#professor joel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hier--soir · 8 months

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

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 #ALP

4K notes · View notes

millerscoffee · 9 months

Note

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals. It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it. So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front. He hands out papers, hovering by your desk. Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down. You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings. “Shit,” you say to yourself. That was it. That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course. You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling. You failed. Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind. What were you to do? How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it. The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller. Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes. His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns. He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve. A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt. Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him. “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?” Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl. Proving not to judge a book by its cover. The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff. Predicates and imagery? I’d rather be learning about biology. But I need this course, you know. And I…,” you swallow hard. God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher. He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,” Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table. He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms. Keeps his distance. “It happens, you know. There are things we can do to accommodate. You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail. You have options. I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final. Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare. You know the workload of this university. Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?” You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it. The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help. You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all. I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though. You’d have to come by my house…,” he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course. If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it. You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did. Though, that was neither here nor there. His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing. Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place. But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay. Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race. Tonight? Tonight?! Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.” How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively. “Here’s my address. 7 o’clock.”

“Seven. Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.” His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat. You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers. It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar. Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach. It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home. Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans. His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted. His stomach, soft at the bottom. You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks. You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too. Charismatic as he invites you into his home. Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks. His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower. What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home. It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time. His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures. Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children. He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right? When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too. Fuck, this feels so easy