your own literary worlds. He won't admit it out loud, but he finds it oddly comforting to share comfortable silences with you, even if he'd rather be plotting world domination. Who knew the Dark Lord had a soft spot for reading?

He'd leave some of his books on your table so you'd read them , he loves seeing you smile while you read something interesting especially of his choice , your reactions making him obsessed fall deeper for you .

Theodore Nott

Theodore scratches his head trying to figure out why you're so obsessed with books, but he's a good sport about it. He might ask you why on earth you spend so much time with your nose buried in pages, but hey, to each their own, right? As long as you're happy, he's cool with it, even if he doesn't get it.

He is someone who is smart without much effort - that is the reason he doesn't understand your affection with books , which also has some people wonder why he's not into ravenclaw but then his Slytherin tendencies prove his loyalty to his house

Lorenzo Berkshire

Lorenzo is like a kid in a candy store when he realizes you both share a love for books. He's all in, racing you to finish books first and gleefully bragging when he beats you to the last page. Who knew reading could be such a competitive sport? But hey, it's all in good fun, right?

He's also a very literature typa guy so he'd have you on his lap while you're cuddled into him and you're both reading the same book . You have many of your dates in the library and none of you seem to mind .

Draco Malfoy

Draco puts up a fuss about your bookworm tendencies, claiming they're not even close to being as exciting as qudditch or poker or any other rich kid shit he has done . But secretly, he's low-key intrigued by what you're reading. He'll grumble about it, of course, but then he'll sneakily ask about the plot or characters, trying to act like he's not interested. Classic Draco, always putting on a show.

He's also very bratty so he'll be annoyed af if he's speaking and you'll tell him to shut up because you're on a good part atm coz sweetheart does he look like he cares ? He does

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　　　。

708 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 10 days

Text

Covering the Classics Part 7 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Just when Anna starts to feel settled, a simple cookout at her friend's house turns everything upside down. Her jealousy shines through, and there's nothing she can do to try to take it back.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Things with Bob felt like they shifted back to normal again, and Anna was thankful for that. Every book she let him borrow was returned with a note folded up inside. Some of them were short and simple. When he handed back Love Letters of Great Men, the note simply said The dog eared pages are going to make me cry. But some of them were longer and more elaborate.

She was running a little late to meet him at the usual coffee shop, worried he would already be there. He seemed to end up paying for her drink every single time, which was honestly really sweet of him, but she felt like such a nuisance. When she walked inside, he was there, at a table with two steaming mugs in front of him and his nose buried in a book. In one of Anna's books. In her copy of Wuthering Heights.

Her whole body felt too warm as she thought about how much she would love to have Bob read every single one of the hundreds of books she owned. Maybe even read some parts out loud in that deep, soothing voice. She would love to hear his take on each plot and watch him blush as he called her the expert and asked for her opinions. She would love to take the book from his hands and pull him down into bed with her.

But she couldn't do that. They were just friends. So instead, she dropped down into the empty seat across from him and said, "Hi, Bob," with a smile she hoped wasn't as sad as she felt.

"Anna." Her name sounded like golden perfection when he said it, and she shivered. "This book... I can't stop reading it. I read it twice already," he said with a little laugh. "How in the world do you always know exactly what I'm going to like?"

Because she felt undeniably drawn to him and his preferences and everything about him.

"Because I'm a professional."

He laughed a little more as his pretty lake-blue eyes followed her cup as she brought it up to her lips. When the ceramic touched her, he looked away as his cheeks grew pink. He pushed the book across the table, and when she reached for it, he said, "Uh, just read that note later, okay?"

When she saw the edge of white paper sticking out from the worn pages, she said, "Sure, Bob."

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Did you hear about the change of venue for tomorrow?"

Anna ducked her head. "Yeah, the girls told me about it at lunch yesterday. A cookout? Bradley wants to show off his new grill?"

Bob nodded and said, "Could be a nice change from the Hard Deck for once."

While he wasn't wrong, Anna hated that she still barely had enough money to make ends meet. San Diego was expensive, and when she asked Advanced Calculus what she could bring with her to their house to contribute to the meal, her friend said to bring hot dog and hamburger buns. Anna was already trying to figure out how to scrape together the ten dollars that would be required when Jessica said she already bought some along with chips and pretzels. When she didn't quite meet Anna's eyes, she knew for a fact that Jessica had figured her out.

"Yeah. I suppose," Anna told Bob. But at least at the Hard Deck, Penny didn't usually even charge her for the three dollar ginger ales. And if she did, one of the guys just put it on their tab like it was nothing. When she showed up empty handed to the cookout, she was going to feel awful that Jessica had covered for her.

"You want another coffee?" Bob asked, standing with his own mug, but Anna shook her head. She couldn't let him pay for another thing. Perhaps deleting multi millionaire Dev Borah's phone number wasn't her best move. Not that she would ever take advantage of someone for their money. Not after what Kevin did to her.

"No. But thank you. I actually can't stay very long today."

Bob nodded before saying, "No worries. I have dinner plans with Suzanne before Mickey picks me up for D&D anyway."

And there it was once again. The reminder that Bob didn't think about that kiss nearly as much as she did. "I hope you have a great time."

------------------------

It was late on Saturday night, and he should have been in bed, but Bob had his computer out. He reasoned that he could sleep in as late as he wanted tomorrow before heading to pick up the burgers Bradley asked him to bring for the cookout. He could stay up as long as it took for him to finish this poem and finally post it on PoetsAmongUs after looking at it for weeks.

If anyone knew he was writing about Anna, he would probably die on the spot. But nobody in his life knew he wrote anything in his free time, let alone the fact that he wrote poetry. And this poem was getting close to needing a 'mature' label if he was going to post it online.

"What are you doing?" he asked himself softly. Somehow he believed that writing about her specifically would cleanse him of these thoughts, but now he knew he was wrong. He proofread and posted his poem anyway while his skin prickled with need. He'd never experienced the kind of love his friends had, and in spite of all of her hesitations, he could imagine it happening with Anna. If anything, he liked that she seemed cautious and contemplative, he just wished she wasn't still that way toward him.

She made him want to keep leaving her notes in the books he borrowed from her, but she also made him feel like an idiot for wanting to do that. It was maddening. He needed to sleep, but he was too warm, imagining Anna once again in place of his faceless lover while he touched himself. He almost couldn't wait until the day when someone else would take her place in his mind, even if it meant settling.

The next day, he drove his old pickup toward the coast with the burgers and a six pack of ginger ale in tow. The Spanish revival style house that Bradley purchased before he and his wife made things official again was cute with desert landscaping, but she was the one who really made it a home. There was art hanging on the walls in every room, including a panoramic watercolor of the scenery of Virginia. The front bedroom had been turned into her home office, and for some reason, she had Bradley's fraternity paddle hanging in there. The house seemed more lived in now, and Bob knew Bradley was much happier for it.

"Hey, thanks man," Bradley told him, taking the bag of burgers when he got there. He was wearing his hideous Grateful Dead shirt and holding two cans of beer on one hand, but he still managed to give Bob a quick hug. "Sugar's out back, setting up some snacks and just generally looking hot. You want a beer?"

Bob held up the ginger ales in response and said, "Thanks, but I'll just have one of these for now." The last thing he wanted was a hangover like he had after their New Year's Eve party.

"Hi!" Jessica said as she and Jake walked inside, and she made a beeline right for Bob. "Have you given any more thought to how I should paint my barbarian?"

He just smiled as she started to push him through the kitchen toward the back door. "We just played yesterday. I didn't know you'd still be in the mood to talk about your ridiculous D&D character."

"Please," she practically whined. "You know how sensitive my barbarian is."

Bob snorted; truly he never would have expected he and she would have had so much in common, but even Jessica couldn't keep his attention once he saw who Bradley's wife was talking to. Anna had some freckles on her thighs. Her cutoff denim shorts went high enough up her legs that he was treated to the sight of freckles everywhere. And that wasn't all. Not even close. The deep "V" of her shirt revealed that there was a pretty good chance the freckles even trailed down inside her bra.

He wasn't going to survive the cookout if he had to look at her all afternoon. Her red hair was clipped up on top of her head with some sort of claw-shaped thing, and her skin was just everywhere. Her neck and her legs and the swell of her breasts. Her fingernails were burgundy again, just like the first day he saw her. She hadn't even noticed him yet, which was terrible, because if she had, he would have looked away by now. Instead he was given ample opportunity to memorize the way her legs looked as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, shuffling her beat up sneakers a bit along the patio.

"Oh," Jessica whispered, squeezing his bicep gently when he stopped responding to her. "Yeah, that'll do it." Her tone sounded slightly sympathetic, and it made Bob so self conscious. "Let's go say hi."

He shook his head jerkily and muttered, "In a second." Anna was currently laughing, head thrown back in delight, and Bob got the briefest peek at the strip of skin above her shorts and her bellybutton, and his brain actually stopped functioning. When she tipped her head forward again, an overjoyed smile still on her lips, she met his gaze. His brain jump started again as her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and he took a step in her direction before he could reconsider.

"Hey, Bob." She sounded a little breathless as she said his name while Bradley's wife smirked at the two of them. But he and Anna were just friends, and he needed to remember that.

"Anna," he replied softly, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. His palms were sweaty, and he knew he was blushing. He'd never make it out of here alive. Not when she was looking at him like that.

She smiled and said, "I came up with a few, slightly more obscure book recommendations for you. I was thinking maybe we could go back to the bookstore and look for some of them that I don't currently own? I might be fun to-"

Bob was already about to agree with whatever she said, because it sounded exactly perfect to him, then he heard someone screeching his name.

"Bob!" There was a brunette flash streaking across the small backyard, and then Natasha Trace was in his arms. She was giggling next to his ear where she kissed his cheek three times in a row, knocking his glasses askew.

"I didn't know you were coming home today," he said in surprise.

"I didn't tell anyone except Bradley. Did I surprise you?" she asked.

"That's an understatement, Nat," he replied, hugging her tighter when she refused to let go. "I missed you."

Her familiar laughter was comforting as she said, "You have no idea how much I hate flying with anyone other than you." When she finally started to pull away from him, she added, "Now we can pick up where we left off before my deployment."

-----------------------------

Anna couldn't believe how incredible her friend's house was. It was huge and beautiful, and she had a yard. A yard! In California! There was colorful art on the walls, which appeared to be a collection of things that she and Bradley enjoyed. Her office was something Anna could only dream about, and the kitchen was bigger than her whole apartment.

After a tour of the interior, she stood on the patio in the autumn sunlight in a pair of shorts, something she would have never been able to do in New Jersey. Every day seemed to get better than the last, assuming she could keep the intrusive thoughts about Kevin away. And also assuming she could figure out what she was supposed to do about Bob and the growing collection of feelings she seemed to have for him.

"You have to hear what happened in my Differential Equations lecture on Friday afternoon," her friend was saying as they stood near the new grill that would soon be the centerpiece of the afternoon. "You won't even believe it."

Anna listened for a minute to the wild story, bursting into laughter when she learned how her friend thought she was going to have to call the fire department while she was teaching. Then she saw him. Bob was here with his tidy hair and his adorable glasses and his big hands, and like always her brain filled up with the beautiful poetry she loved so much. Somehow it seemed to go together with him. Those stunning words matched the way he made her feel.

She had to bite her lip in an attempt to calm herself down. "Hey, Bob," she managed to say as his cheeks flushed pink.

"Anna."

Oh, she was a mess. She thought about him way too frequently, even taking the time to compile the titles of some books she had read and loved, convincing herself he might like some of them too. "I came up with a few, slightly more obscure book recommendations for you. I was thinking maybe we could go back to the bookstore and look for some of them that I don't currently own? I might be fun to-"

But she stopped mid sentence when she heard some excited chatter behind Bob, and then a woman came running out through the back door. A beautiful woman. Calling his name. Jumping into his arms. Anna was treated to the sight of the woman's lips brushing against Bob's cheek while he held onto her like he was just reunited with the only person he ever cared about. She had to watch as this other woman ran her fingers gently along his skin in exactly the way Anna fantasized about. And when she looked around, nobody seemed concerned by this turn of events, rather they all acted like it was perfectly normal that Bob and this woman were whispering intimately to each other.

Then Anna heard her say, "Now we can pick up where we left off before my deployment."

Oh. Well. There was a sour taste in her mouth as she took a step backwards as the rest of the group greeted this mystery woman. Anna was going to have to have words with Advanced Calculus and Advanced Physics after this. Maybe they tried to set her up with Bob, because they didn't like this other woman? That idea vaporized as soon as she saw Jessica embrace her with a bright smile on her face.

Anna felt like her chest was growing tighter by the second, and then Jessica started to pull the pretty brunette toward her. "You have to come meet the newest faculty member from the English department! Dr. Anna Webber."

The woman looked her up and down with dark, appraising eyes and a little smirk set firmly on her lips. Then she stuck out her right hand and said, "I'm Natasha Trace."

The last thing Anna wanted to do right now was shake hands, but Jessica was looking at her with concern, probably wondering why she was just standing there. "It's a pleasure," Anna said with as much conviction as she could muster, shaking hands as briefly as she could.

"You teach at San Diego State too?" Natasha asked as her smirk bloomed into a bigger smile. When Anna nodded, she laughed and added, "What the hell do they put in the water at that school?"

Jessica was beaming now as she said, "Anna gives book recommendations to Bob all the time."

"Really? Is that so?" Natasha asked, still eyeing Anna like a predator would their prey, when Bob appeared with two cans of ginger ale. He gave one to Natasha and then tried to hand the other one to Anna as Natasha said, "I actually read a phenomenal book last month, Bob. I'll write down the title for you."

He kind of smiled, still holding out the other can toward Anna who felt like she was on the verge of screaming. "No. Thank you," she told him, taking a few steps away as she clocked the hurt expression on his face. "I don't want any."

The uncomfortable feeling was overtaking Anna's whole body now when Natasha leaned a little closer to Bob and softly muttered, "Let me guess... you have a little crush? This happened in my absence?"

Anna turned and went inside, searching for the bathroom she'd seen on the house tour. That woman was mocking her. Anna didn't want to hear any more of that conversation, because it was making her skin crawl. And worse still, she was finally able to identify this feeling as she closed and locked the door and leaned on the sink vanity.

Jealousy.

She was more jealous of this petite brunette who seemed to think Bob's personal space was hers for the taking than she ever was about Kevin and Alyssa. She was beside herself at the idea of another woman giving Bob book recommendations and making fun of his stupid little crush on her.

This was exactly why she should have never let herself have feelings. When she looked in the mirror, she saw tears in her eyes. "Shit," she whispered. She didn't have a car, so she couldn't just discreetly leave. Plus she'd been looking forward to eating something other than one of her sad sandwiches for days.

The jealousy gave way to anger as she wiped her eyes with a tissue and dropped it in the trash can. Her new friends invited her here, and she was going to stay. She wasn't going to let her feelings for Bob Floyd dictate her mood or what she felt she was allowed to do. She wasn't going to let another man run her life like that ever again.

With her head held high, she walked back outside, making it a point to avoid Bob and Natasha at all costs. She willingly had a thirty minute conversation with Jake and Mickey about the Marvel Cinematic Universe as an excuse to keep her distance. Then she and Bradley discussed the extensive musical catalogue of the Grateful Dead while she slowly sipped a beer to try to take the edge off. Then he turned on the grill, and the smell of food cooking had her excited enough that it was becoming easier and easier to ignore Bob.

When she accidentally looked his way, he was already eyeing her with a confused expression. She could pretend all day long that she didn't care what he thought and that she wasn't jealous at all. She could be so stubborn about this. At least all they had between them was that one awkward, fumbled kiss in his truck. It wasn't like she'd slept with him before he ditched her for the much better looking Natasha.

She was still doing a fine job of ignoring both of them when Bradley announced that dinner was ready. Anna took a plate of food and scooted all the way to the end of the rectangular patio table, snagging the spot across from Jessica. She was willing to talk about anything right now, even her friend's physics curriculum that she could barely comprehend, but then Bob was right next to her.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked cautiously, setting his plate next to hers. Anna just shrugged, and then she was enveloped in his clean scent as he eased himself down in the seat with his knee hitting her thigh. She quickly crossed her legs before scooting her chair a few inches to the side away from his. "Are you okay?"

Anna almost laughed as Natasha found a spot on the other side of the table. "I'm just fine," she said before taking a huge bite of her burger and avoiding looking at either of them.

"Right," Bob whispered, frowning down toward his plate as she gave him side eye. "I just... feel like I did something to upset you."

Anna shook her head, and when she was done chewing the delicious food, she said, "Not at all. You're free to make the decisions you want to make. And I'm free to keep my books to myself since you've got other ones now."

Bob looked at her and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

But Anna was well on her way to starting a conversation with Jessica that could probably last for hours. She ignored him as she asked, "Hey, Jess, what's up with that physics professor who just started wearing a toupee?"

"Dr. Leeland!" she screeched before launching into an animated conversation on the topic of her colleague's hair piece just as expected.

------------------------

Bob was so confused. He had been about to jump at the chance to hang out at the bookstore in North Park with Anna when Natasha arrived. At that point, he honestly thought this was going to be the best day he'd had in a while. Anna seemed happy to see him, and one of his best friends was finally home from deployment. But as soon as that thought entered his mind, Anna started acting like she wanted nothing to do with him. So much so that she asked Jess about some guy's fake hair? Bob sat there and listened to the conversation while he ate, trying to interject, but Anna just wasn't having it. She had even rejected his ginger ale.

What the hell did he do wrong? All he wanted to do was talk to her about books and look at her freckles. She was sitting right next to him, but he may as well have been on Jupiter with the way she seemed convinced that he wasn't even there at all.

As everyone started to finish eating, Bob washed his food down with the rest of his ginger ale. Maybe he should just head home early. He'd be spending all week at work with Nat, so it wasn't like he was going to miss out on much there. And being around Anna when she wasn't even looking at him made him feel like an idiot for secretly writing poems about her. He sat at the table alone for an extra minute with his head cradled in his hands, then he took his trash inside the house.

Of course Anna was the only other person in the kitchen, helpfully washing the grilling utensils and other things Bradley left in the sink. She glanced his way briefly before continuing with her task, and Bob headed for the trash can. He had the perfect view of the freckles on the backs of her thighs, but he didn't feel like he should be looking now. He stood quietly for a few seconds before deciding that he'd give this one last try before heading out.

"Anna," he said just loud enough that he knew she could hear him over the running water. "Can we talk? I just feel like I did something to upset you? When you started to invite me to the bookstore, I was going to say yes. Obviously I'd love to go with-"

She looked at him over her shoulder, and he went silent at her glare. "Why don't you just go with Natasha instead?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "That's not the kind of thing she and I usually do together."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice dripping with something that made Bob's skin tingle with goosebumps. "Does she usually recommend books while you're out to dinner? Or do you take her to see her favorite movies?"

She turned off the water and faced him without bothering to dry her hands. His lips parted as he watched the furious looking blush that crept along her chest, up her neck, and to her cheeks.

"I don't really do those things with her either," he said slowly, trying to puzzle his way through this. She sounded almost jealous of Nat, but that couldn't be. That didn't make any sense at all. Anna made it clear she didn't want to be with him.

"Well, you're free to do whatever you want, Bob," she said with a shrug, chin held high. "This is why we're just friends. You've already got plenty of women to choose from, like Suzanne and Natasha, and I'm not about to get caught up in another attractive man who seems too good to be true."

She started to duck past him, but Bob blocked her path. "Whoa, whoa! No, you've got it all wrong." She doubled back the other way, but he stepped to the side until she bumped into him. "Suzanne is my elderly neighbor. And Natasha and I are friends," he said quickly, and he was rewarded with Anna's brown eyes snapping up to meet his. "I've known her for years. She's the pilot I usually fly with."

Anna took one stumbling step backwards toward the sink. Her teeth sank into her lip like earlier before she whispered, "Oh." She swallowed hard, drawing Bob's gaze back to the freckles on her neck as her blush grew deeper. "So you're not... into her?"

His voice sounded deep even to his own ears as he promised, "Not even slightly. Not like I'm into you."

The kitchen went so silent that Bob could hear laughter filtering from the patio through the open door, and Anna's expression softened as she took a tiny step forward. Then another one. Then one more before she was launching herself into his arms. Bob could feel her damp hands in his hair as their lips met, and it was nothing like the way they kissed in his truck. She wasn't tentative, and he didn't pull away as she kissed him harder. This time her body was pressed to his, and she moaned softly when he let his hands settle on her hips.

Anna coaxed him impossibly closer with her fingers in his hair and on the back of his neck, and soon he had her pinned against the edge of the counter. He could feel denim rubbing against denim as she parted her lips and wiggled slowly against him. When Bob swiped his tongue along her bottom lip, Anna let him taste her before her lips drifted along to his neck.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing her hips in his hands as his index finger met the soft skin of her lower back. She was sucking gently on the spot just to the left of his Adam's apple, and there was no way she couldn't feel how hard he was getting for her right now.

Those burgundy fingernails were scraping gently along his scalp as he rolled his hips one time against her body. When Anna licked his neck, he forced himself to ask the question that was fluttering around the peripheral of his aroused brain. "Are you going to tell me this is another mistake? Like that night in my truck?"

Anna pulled her lips away from his pulse point long enough to whisper, "It wasn't even a mistake last time. I just couldn't help myself."

Then Bob kissed her lips until she was clinging to him with her back arched against the counter and her hips held tightly in his hands. When he could tell someone was coming inside, he pulled himself away, panting as she tried to chase him for more. He could see the questioning look on her face as he stepped aside just before Mickey and Jake walked inside, arguing about who ate the last hot dog.

Anna turned back toward the sink as she blushed, and Bob was aching to kiss her again. Dying to confirm that she wasn't going to write him off again. He cleared his throat and asked, "Will you let me drive you home later?"

Bob heard her soft laugh and whispered, "Yes." Then with a smile, he took the last can of ginger ale from the refrigerator and set it on the counter next to her. She looked up at him, eyes filled with need as he excused himself back out to the patio where he started to count down the minutes until he could suggest it was late enough to leave.

---------------------------

Anna, you are living the dream, baby! Let him love you the way he wants to! And once again, in Natasha we trust. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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seungkw1 · 4 months

Text

stress relief — yjh

♡ pairing: yoon jeonghan x afab!reader ♡ theme: fluff, smut (18+ mdni), established relationship ♡ wc: 1.7k ♡ warnings: oral (m. & f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), brief wrist pinning (f. receiving), slight degradation kink, petnames (m. & f. receiving - babe, baby, love, etc.) ♡ a/n: requested by my bestie <3

“Surprise!”

Jeonghan stops halfway through the doorway, hand lingering on the knob - his tired eyes trying to process what he is currently seeing.

His schedule has been nonstop lately, and even though he does a good job at hiding it you’ve noticed how worn out he’s been every time he gets home, usually at a very late hour.

So - you decide to try and cheer him up.

You cooked up a big pot of jjajangmyeon, careful to follow the recipe exactly as you are not always the best cook - but you tasted it and it was surprisingly delicious. You turned off the overheads, instead opting for low-lit lamps and lighting various candles around the condo; you also put on some relaxing classical music, playing at a low volume. The vibe is relaxing, and a bit romantic - not either one of yours’ usual style, but you know it’s what he needs.

Finally processing his surroundings, he looks at you - his big brown eyes turning even wider. You also happened to be wearing his favorite top of yours - the one that hugs you nicely, that he always compliments you on (and very much likes to take off of you).

You take his bag from him and set it on the ground, helping him out of his coat. You turn him around and immediately grab him by the waist, pulling him in and planting a big kiss on his lips. You pull back, a puzzled expression still on his face.

“What’s all this for?”, he asks, and then a concerned look colors his face. “Shit, did I forget an anniversary or something??”

You shake your head. “No dummy, it’s just for you! Figured you deserved a relaxing night in for once, you’ve been so stressed lately.”

You squeeze his torso and bury your head into him - he lets out a sigh and you feel his body relax into you.

“Yeah, I definitely have been.”

He kisses you on the forehead. “Thanks babe.”

You grab his hands and pull him toward the dinner table. “Come on, don’t want the food to get cold!”

—-

You jump under the covers, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan and squishing yourself against him as tight as possible. After dinner and then curling up on the couch together to watch his favorite movie, his tension seems greatly diminished. But, you’re not quite done with him yet.

Your legs and arms now wrapped around him like a koala clinging to a tree, you start kissing him on the cheek over and over again.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says as he rolls his eyes at you, but the smile on his face tells you he’s thoroughly enjoying being showered with affection.

“Just making sure you know how much I love you,” you state matter-of-factly, nuzzling your face into his neck and kissing him there too.

He lets out an involuntary giggle. “Hey, that tickles!”

You softly turn his face toward yours, your nose pressed against his so you can stare eye-to-eye with him.

“Really, though - I appreciate you so much. I don’t tell you nearly enough.”

His face begins to turn pink. “You’re being far too nice to me, I haven’t even been around all that much because of schedule and-“

You smush his lips with your hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Hush. Don’t be so hard on yourself, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I just-“

You kiss him to shut him up. It’s been a hot minute since you two have had any quality time together, nevermind anything alone and intimate. You savor the softness of his lips, lightly stroking his hair as you kiss him slowly, your nose pressed gently against his. You always love the way he holds you tightly when kissing you, squeezing your body into his as he rubs your back. Before long, though, your soft and sweet kisses turn into full-blown making out - both of you grasping at each other needily, neither one of you wanting to spend one millimeter apart.

Your hand makes its way down his torso - resting on his chest, then his stomach, then to the band of his underwear. You pause, fiddling with the hem for a few moments (you can’t help but tease him a little bit). He breaks away from your lips, a slight smirk on his face he places his hand on yours, continuing it further downward onto the bulge forming underneath the fabric. He lets out a low hum as you begin to caress him, the semi-hard bulge almost instantly turning into a full-blown erection.

“My baby’s been so tense lately,” you coo at him. You pull his underwear down, his cock springing up onto his stomach. Leaning into his ear, you whisper, “But luckily I know a great way to relieve stress.”

He moans as you begin to stroke his length.

“Does that feel good, love?”

“Mmm yeah, feels amazing…” he mutters, his usual soft, mellow voice turned low and husky.

His cock begins to glisten with precum as you continue stroking - you feel your pussy becoming wetter by the second as well, but your focus right now is on Jeonghan.

You move down, positioning yourself between his legs, taking his cock in your hand as you place the tip in your mouth. You swirl your tongue over the head, causing him to groan as he lazily places his hand on top of your head. You take his length in your mouth, swallowing all of it.

“Ohmygoddd,” he mumbles. “It’s been too long, baby.”

You slide his cock out of your mouth, gazing up at him as you lick up and down his entire length a few times, stopping only to take his balls in your mouth as you stroke him with one hand. You resume sucking his cock as the hand resting on your head begins to tighten its grip - that and the soft moans coming out of him tell you he’s close already.

His tip hits you in your throat nicely, the choking sensation turning you on even more. You sneak your hand down to your cunt, moaning as you feel its wetness and gently begin touching your clit. Jeonghan’s moans have quickly become much louder - you know he’s about cum. A few more good pumps and you feel his cock begin to twitch, the thick ropes of his release hitting the back of your throat. He holds your head down as he finishes - you continue sucking on him to ensure his pleasure to the fullest. His body relaxes as he comes down; you slowly pull your mouth off his cock, making sure you get every single last drop of his cum. He lifts his head up slightly, looking at you through heavy eyelids - you swallow, then open your mouth, sticking your tongue out, to show him its vacancy. His head plops back down onto the pillow, a contented smile on his face - you haven’t seen him this relaxed in weeks. Your mission accomplished, you crawl back up the bed to cuddle up beside him again, but as you do he abruptly rolls you over, laying on top of you as he pins your arms down to the bed by your wrists. You must look surprised, because he grins at you - giving you that sly look of his that means he’s about to have a little fun with you.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you touching yourself just now, love. What makes you think you get to do my job for me?”

Before you can protest he has one hand at your cunt, swirling your juices around delicately with one finger. You let out a soft whimper, then suddenly a bigger one as his fingertip ever so lightly brushes against your clit, sending a jolt up your spine.

“Look how wet you are - choking on my cock turn you on that much, did it?”

You nod, crying out as he slips his finger inside your pussy. He knows how to make you feel incredible with the lightest of touches - but you need more. You roll your hips, your clit softly bumping against his palm, but this just makes him withdraw his finger. You whine as your cunt is far too empty now; he tuts at you as he cups your breast, his thumb grazing over your hardened nipple.

“So needy - isn’t that right?”

You nod at him again, but you whine as he pinches your nipple in response.

“I’m gonna need more than that if you want me to make you cum, darling.” His lips hover over yours, his voice gravelly.

“You know what I like. I want you to beg for it.”

“Please, Jeonghan.”

He drags his fingertips lightly over your skin, his hand heading back down where you want it.

“Please what, my love?”

“I wanna cum - please.”

You moan as the pads of his fingers begin to circle your clit. He kisses you, then scoots down - your cunt now right before his face. He kisses your clit, then inserts two of his fingers - you whimper as he begins to fuck you, his long fingers curling perfectly to hit your g-spot. He teases you, looking like he’s about to put his mouth on you but then just blowing onto your clit gently.

“Jeonghan please.”

He smirks at you before finally licking your clit, a massive pang firing through your lower abdomen. He swirls his tongue around before taking it in his mouth, sucking intensely. You cry out, feeling your orgasm approaching already. Jeonghan definitely notices; normally, he’d continue teasing you here, taking you nearly to the edge before pausing again and again - but this time he gives in, continuing to fuck you as his mouth refuses to leave your cunt. His free hand presses down on your stomach, and you feel your body tense up, your legs starting to quiver. Before you can even say a word, you’re cumming - your body shaking as shockwaves pulsate throughout, the sensation overwhelming.

As you come down, you realize how relaxed you are now too, more than you’ve felt in weeks. Seeing Jeonghan so stressed lately must have been subconsciously stressing you out as well. You giggle as he kisses your pussy a few more times before crawling back up to your side, immediately wrapping his arms around you as he draws you into his warm body.

“Thank you,” he says sleepily. “I really needed that.”

“I did too,” you reply, your head tucked into his neck.

You lay there in silence, your breathing synchronized, Jeonghan caressing your back slowly, and slower still as you both drift off to sleep - blissful, relieved, and most importantly: together.

[end]

#ren's fics ੈ♡₊˚•.#yoon jeonghan #jeonghan smut #jeonghan fics #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #svt smut #svt fics #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader

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strawberriescherrieskiwi · 4 months

Text

Just Let Me Adore you.

request:

From the always lovely @robertpattins0nswh0re

I’m so excited you’re writing today!!!! 🤭

It’s a little cliche but can I request some classic, sweet birthday sex? My birthday is actually in 3 days so could reader and Timmy be celebrating their birthdays together and make love/ praise each other tons? Sweet and simple 💌🥲

Wordcount: 2.2K+

Masterlist

Description: It's your husband's birthday and you want to make sure he knows how much you adore him.

A/N: Hey lovie. I hope you enjoyed this and it is what you had it mind. I tried to make it as sweet and lovely as possible. And happy early birthday.

Warning: Basically just smut. Fluff. Oral sex both male and female receiving. Praising. Unedited.

You feel something touching your face. You scrunch up your nose and swap away whatever is touching you as you just wanted to sleep a little more. For a moment, you were left alone but then the touches were back, and you whined softly.

“So cute,” someone breathed into your cheek. As you came closer to consciousness, you realized that the touches were light kisses someone was peppering on your face. You sighed happily and wrapped your arms around them.

“So now you want my love,” Timmy laughed softly, pecking your lips. You grinned into the kiss as your lips glided over each other. Timmy hummed softly as he pulled away, cupping your face.

Your eyes opened and you stared into his green eyes full of adoration. “Good morning, Timmy,” you said. Your voice was still thick with sleep.

His eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled warmly down at you. “Morning, lovie.” And because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down and kissed you once more. Your eyes fluttered close again as you lost yourself in your husband.

“I should be spoiling you,” you said hoarsely when you pulled away from each other moments later.

“Hmm. And why is that?” He questioned and lazily kissed along your jaw.

“Because it is your birthday, Timmy,” you chuckled, reaching up to card your hands through his hair. Timmy groaned and shut his eyes burying his face into your neck. You chuckled softly at his reaction and gave his curls a little tug.

He gasped and his hips twitched forward into yours. He was already hard, and you kissed his cheek. “I should have woken you up with my going down on you,” you added just to see his reaction.

Timmy pulled back from your neck and stared down at you with wide lustful eyes. “There is always next year.” He tried to sound teasingly but it came out as a soft whine. Your eyes lit up at how turned on he was already. “You’re adorable, Timmy,” you said kissing him again.

“I love you,” he replied, lips smashed against your own. You bite gently on his lower lips and he keen, grabbing the back of your head and cradling your hand softly as he kissed you desperately.

Every breath Timmy took stole air from your lungs, and you stole it right back as you two kissed. You both grew more urgently. The soft kiss turned more hungry. Timmy bit your lip hard, and you moaned into his mouth.

Timmy broke the kiss by tracing his lips down your throat. His tongue makes a path to your chest making you sigh in bliss. Timmy pulled away and just stared at you for a moment as you both breathed heavily.

And then you two were on each other. You both cupped each other face and kissed ravenously. Your hands slipped under his t-shirt silently demanding that he take out off, which he did at once then removed yours tossing them over his shoulder.

“God you are so enthralling,” he said.

“No one says that, Timmy.” You said with no malice just awe at your husband. His words had you flushing, and you quickly sat up and pushed his shoulder until he was lying on his back.

“You are exquisite. Mesmerizing. Stunning. Just fucking beautiful,” he said with a goofy smile of adoration on his face. His lips were swollen and his curls were messy from your hands being in them. His chest rose quickly and was flushed with a small layer of sweat.

“You have no idea what is exquisite, do you?” You said with a slight shake of your head. “You are angelic Timothee. I can’t believe you’re my husband and I get to be with you every day for the rest of my life.”

Timmy's eyes widened and he sat up a bit to kiss under your chin. “I’m lucky to have you. I’ve been blessed in so many aspects of my life, but never more than when you decided to marry me.”

“I love you and happy birthday,” you said as you pushed his shoulder back again and slowly moved down his body pulling his shorts off as you went. “No underwear, Timmy? What would the world say if they knew,” you joked.

Timmy laughed. “Oh, the horror that would do. Would my career ever recover,” He teased back as he looked down at you.

You laughed lightly before kissing his thigh. Timmy's laughter got caught in his throat and you smirked as you kissed his other thigh. Going back and forth on each thigh working your closer to his cock.

“It’s my birthday. Don’t tease me,” he whined.

“I’m not. I am just taking my time with you. It’s your birthday and I want to enjoy every part of you.” You said, mouthing at the head of his cock softly.

Taking in a sharp breath, Timmy's hands moved to your hair, patting your head softly, but the eagerness was apparent by the way his fingers tightened slightly. Keeping your eyes on him you slowly took him into your mouth. Your name fell from his lips as he fought to keep his hips on the bed.

You swirled your tongue around his head a few times before pulling back. “So pretty, Timmy. And so perfect.” You praised before going back down and taking him into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks and slowly bobbed your hand on his cock.

“S-Shit. Don’t stop, please.” He was stuck between wanting to close his eyes and enjoy the pleasure you were giving him or keeping his eyes on you the whole time. Your eyes were half closed and your lips stretched so perfectly around his cock.

He thought you were always breathtaking, but you with his cock in your mouth did dangerous things to him. He decided on watching you the moment those half-hooded eyes clashed with his.

You winked and started to suck faster. Your hands took his balls into your hand and started kneading them softly. Timmy writhed on the bed moaning louder and louder the faster you got. His hands were not firmly in your hair tugging harshly and pushing his cock further in your mouth.

His stomach tightened. “Baby. My stunning wife, I’m going to fucking cum. I love you. F-fuck,” His hips jerked forward and his cock slide deeper down your throat causing you to gag slightly and your eyes to water. Your mouth filled with his cum and you groaned drinking down everything he gave you.

Timmy moaned and praised you softly as he fucked your throat lovingly. You let his cock slip from your mouth and pressed kisses to his balls and the head of his cock before kissing his lower stomach.

“You are truly spectacular when you come, Timothee,” you said, voice a bit rough and low.

“That was fucking spectacular. Like really spectacular.” He breathed out shakily. You smiled moving up his body and resting your hand on his chest.

“Yeah? A good start to your birthday?” You asked.

“An amazing start. And it can only get better,” he said kissing your nose. “Because, if you remember, your birthday is only a few days away. So, we both should be worshiped, don’t you think?” Before you could respond you were laid on your stomach and Timmy was behind you.

“Timmy, “ you whimpered.

“It’s my turn,” he said, kissing the small of your back. He grabbed a pillow and put it under your hips raising them slightly. “Don’t want me baby to get a cramp,” he said, pulling your underwear teasingly to slow down your legs.

“These are a bit drenched, my love.” He teased.

“You should take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, I do. And I will repay you back for it.” Timmy said as his fingers began to tease your drooling cunt. His fingers ghost over your slit and barely touch your clit. Your hips wiggle as you grow wetter.

“Who is teasing who now,” you huffed. But it quickly turns into a drawn-out whine as he pushes two fingers inside of your tight cunt as his lips attach to your clit. You sob out his name as he pumps his fingers relentlessly inside of you.

“Feels so good. Timmy, more. Love you,” you close your eyes as he curls his fingers and your head started to spin a bit. The pressure inside of you was building quickly and you moved your hips humping his hand.

Timmy sucked faster on your clit and added other fingers making you clench tighter on him. He groaned, letting his teeth graze your clit. You inhale sharply and come around his fingers.

“So perfect for me, my love. Cumming on my fingers. Making them nice and slick, fuck. I need to taste.” He spread your cheeks and sunk his tongue into your winking and moist cunt.

“Fucking hell, Timothee,” you gasped, your hips stuttering on the bed. The room filled with the sounds of Timmy greedily devouring you. You whined and begged for him and he was never one to disappoint his wife.

Your second orgasm was happening before you could even comprehend it. Your body felt ablaze and your praised Timmy as you fucked yourself back on his face. His hands were on either side of your hips trying to keep you as close to him as possible.

He slowly withdrew licking his lips to savor the taste of you. Moving to lay next to you Timmy pulled you into his arm and kissed you mercifully. His tongue chases your own into your mouth mimicking the same motions he just did on your body.

You both pulled away in need of air but pressed your foreheads together, shaking the same breath. You kissed his nose. Timmy kissed your cheekbone. You kissed his left eye. He kissed your right eye. You both giggled at your little kissing contest and reached for each other hands at the same time.

“I love you,” you both whispered making you both laugh.

“Honestly nothing can top this morning. Birthday complete.” He said, rubbing his nose lovely into your cheek.

“Really? Not even the cupcakes I made?”

He paused. “Did you get the recipe your family has for double chocolate?” He asked.

You nodded bringing your joint hands up to your mouth and kissing them. “Okay then maybe that is better than sex,” he teased.

“I can’t even argue with that. They are so yummy,” you agreed.

“You’re yummy. My yummy wife,” he said, kissing all over your face.

“Okay Justin Bieber calm down,” you joked. Timmy laughed along with you. Lying back on the bed and pulling you into his arms.

“I can’t believe I am 28,” he said.

“Yeah, you are getting old,” you said, kissing his neck.

“Your birthday is around the corner,” he reminded.

“Yeah, but yours is still first,” you replied.

Timmy grabbed one of your legs and put it on his hip. “I guess that just means I’m wiser,” he shrugged as he pushed into you.

You grunted wrapping one of your arms around his shoulder while the other joined his on your hip. “I got you a good gift too,” you said.

“Oh really?” He asked burrowing his cock deep inside of you. “I hope you like what I got you,” he groaned.

Your head dropped to his shoulder, and you kissed his collarbone. “I always love what you get me. You worry too much.”

“Because I love you so much.” His grip tightened on your hips and moved his hips slightly causing him to sink deeper into you at a different angle. Each thrust now hitting your sweet spot.

“I love you too. So much, my sweet boy,” you moved your head up connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. Timmy hastily picked up speed feeling you both grow closer to your peek.

“My sweet sweet perfect wife. I love you. So happy to spend the rest of my life with you.” He said into your mouth.

Your moans got swallowed by Timmy as you moved your hips in tandem with each other. Your hips collided with his thrust and your lips fought to stay together as you moved. Your nose bumped awkwardly, and you giggled between your moans.

“I love you. So freaking gorgeous. I ache for you when we aren’t together,” he said blowing on your ear.

You gasped and came on his cock, digging your nails into his shoulder. “I love you, Timothee. I’ve never craved someone else company more than I crave yours.”

Timmy groaned deep in his chest at your words and thrust his hips forward spilling himself inside of you. You whimpered slightly. Lovingly when he came inside of you. Timmy kissed your forehead and hugged you to him as you both came down.

“Shall we take a nap before getting on with our birthday activities?” You asked a few silent moments later.

“More activities? How many rounds do you plan on going,” he laughed.

“I meant activities outside of the bedroom,” you laughed.

“Oh, you want me to take you in the kitchen?”

You tickled his side and he squirmed away from you. “Okay okay. I yield,” he said.

You grinned, lying on his chest. “So nap then activities? You posed again.

He nodded pulling you close, closing his eyes. “Sounds perfect.”

“And are you going to pull out,” you teased.

He shook his head and rocked his hips. “No, so warm inside of you.”

You patted his hair softly. “Okay, birthday boy. It’s your day.”

Taglist.

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@iloveneilperry

@s-we-e-t-t-ea

@robertpattins0nswh0re

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#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x reader #timmy x reader #timothee chalamet smut #smut #timmy smut

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 6 months

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You OK? - Charles Leclerc

"OK, this should help your nose," you said, handing a stuffy Charles a steaming mug of peppermint tea, hoping it might clear his nose out somewhat. "But I don't like it," he mumbled, begrudgingly holding the mug in his hands.

"I know you don't, but you're going to have to deal with it," you told him, taking his hand and gently pulling him over to the couch. "Now, I'm going to make dinner while you stay here and get some rest," you told him, pushing him down.

You draped a blanket over him, making sure he was all cozy before kissing him on the forehead. As much as Charles was cute when he was sick, when he got sick, he got sick. And this time, he had a horrendous cold.

He relied on you for everything, whether it be getting him dressed in the morning, to the simple things like getting him a glass of water. It was a hell of a good job he wasn't driving for another week, giving him plenty of time to recover.

"I don't need dinner, I just want you," he complained, pulling his arms out of the blanket and holding them out to you. "You need to eat, Charles," you smiled, dodging him as he tried to grab you. "This isn't fair," he pouted, his flushed cheeks and ruffled hair adding to the ultimate picture.

"Life isn't fair, darling," you smiled, going back to the kitchen to get started on a classic chicken soup. It was a staple for any person who had a cold, and Charles was no exception. You heard a huffed sigh from Charles, as you heard the muffled thud of him falling sideways onto the couch.

After around fifteen minutes, you heard the sound of shuffling behind you. "You OK, my love?" You called out, not turning to look at whatever he was getting up to behind you. You didn't receive a response, you just felt arms wrap around your waist and a head on your shoulder.

"Can you come and sit with me for a bit? Dinner can wait," he sniffled, pressing himself into your back as much as he could. Charles was still wrapped up in his blanket, but he still wasn't as comforted as he could have been with you.

"I won't be long, go and sit down and get comfy," you told him, still setting things into the pot, ready to go on the stove. "But I need you to be comfy, baby" he whined, burying his face into your neck as his breath was warm on your skin.

"I promise, I will be with you once I'm done with this," you said, feeling him grip onto you even tighter. "I'll just stay here until you're done," he said, resting more of his weight onto you. You knew he was stubborn, so you were fine with just leaving him there.

You stepped to the side to grab something out of the fridge, and you heard a groan come from him as he was detached from you for a split second. "Amour, you've gotta tell me when you move," he told, resuming his position of being clung to you like a turtle shell.

"OK, darling, OK," you smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "Left in one, two, three," you counted down, before the both of you took a step left in unison. You felt him smile against your neck, clearly liking the system you had going.

"I'll let that warm through, then dinner is served," you said, spinning in his arms and marveling at the sight of him, all wrapped up in his blanket. "I feel like shit, baby," he groaned, leaning forward and resting his head on your shoulder again.

You could hear how blocked his nose was, and there was nothing you could do to help him. "Do you want a tissue?" you asked as he sniffled again.

"Yeah, please," he nodded, and you went to the bathroom to grab him one. As you took your first step, he grabbed your hand and walked with you. He didn't want to be without you for a second on a normal day, but when he was sick, he got clingy and he needed physical contact with you at all times.

"We can go and sit now," you said, as he took your hand again and you took him to the couch. You allowed him a minute to get comfortable, before sitting down beside him. As soon as you sat down, he wrapped his arms around your waist and resting all of his weight onto you.

"I feel much better already," he mumbled, a dazed smile on his face. As long as he had you, it didn't matter how sick he was or how ill he felt, he would be happy. "I'm glad you do," you smiled, spotting the undrunk mug of now cold tea still sat on the coffee table. You should have known he wouldn't drink it.

"I'm going to go and serve dinner, and I will be back in no more than two minutes," you said, trying to shimmy out of his grasp as it tightened around your body. "I'll be counting, and if you're not back in two minutes, I'm coming to get you," he said, and you knew he was serious.

Well, he was trying to be serious. His reddened cheeks and nose and nasally voice made it hard for you to take him properly seriously. "OK," you smiled, ladling the soup into bowls and bringing it to Charles.

"You were on 115 seconds, so you got away with that one by the skin of your teeth," he grinned, taking the bowl from you. "This is amazing, thank you," he smiled, spooning small mouthfuls of the liquid into his mouth.

"No problem, my love," you said, sitting down. Charles nestled himself into your side again, still sipping away at your soup. When you were both done, you tried to take his bowl to go and wash it up. "Can you do that tomorrow?I just want you with me," he asked, looking up at you with those glassy green eyes that you could never say no to.

"OK, I can do that," you agreed, putting the bowls down on the coffee table and sitting back beside him. Just like clockwork, Charles slotted himself into your side again, and you lightly trailed your fingers up and down his back.

"I really want to kiss you, but I don't want you to get sick," he groaned, tiredly pouting at you. "You can get me sick if you're going to take care of me," you softly chuckled, moving your hands up to his hair, tangling your fingers into the chocolate strands.

"I'll always take care of you, no questions asked," he said as if it were an obvious thing. "But, I don't want my baby feeling like this, so I'll restrain myself," he explained as if it were the hardest task that man could ever complete.

"Well aren't you just a hero," you teased and the both of you giggled.

"I am refraining from kissing the love of my life so that she doesn't have to endure the pain I am in. I am a hero," he laughed, pulling you impossibly closer.

"You are a hero darling, you are," you reassured, kissing the top of his head.

"I know," he chuckled, closing his eyes. Having a cold really took it out of him, and he had been following you around your house like a lost puppy all day.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a completely blocked nose. Charles, on the other hand, was energized and fit as a fiddle. "You've given me your cold," you grumbled, sitting up in bed as he looked fresh faced.

"So you're telling me I could have kissed you that whole time since you were going to get sick anyway?" he asked, sounding nearly annoyed.

"I guess so," you laughed. Charles never failed to make you smile, no matter how ill you may have felt. Without another word, Charles moves closer to you, cupping your cheek with his hand. He gently pulled your face towards him, you lips connecting in the middle.

"You're going to get sick again," you pouted, wiping your nose with your sleeve as you pulled away from the kiss. "I really don't give a shit," he dismissed, pulling you back in, revelling in the feeling of getting to kiss you again.

He didn't care that he was definitely going to get sick again, and getting to kiss you was completely worth it.

A/N - First off, I absolutely adore this one, and I don't tend to like the things that I write, so this is a nice, refreshing change. Also, I won't be posting tomorrow, Friday or Saturday since I'm away, but there is a poll you can vote on for me here. Requests are open, and I love you lots 💖

|masterist|

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keegansshark · 1 month

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birthday girl cherry here with a wee request about my favorite scot <33 i NEED a little something about birthday sex with soap. preferably nasty, feral fucking 🫣 totally up to you, but i would love it if the piece included face licking, squirting, and elements of a breeding kink :3

love you and your writing!! <333

cw: 18+, minors dni, fem!reader, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, squirting, dirty talk, spit, face licking, breeding kink, creampie, porn with plot, johnny is very horny (this is a warning in itself)

summary: birthday sex and johnny's a freak

word count: 2.8k

a/n: happy birthday sweet girl <3 love you so much

“I really don’t kno’ why ye dressed up so nicely anyways.”

“Huh?” You nearly choke on the bite of food in your mouth, staring at Johnny incredulously from across the table. “Of course I’d dress up, it’s my birthday dinner.”

“Ah know it is. You look like an angel. And now I’ll have tae tear that pretty little dress off of ye so I can ruin ye.” Johnny sighs, completely nonchalant as your mouth drops open at the bluntness of his words.

“Johnny. We’re in public.” you hiss, feeling your face heat up as he flashes that classic MacTavish grin at you. You’re very much in public at a very expensive restaurant that he insisted on taking you to, but that doesn’t deter him from running his mouth. In fact, he might even see it as encouraging.

“And?” he counters, beaming brighter when your glare turns more into a warning. “Dinnae act like it’s a mystery on what we’re gonna do tonight.”

“You’re awful, Johnny.” you mutter, downing the last of your water as you lean back in your chair. “Can’t spend one evening without you thinking with the wrong head.”

He hums contently, pleased at the way he riled you up. That was his plan all along. It’s working. “Never did tell me what ye wanted for yer birthday.” He’s quick to switch the subject, knowing it’ll get you even more flustered.

“What I want is for you to have some manners.” The waiter swings by the table to drop off the bill and you thank whoever is watching out for you that Johnny knows enough to keep his mouth closed for just a few moments.

“You wound me, sweetheart.” He mockingly clutches his chest, chuckling when you kick him under the table. “Not my fault that looking at ye makes me think such dirty thoughts all the time.”

He tilts his head, clearly weighing the consequences of whatever he’s going to say next.

“It’s also not my fault you look so gorgeous I cannae help but imagine all the ways I’m gonna fuck ye.”

You swallow roughly as he tosses a few bills onto the table, quickly standing up to wrap his arm around your shoulders and direct you out of the restaurant.

He leans in while you make the walk to his car, nipping at the shell of your ear and making you gasp. “And if you keep looking like that, I’ll simply have to take ye right in the backseat, bonnie.”

You don’t even make it past the living room. You’re lucky you make it past the front door.

Johnny unceremoniously shoves you onto the couch the second both of you step inside your house, hiking your dress over your stomach and gripping the delicate lace of your panties to fully tear it off of you.

“Och, dinnae act like ye aren’t aware I’ve already bought a couple new pairs for ye.” he scoffs when he’s met with your unimpressed glare. “Besides, I think ye look better this way. Don’t need anything covering up what’s mine.”

Any argument you have against that dies the second he grabs onto your thighs, the rough calluses of his fingers digging into your soft skin as he lifts one leg over his shoulder to bury his head right into your pussy.

“Yer lucky it’s yer birthday,” he huffs, nose bumping against your clit as he practically drools in between your thighs, his saliva mixing with the slickness you can feel is already coating your cunt. “The way you looked back there, if only ye could’ve seen how hard I was. Wanted tae, fuck, wanted tae pull you right into that restroom, bend you over the sink and fuck ye stupid. Only thing stopping me was wanting to be polite on yer special day.”

“You’re an absolute freak, y’know that Johnny?” you laugh breathlessly before it dissolves into a moan, your hand threading through his mohawk as he presses his lips against your clit and latches on, a few simple sucks making your hips jerk involuntarily.

“I can be worse. So much worse.” He has been worse. Will definitely continue to be worse too, but he’s feeling generous today. It’s evident through the way he noisily laps at your cunt, acting like a man starved as he uses his thumbs to spread your folds and flatten his tongue against them.

“Good thing we didnae have cake yet,” he groans against your pussy, his tongue quickly collecting all the slick of your arousal before he lowers it to press inside your entrance, curling it a few times before lifting his head again. “Got the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in yer pussy right here.”

He stares up at you with those delicate baby blue eyes of his, letting out a moan of his own as your fingers in his hair form a fist and you tug him back up to your clit. “If only ye could see yourself right now. So beautiful when yer getting yer pussy ate.”

You whimper, grinding against his face as he alternates between suckling and nipping at your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you as you feel yourself rapidly approaching the first orgasm of the night.

“You’re close, aye? Can feel you clenching on my fingers, so fuckin’ greedy.” He leans directly over your clit, opening his mouth as a fat load of spit covers over the swollen bud and his thumb rubs against it to make a sticky mess out of your pussy. “It’s yer goddamn right to be greedy, especially today. I’m gonna need ye tae cum for me, sweet girl, need to kno’ I’m making ye feel good.”

The filth coming out of his mouth coupled with the way his fingers are thrusting inside of you perfectly are what sends you over the edge, crying out sharply as your fluids drench his face, leaving your thighs trembling against his head as he eagerly uses his tongue to clean up all of your cum left on your pussy.

“Gonna make ye do that again. Makes me lose my fuckin’ mind when you squirt on me like that.” he sighs, leaning back as he wipes the slick glistening on his chin and licks his fingers clean. You immediately prop yourself up to reach for his belt, letting out a low whine when he gently moves your hands away.

“Quit yer fretting, you’ll get my cock. Just not here. Need tae fuck ye proper, cannae do it on a couch. C’mon, love.” Johnny swiftly hooks his arm around your waist to toss you over his shoulder, rolling his eyes and landing a soft smack to your ass when you squirm in his grasp. “Dinnae give me that, I’ll manhandle you any day of the year. Nothing you can do about it.”

You bite back the ‘yes sir’ on the tip of your tongue, not wanting to boost his ego even more as he carries you to your room. “I’m more than capable of walking up some stairs, Johnny.”

“Won’t be doing any walking once I’m done with ye.” he retorts, kicking open the bedroom door and dropping you onto the bed. “Won’t be doing much of anything if I can help it. If I haven’t fucked ye till yer legs are shaking and yer heads empty then I didnae do my job correctly.”

“Is that a promise?” you ask softly as Johnny moves to unzip your dress, your hands working in tandem to unbutton his shirt, the collar of which is now completely soaked with your juices.

“It’s a given,” is his short response as he tugs your dress off of you, tossing it to the floor as you finally lose your patience and rip the rest of his buttons open. You let him shrug his shirt off to join your dress on the floor before staring down at the bulge evident in his dress pants.

“Christ, baby,” you mumble, fingers moving swiftly to undo his belt and shove his pants down to his thighs. There’s already a wet patch against his boxers, and you appreciate it as long as you can before you’re pushing them down as well to watch his erection spring up against his stomach.

His dick is mouthwatering, if you’re being completely honest with yourself. A fat pearl of pre-cum already leaking from his tip, dripping against his abdomen. It must be throbbing, aching at being neglected for so long.

“I did all that?” you breathe out, wrapping your fingers around the length of his cock to pump up and down slowly. “Just from eating me out?”

“Fuckin’ hell, you do this just from seeing you.” he inhales briskly, staring down at you jerking him off before he softly directs your hand away. “Cannae lie, eating that sweet pussy of yours definitely helped me too.”

He fully tugs down his pants and boxers, kicking them off towards the pile of clothes as he crawls up towards you.

His mouth is on yours immediately, his middle and ring fingers finding their way back to your pussy and quickly sinking into you. Johnny uses his other hand to guide your head back onto your pillow, allowing his body weight to press you into the mattress as you moan against his mouth. He kisses you sloppily as his lips slot between yours to push his tongue into your mouth and swirl it over yours.

“So pretty, so fuckin’ pretty, baby. My pretty girl.” he croons, his lips trailing down to your neck, practically panting as his tongue laps at your pulse point. “Ye drive me crazy. Every time I fuck ye I’m thinking about when I get to make you cum again. Yer always on my mind, I swear tae you.”

His words being both simultaneously dirty and praising make your head spin, and at first it barely registers that his mouth is moving from your neck. “Johnny, fuck…” you groan, nose scrunching as he drags his tongue across your cheek and leaves a trail of spit in it’s path. “You’re no better than a dog.”

“Can bark if ye want.” he grunts in response, not giving you any warning before spitting against your lips and smearing it around with the tip of his tongue. “Sorry, baby, need my mouth on you. Look so fuckin’ good under me.”

You’d let him do anything to you if he keeps fucking you like this, even if it’s just his fingers for now, and you have to admit that his tongue feels as good against your face as it does against your pussy. His hand that isn’t currently filling out your cunt moves to your shoulder, pinning you down as he licks all over your face, making your skin coated with his saliva.

Johnny pumps his fingers inside you a few more times, the squelching audible before he slowly pulls them out of you. You whimper at the sudden emptiness before throwing your head back against the pillow at the feeling of his cock grinding against your folds, the sensation making your pussy flutter around nothing.

“Please… please, Johnny.” you cry out, rocking your hips back and forth desperately in an attempt to get any friction possible.

“Please what, sweetheart?” he murmurs as he grips his cock, tapping the head against your clit and slathering your slick all over it. “Birthday girl still has to use her words.”

“Please fuck me already.” you whine, your nails digging into his biceps as you spread your legs wider around his hips. “Need you to fuck me, please.”

“Never get tired of hearing that.” He drags his cock against your pussy a few more times to gather up as much wetness as he can before finally pressing himself into you. You feel your cunt stretching around his girth to accommodate him, his tongue and his fingers having prepped you well but never enough for how thick he is.

His thrusts start slow and gentle, but Johnny isn’t a patient man, nor does he feel like holding himself back tonight. He lifts his leg up to reposition himself, before completely pounding his cock into you. It’s almost animalistic the way he loses himself in you, making you cling to him as your thoughts are consumed solely by Johnny and the way he’s making you feel. You breathe heavily, forcing your eyes open as you stare up at him.

Johnny looks as ravished as you feel; mohawk tousled from your fingers running through it and damp from sweat, his pupils blown out you almost can’t see the blue behind them. The thick, rough pads of his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he fucks you without hesitation, pushing himself as deep as he’s able to he watches the way your cunt keeps sucking him back in.

You feel him everywhere, his cock spearing you open while one of his hands moves to grope your breast, rolling your nipple between the pad of his thumb and his pointer finger. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan and he uses the opportunity to spit directly into your mouth, feeling it coat your tongue as you make eye contact while you swallow.

That must’ve set something off in him, because you’re instantly rewarded with him fucking you so perfectly it makes you see stars. “Just like that, Johnny! Right there, right-”

He cuts you off as he grips your hips harder to angle himself deeper, the head of his cock hitting the spongy spot inside of you perfectly. “Yeah, yeah, I kno’. Right there. Acting like I don’t kno’ yer pussy inside an’ out, like I haven’t made this pretty pussy my fuckin’ home.”

He leans down, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Think ye forgot I practically molded yer cunt to my liking, bonnie.” he whispers, his hips smacking against your ass with another thrust as if to prove his point. “Believe me, pretty girl, there’s nothing about you I haven’t memorized yet. And that includes all the ways I get tae make ye cum.”

His hand moves from your breast to your stomach, gently kneading your skin as he continues to pump into you. “Wanna cum inside ye. Figured out what tae get you as yer gift.” He meets your eyes as he rubs soft circles against your stomach, smirking as he feels you clench down on him. “Yeah? Wanna have my baby? I’ll make you a mama, don’t even have tae ask.”

You don’t have it in you to reply, your mind feeling fuzzy as you feel the pressure build up inside you again. “Johnny, I’m so close, so so close, I can’t…” you pant, your senses nearly overwhelmed from all the pleasure Johnny’s making you feel.

“I kno’, love. It’s a lot, aye? S’okay, you can be good for me and cum.” he coos, his hand going from your stomach to above your pussy, his thumbing working roughly against your clit.

You arch your back against the mattress with a mewl, his cock and his thumb on your clit working together to send you over the edge. He holds you steady as you squirt for the second time, your juices soaking over the dark curls trailing up his stomach and at the base of his cock.

Johnny fucks you through your orgasm, his own following shortly behind yours. He dips his head to the crook of your neck, sighing out your name as his hips stutter and he finishes inside you, hot ropes of semen coating your pussy as his thrusts slowly slow down. He keeps his cock where it is, allowing his cum to be plugged up in your cunt.

He collapses on top of you, panting and trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. He wraps his arms around your waist, cuddling you tightly as he looks down at you with love in his eyes.

“So good to me. Happy birthday, my girl.” Johnny murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he cradles you against him, your chests rising and falling in unison. “Love you so much. You have a good time tonight?”

“I love you too.” you smile warmly, catching your breath as your lips meet his. “I’m having a great time, Johnny, all thanks to you.” You try to lift yourself up from under him, before feeling his grip against you tighten ever so slightly.

“Where do ye think yer going, bonnie?”

“Don’t you need to take a breather?” you ask quietly, your confusion evident as he shakes his head and guides you back down against the mattress.

“Dinnae think for a second that I’m done with you.” he grunts, pulling his cock out just enough for you to feel his cum run down your thighs and onto the bed sheets before he thrusts into you again. “I’ll make this a birthday to remember.”

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

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le marquis et le moineau

Marquis de Gramont x f!reader

themes: angst, twisted business associates(?) to lovers, dubious morals, the Marquis has his eyes set on you and only you (but you don't know that ofc)

a/n: this bloody Frenchman has been plaguing my thoughts (thanks to a very sinister portrayal by one Bill Skarsgård). Mind you, I still haven't even seen the film John Wick 4, but I'm a fan of the series, and the morsels I've seen of the Marquis have been more than enough to give rise to a new lil fixation.

word count: 932 ▪︎ more of moineau ▪︎ other works

It started as a little game.

Just some passing fancy between yourself and the Marquis.

Or at least, that was what it was supposed to remain. Only that. A game.

But you should have known better. You should have known that any game played with Marquis Vincent de Gramont may eventually turn deadly.

Your high-risk job at the Continental usually also reaped the highest of rewards.

Tip off the right person and receive a gold coin. Deliver a message, without any bumps or bruises to all parties involved, and your reputation would be given a much-needed boost or two.

This business was danger wrapped in deceit wrapped in glamour. And you knew how to deal the right cards.

Although it seems, things are not as easy when it comes to the Marquis.

Vincent was every bit a menace as his reputation decreed. The Marquis tasked with restoring the authority of the High Table, he was nothing short of cunning and ambitious, prepared to take down any and all those who posed a threat to his objectives.

Dangerous. Deceptive. Glamourous as well, mind you. He was perfectly suited to this world.

He was also brazen, pretentious, snobbish.

And beautiful.

He knew just how to tug at your strings and make you bend. Or at least, he always tried to.

Like he was doing then, in one of the bigger rooms in his palacial estate, wherein only the two of you stood with only a few feet in between.

"What did we agree upon, mon moineau?" His silky accented voice implored.

My sparrow, he called you. The reason for which remained undisclosed to you, not for a lack of trying to wrench it out of him.

Why couldn't he call you something sweeter? Of the more classic French romantic sobriquets?

Chérie, perhaps. Mon amour. Mon coeur.

But no. You were stuck with measly ol' "my sparrow".

Of course, not that it mattered. Perhaps the Marquis reserved his sweeter words for those he actually cared for. At the very least, well-regarded enough to be associated with. Those impossibly beautiful and refined members of European aristocracy that he was so often rumoured to be wining and dining.

Unlike you. Renegade, foul-mouthed vagabond.

You stared up at his pacing figure. "I am fully aware of what we agreed upon, Vincent. What I have done does not breach that. I am perfectly capable - "

His head snapped to you menacingly. "You could have been killed, moineau."

You shrugged. "Consequences. I did not enter this damned line of work without considering the risks. As it goes, getting killed would not exactly be an uncommon occurence."

"Don't jest." He shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, in obvious annoyance.

You took a step forward, trying to find his gaze. "And if I were to... pass... so what? Everything would simply go on. The truth is that I'm already a ghost. Doing what I do in our world makes me some kind of spectre. I am already not there."

You knew this. You repeated this to yourself when you woke, and before you went to sleep. It was the only truth you could hold on to.

Until him. Until some buried, twisted part of you began hoping that he would care.

But hope is a dangerous thing.

You continued, as he kept looking away. "You would go on. Perhaps even find a new sparrow to play with."

You felt it. As your words hung in the air, his entire mood shifted. He straightened, and with both hands burrowed in the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, his eyes land on you.

He slowly took a step forward, and then another, until his figure loomed over you.

In all your shared moments, you learned to discern the quick switches in his temper and his expression. But not enough, not completely.

The look he was giving you then was impossible to read.

"You think..." His left hand drifted to the hem of your blazer, toying with it. "... that I..." His index finger then drifted upward over your silk shirt, stopping in between your collarbones. His tongue briefly darted out to wet his lips, catching your eye. "... would simply replace you?"

You finally felt his touch on your face, his fingers delicately caressing your jawline.

He made a fleeting tsk tsk sound with his tongue, as if in disapproval.

"I believe you underestimate just how much you matter to me, mon moineau."

You did your best to remain unfazed. This was the game, wasn't it? Whatever you might think it can become, what you hope it can unravel into - set it aside as delusion.

Don't fall.

It's just a game to play.

Don't fall.

You took a deep breath, then smiled sweetly. Mockingly. "What makes you think I would even pay any mind to how much I matter to you? That line of thinking doesn't work for people like us, Marquis."

"People like us," he repeated, amusement furrowing his brow. "Non, mon moineau. There are no other people like us."

He leaned in, eyes not leaving yours, all but eliminating the distance between your faces. You could feel his breath on your skin, could count the faint spotting of freckles around his nose.

You wished to ask him what he wanted, but held back.

No. There was something better to say.

"What are you waiting for?" You managed to voice the words despite your very heart lodged in your throat.

He smiled, proud of his precious sparrow.

"Mon coeur... I've been waiting for you my entire life."

Ahhh! 🖤 Everybody say thank you Bill Skarsgård and the on-set stylist for the visual treat that is the Marquis.

I'm not even sure if this will find the right crowd - seeing as my lovely followers are of the HotD persuasion. But oh well, I had to get it out of my system.

Could be more of this... idk 🤷‍♀️ Rest assured I haven't forgetten about all my series works, even the ones I haven't started but said I would do...

#marquis de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont #john wick #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont imagine #bill skargard #bill skarsgard x reader #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #bill skarsgard imagine #john wick 4 #marquis vincent de gramont imagine #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård x reader #vincent de gramont x reader

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ssundayz · 2 months

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✦ FIVE SENSES — ft. sunday

───── a/n: hi party. consider this my (re-)debut post!!! just a small treat. this came to me in a vision and i think i just blacked out while writing it lmao. i love this guy if you can't tell. anyway i had to do a little improv because you know, he's not out yet. keep that in mind. ───── cw: none / wc: 700~

───── I. HEARING

In Penacony's dream, time is fixed. While the hour may never change, and while you may never truly tire, your muscle memory has retained a schedule. Many others alike have done so — it is the closest to routine in this unchanging dream. You retreat to your chambers eventually, to get whatever semblance of rest you can get.

Even, calm strides echo in the barren hallway — a rhythm familiar to you. A handle clicks, a hinge croaks. It’s quiet, so much so that you can almost hear a breath, and perhaps the flutter and drag of a feather. Two more steps, and Sunday greets you, voice suave but polite as ever. Even though you've known each other for so long, he never dropped his formalities to you. Perhaps a bad habit of his, or maybe an indication of respect.

───── II. SMELL

Light, gentle — pleasant, but never too strong. Sunday arrives to you with a breeze, the faint smell of perfume on his lapel and under his ear. When you embrace him, his feathers fall over your face — the plume tickles your nose. It smells like spring, the arrival of which one can never tire of — and that sweet-ish smell of hyacinth, as if your nose is tucked into petals. You know it's only for you — nobody other than you gets so close.

His hair, too, smells flowery. When you bury your face under his chin, straying strands brush over your cheek — and there it is again, that subtle pleasant smell. He won't divulge his secret, not even to you — he'll chuckle; if you like it so much, just hold him for longer.

───── III. TASTE

He tends to himself well, especially when he knows visitors will arrive — and if it's for you, it's of even grander importance. His lips are soft, and you can faintly catch the texture of lip balm — something sweet, you can't tell what. On some occasions it's sweeter, fresher — the aftertaste of sweet cream or marmalade lingers, and that you know because you've tasted it yourself.

Sunday's cooking skills are nothing to write home about, but his foods are filling and almost addictive in a sense. Nothing tastes quite like it — when tasting foreign foods, you find yourself missing the classic subtle freshness and sweetness of Sunday's home-cooked breakfast. And his lips, naturally.

───── IV. TOUCH

He's not used to touching, that much you can tell. Before he got used to your hands on him, he treated every touch as a call for attention, a call for a concern — as if you needed him for something. You didn't want much, not always — you just wanted to hold him for a moment. He caught on, but still turns to face you every time — when he can reach you, his forehead always tips to yours.

Sunday's touch is feather-light. He brushes over your skin as one press of his thumb will shatter you — as if you're faint, barely there; asking you not to disappear. He always asks before he touches you — he never picks your hand from your side, instead always offers his hand to you. He stops briefly before putting his hand on your cheek, waiting for you to lean into his touch yourself or simply a nod in approval from you.

───── V. SIGHT

He's not particularly tall, but he is imposing nonetheless. Perhaps it's his title — the head of the Oak family and representative of Penacony. Even his name — just Sunday, a simple moniker in its simplicity can be intimidating. You understand, when you view him from afar — despite his stature and gentle face, you best not try your chances.

Up close, personal, it's different. He looks almost like a different person when the door clicks shut — his shoulders soften into a gentle curve, and his eyelids fall slightly. His lips tip down just slightly, more of a leisurely smile, different from that charming face he shows to the citizens and tourists of Penacony. The faint marks of exhaust become clearer in the low light — subtle lines of shadow under his eyes, a crease on his brow. Still, you feel as though his eyes are brighter away from all the splendor of the dream.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sunday x reader #i forgot how you tag posts #✦ a dream within a dream

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lanecoaster · 8 months

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eren and pet names 🐇

female reader mdni

-babe/baby

classics classics. it just rolls off the tongue easy and can be used in multiple scenarios. like when you’re requesting a kiss from him.

“ren, kiss please?” the tips of your fingers bump under your chin when your hands come together. when he looks over at you from his phone with a straight face, an innocent smile takes over yours.

“you wanna kiss baby?” he smirks when you tilt your head and nod. eren knows you’re not requesting just one so he pulls you into his lap and grants your wish. incase his intuition is false.

it’s not.

-sweetheart

he only uses this one because it makes you blush like crazy. otherwise he’s convinced it’s for people strictly above the age of forty-five. so you debate him about it while you guys are laying in bed.

“i call you better names,” he rolls his eyes when he notices the red taking over your face.

“wrong. something about you saying it- also your voice, i think! yeah! say it again!”

“sweetheart.”

and you just bury your face in your pillow with a moan. eren chuckles and pulls you into him.

-pretty girl/beautiful

his favorites because it lets you know how that he thinks your attractive all the time. like while your doing your makeup.

“you gonna be ready soon? no rush, just asking.”

eren stands in the bathroom doorway as you finish touching yourself up. you look at him through the mirror and curtly nod.

“yeah yeah! just finishing makeup,” you look back at yourself and pat some blush on your nose. not paying much attention to him coming up behind you.

“is this an ugly shade on me?” you frown and turn your head from side to side. he’s really the only person you can handle criticism from, even if he says he likes it every time.

“nope.” he sweeps your hair from your neck to kiss it. “beautiful. look beautiful.” you just smile, which breaks a little when you feel a smack on your ass. “mmph! thanks babe.” you jolt forward.

“welcome pretty girl.”

-darling

again just because you like it and he likes your reaction to it. especially during sex. the first time you guys fuck, eren let’s it slip and you cum the hardest you ever have.

“come on, come on,” eren pants into your neck softly. you were practically reduced to whimpers with your eyes screwed shut, it’s been so long since you’ve genuinely had it this good.

“e-ren, please,” your nails are digging into his shoulders and your legs shake in his grip. he plants kisses all along your jaw and momentarily let’s go of your thigh to cradle your face, kissing under your dropped bottom lip so you could get his memo.

“not stopping you, darling.” he murmurs and smiles into the kiss you’re sharing when he feels your pussy gush around him three seconds later.

-angel

quick after mention?

you were expecting eren to just roll over and ignore you for the rest of the night after you finished. that’s what every other man had done. to your surprise he wasn’t even in the bed when you came from the bathroom.

“brought you some water,” your head whips to the side to see your shirtless boyfriend handing you a glass. you smiled as you excepted it. taking a sip and setting it down- thankfully cause eren barely waited before sweeping you off the ground “babe! you’re so lucky non of that water spilled!” your legs circle around his waist.

“yeah?” he walks around to his side of the bed “fuckin’ wore me out. shit!” you just giggle and let him set you down, but you don’t get enough time to scoot over as he pulls your legs open. “eren no, this is literally how we started-“

“i know i know,” he places a kiss over the lace covering your sensitive pussy, groaning right after. you shut your legs and let him climb into bed, watching all his movements, he lays on his back. “so i’m your favorite?” his eyes narrow over to you.

“my favorite what?” you scrunch your eyebrows in question. “c’mon angel, you and i both know that was the best you’ve had, we had.”

his arm comes out to curl around your waist and pull you into him, your face goes warm. “yeah, i was hoping you didn’t just have a pretty face.” you kiss his smooth shoulder, squealing when he pinches your thigh.

#eren jaeger #eren x you #eren aot #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager smut #eren smut #eren x reader #eren x y/n

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worstghost · 1 year

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How COD men sleep, alone and with you. (Ghost, König, and Soap)

I can do more for the other guys if people like this (:

Ghost

Alone: He sleeps stiff, flat on his back, arms crossed over his chest. The balaclava stays on unless he knows he's alone in his room. Long sleeve cotton shirt, long pants. He doesn't care to be seen.

With you: He relaxes a bit. Some nights he'll take the mask off for you, if he's feeling kind. Not much for cuddling, but will let you lay across his chest and hold your hand tightly. Leans his head down to press his nose and mouth onto your hair. If you ask him nicely, he'll take his shirt off.

You wake up one morning to catch him snoring gently, a few fingers slipped under the waist band of his pants. It's so mushy and domestic, your heart flutters. Rarely do you see him so relaxed. You decide to ruin the peace by sliding down the bed and waking him up with a blowjob, which he greatly appreciates.

König

Alone: He hates sleeping alone, he'll curl up on his too small bed, a pillow at his back, one under his head, one held tightly in his arms. Mask off, covered neck to feet in clothing though. He doesn't sleep well, will toss and turn all night.

With you: His favorite spot is scrunched up with you, arms wrapped tightly around your center with his face buried in your chest. He always sleeps better when you join him, even more so when you lay yourself completely over him like a weighted blanket. He grinds his teeth and mumbles in his sleep.

Early one morning you wake up before him, there's a sliver of sun peeking through the curtains onto his face, inches away from yours. You so rarely see him without the mask so you take time to admire him, brushing fingers across his freckled cheek. He stirs and you lean in to kiss his bitten lips, he hums and returns it, never opening his eyes.

Soap

Alone: He sleeps like a tornado, splayed out, kicking the blankets every which way. He's always too hot when he sleeps so he never wears clothes and if someone just happens to walk in, that's their problem.

With you: He likes being the big spoon, a classic. He wants to be pressed up behind you, kissing your shoulder in place of saying goodnight. He sleeps practically naked if he can help it and insists that you do the same. He'll wake you up the same every morning, huffing into your ear and grinding his hard on against you until you stir. When he knows you're awake, he waits for you to make the next move, depending on whether or not you're up for sleepy morning sex.

He's trying to be so gentle, letting out quiet grunts and huffs, holding your hip so tightly he's worried he'll bruise you. You don't seem to be awake yet, hell he's not sure if he's even awake yet. He buries his lips against your neck, surprised when your hips move back to greet his thrust. He stutters out a "Fuck-" and shudders when you move his hand to your bare chest.

Price and Alejandro versions ♡

#cod #cod mw2 #könig cod #ghost x reader #x reader #call of duty #imagine #konig #simon riley x reader #mw2 #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #könig x reader #könig headcanons #ghost cod #soap cod #konig cod

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enyearns · 6 months

Text

Bakugou Katsuki: All the Lovers in the Night

in which bakugou keeps you company (even though you never asked for it)

✧ genre: fluff ✧ cw: some swearing! (sorry! my hands are tied, bakugou is a swearer!); also a brief mention of sex (the characters don't do anything remotely promiscuous, it's just mentioned) ✧ wc: 2.1k

song for this read: Sunsetz by Cigarettes After Sex

a/n: i think, sometimes, we all deserve a tame bakugou. and, i believe that bakugou really can simmer down when he's with you. it's no wonder why you feel safe with him. (i am an avid fan of this kind of bakugou. very avid fan).

You usually fall asleep easily. Really, you could sleep just about anywhere, even if it were on some rocky surface, or even if people were yelling all around you; you would just need five minutes before you’ll completely clock off the world.

But tonight was one of the nights where your mind was needlessly bustling with thoughts. Your body was extremely exhausted, and your mind was at the brink of sanity, yet your spirit couldn’t commit to sleep. You were, frustratingly, tossing and turning in bed, chasing sleep that eluded you.

You were beginning to feel suffocated and dreadfully alone in your room, so you wrapped your fluffy blanket around your shoulders and grabbed two books, taking off downstairs to the common area. Here it was dark and (unsurprisingly) empty; all the lights had been long turned off and there was no chatter in any corner of the dormitory, but still you felt like you had space to breathe again.

As you made your way quietly to the couch, you felt comfort in seeing the traces of your classmates scattered around. The cake that Sato had baked (which was beautifully spongy and amazingly sweet) was on the countertop, only a few slices left since you and the other girls had graciously helped yourself to some. On the tables were someone’s textbooks. It was probably Sero and Kirishima’s — you saw the two studying (and chatting loudly) together earlier.

Honestly, it were the little things that made you feel safe again.

You curled up on the couch, turning on the lamp by the edge, and for a few minutes you had deliberated on which book to read.

On one hand, you could continue reading Crime and Punishment, a fantastic Dostoevsky classic, or you could finish off Olivie Blake’s Alone With You in The Ether. In the end, you decided to put the psychological crime novel aside and opted for the young adult fiction. Where you’re at in C&P right now is boring, what with the chapter centered around the insufferable Katerina Ivanovna. And, to be quite frank, where you’re at mentally isn’t capable of reading through Ivanovna’s self-wallowing dialogue at the moment.

You don’t know how much time has passed, but you were pretty invested in the book, reading each line with a curious focus. You were now laying on your stomach, nose buried deep into the book as you kicked your feet and blushed and giggled to yourself. You were so immersed that you didn’t even notice that someone had come around.

In fact, you didn’t notice until you felt a dip on the couch, making you look up curiously. Your eyes locked with a pair of strikingly crimson orbs, which were weary and slightly hazy.

Bakugou looked extremely tired, wearing just a black tank that showed off his biceps, and some plaid pyjama pants. He was holding onto a half-empty glass. “What you reading, nerd?”

You smiled remembering the scene that you’re on, but your cheeks also simultaneously burned. Hopefully Bakugou would not be able to make that out right now, since the lamp only dimly lit the space. “It’s nothing.”

He raised his brow, but he was too tired to pry, concluding the end of their quiet chatter (if this even counts as one). Bakugou made no move to leave. He was just sitting there and staring off into the distance, not saying a word. You, still lying on your stomach facing the boy, would sometimes look up to see what he’s doing, but you were met with the same listless and unreadable expression on his face. He was so uncharacteristically quiet that you were convinced that he was asleep with his eyes wide open.

But you didn’t urge him to go back to his room to rest, nor did you ask why he was up in the first place. You didn’t want to prompt him to suddenly go away (knowing how easily his mood fluctuates). You enjoyed his company, and, as selfish as it was, you would hate it if he left.

He eventually stood up (abruptly, to say the least), leaving just as quietly as he arrived. Before you could even let the disappointment stir within you, he came back again having refilled his cup. He had brought you a glass too.

You gratefully took a few sips and placed the glass cup on the coffee table, mumbling a thank you, to which he just grunted.

Instead of lying back down on your stomach, you took a risk (Bakugou is a flight risk, honestly) and rested your head on the boy’s lap. You could feel him stiffen under you, and when you looked at him curiously, it was only a moment later before he allowed himself to relax again.

You smiled to yourself, only slightly, and began to read again.

“So something’s botherin’ you.”

You lifted your eyes to look at him again. He was looking at you, his eyes still swirling with fatigue, but his brows were creased in concern. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

His frown only deepened. “Too late, ‘cause shit’s already troublin’ me.” You didn’t respond; you don’t really want to get into it right now. He quickly sensed that you weren’t going to tell him anything, so he just let out a soft sigh. “Still haven’t told me what you’re reading.”

You showed him the cover of your book, and he tilted his head to read the title. “‘Alone With You in the Ether’? Sounds corny as shit.”

You furrowed your brows and pouted unhappily, making the boy avert his gaze elsewhere, fighting back the pink that was crawling up his neck. You're cute. “It’s romantic, but it’s also cynical, and the characters are just so miserable…” your lips curved into a smile. “They’re so cute together.”

“You’re just not right in the head.”

“Hey!”

“So then? If you like it, it must be good. Read me a passage, the one you’re at right now, read it.”

You opened your book once more. The book, you were holding it up over your face, was obstructing his view of you, so he looked back ahead. He was ready to listen, in fact, he was listening for something, but he could only feel you fidgeting on his lap. Moments passed with you trying to start, but growing shy and stopping, again and again. Finally having had enough, he looked down at you, quirking his brows for a second time upon seeing you hide your face behind the pages.

“I– I can’t read it…”

Bakugou clicked his tongue and grabbed the book from you, skimming through the two open pages. He felt his body grow hot reading the words, albeit in a blur. It didn’t click for him immediately what you were reading, but it was definitely a… a you know what passage.

And you got your damn head in his lap right now!!

“I-in my defense, okay, you caught me at a bad time! This is the only one– ugh! Olivie Blake writes it so romantically anyway, so what does it even matter!!” You were flustered beyond repair, and your friend being so obviously at a loss for words wasn’t making you feel any better. So you made a move to lift yourself off him, but Bakugou held your shoulder down. Instead, he reached over you and grabbed your blanket, placing it over your body.

“You’re gonna catch a damn cold. You’re always getting cold too, what are you doing not using your damn blanket properly? You wanna get sick? It’s like you wanna get sick!”

Seeing the boy trying to literally cover up for you, his neck, ears and face coated in a furious blush, it made you want to laugh. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have realised that he was just trying to divert his attention, trying to keep the flow going. You smiled up at him, thankful, and continued to read.

From then on, neither of you exchange another word. He was tired, and he’s never usually up at this hour. He only woke up from his sleep because he suddenly needed to pee, and then he suddenly really needed a drink. It felt like the Sahara Desert in his damned throat. But then he saw you. You looked happy reading, but you were up at this hour, and he knows that that’s usually a tell that you were distressed.

He felt the sleep starting to overcome him again. He was absentmindedly running his hand through your soft hair (he doesn’t even know when he started doing this), and his arm was propped up on the couch in a relaxed manner.

Other than you sometimes squealing or gasping (he found it endearing, extremely endearing), it was completely silent. Before he knew it, he fell asleep in that same position, his hand still entangled between your locks.

You were also feeling calm and relaxed, especially under Bakugou’s surprisingly soft touch. Just being in his presence, you felt healed again. It was weird; in the past, you never thought that he would have this effect on you, but here you are now, quickly falling asleep because of his presence, even though sleep was hard to catch for the past few hours.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Bakugou was the first to wake. When he lifted his head (slowly), he immediately registered a dull ache in his neck. He was blinking his eyes, gradually getting used to the morning light that now filled the common area.

He looked around precariously. The TV was on. Sitting somewhere else on the couch, some distance away, were Tokoyami and Mineta. There were also some of his classmates having breakfast in the kitchen. It’s probably somewhere between 7 or 8 right now.

When he looked back down and saw that you were still sleeping, he felt his muscles relax again. You had curled up into him sometime in the night, your fingers loosely holding onto his shirt.

It might be the fact that he’s too sleepy right now to fight back the smile muscles, but he couldn’t help the upward turn of his lips as he gazed at you with the fondest of fond expressions. He gently brushed your hair away, admiring your pretty, resting face.

But of course, the moment’s too good to last. Too good when the other extras are around, at least.

“HE’S AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!!!!!!”

An irk mark appeared on Bakugou’s forehead just hearing the grapehead’s irritating screech.

“HOW DARE YOU, BAKUGOU, HAVE A MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS WITH (Y/N)?! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THE SACRED BODY OF (Y/N)!!!”

“Shut the fuck up, I didn’t do nothin’.”

“BAKUGOU’S AWAKE??” Pinky immediately came to the scene of the crime with a sly, sly, sly smirk on her face. She is too damn energetic for this hour, and Bakugou just pinched the bridge of his nose (which, now he realises slightly carries the scent of your shampoo). “WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN YOU TWO????! TELL ME, TELL ME!!!”

“The nerd was reading some stupid novel.”

The others were also curious about the situation and started to crowd around the couch. They did (more or less) wake up to Bakugou and you sleeping together on the couch. How could they NOT be nosy, curious, and most of all, invested??

All this attention just irritated the ash blonde though. “Everyone shut up, she’s still sleeping!”

Mina cooed. “Awww, he cares so much for (y/n)!”

“I FOR ONE BE–”

“Shut the fuck up before I make you all shut the fuck up!!” he growled, lifting his hand menacingly. Sparks were coming out of his hand. It did work on scaring most of them, but Mina and Mineta were much too nosy to be threatened away.

The two were about to continue teasing Bakugou, but he felt you slightly stir, and this made his eyes widen in panic. He brought his hand back down to gently pat your head, all while glaring menacingly at Pinky and Grapehead, and oh, would you look at that, the rest of the Bakusquad were here too, looking at him with the same stupid ooh-la-laa expressions on their stupid faces.

One more word and I’ll kill you.

“The affectionate petting is really undercutting your tone bro.” (Kirishima was the only one brave enough to point this out).

“I fuckin’ know! Now scram, the nerd’s still sleepin’ so quit botherin’ us!!”

They eventually cleared because they adore you enough. Mina made a big deal out of it though, booing and showing him not one, but two thumbs down. Sero joined in, doing a i’m watching you gesture with his fingers.

Unluckily (or luckily…?) for Bakugou though, he was stuck in that same position for the next hour. Honestly, he could care less. All that mattered was that you were resting up and feeling safe, because it’s what you deserve.

He’ll deal with the achy muscles some other time (and maybe he’ll just make you pay for it).

en's chitter-chatter: thanks so much if you made it this far! writing really does get my mind off things, so if this had helped anyone get their minds off things too, that would make me really happy! >//< also, i just want to share the books i've mentioned so far!

Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoevsky) is a russian classic. it's a really good read on destitution, poverty, and the degradation of morality/sanity that the main character (Raskolnikov) experiences in the face of it.

Alone With You in the Ether (Olivie Blake) is a young adult fiction about the unconventional romance between Aldo, a PhD student fascinated by time, and Regan, a counterfeit artist. it's a really short read, and the way the words and dialogue flows is poetic. i really do recommend it! in fact, i can't recommend it enough! ^0^

finally, i'm not sure if anyone caught this, but All the Lovers in the Night is a novel by Mieko Kawakami! it's a japanese contemporary that follows the life of a lonely Fuyuko Irie, who has no one, and quietly grapples with the sudden realisation that she is, in fact, not okay with the absence of human company.

final note: i have a little Uncle!Aizawa thing in my drafts, but (to be truthfully) it stems from a bigger private piece that i’ve got going on. writing about Uncle Aizawa has been very enjoyable; it’s cute and personally makes me smile. i do want to post it, but my aizawa in my universe has a bit of an extra backstory. the family of the main character (aizawa’s niece) is well fleshed out, but i feel that aizawa’s character and backstory would be too OOC to be standalone fics ^^’’ anyways… if you guys are A-OK with a slightly different take on aizawa, i would be more than happy to share it!

until then, that’s all for now! please take care, stay hydrated, and remember to eat well <3

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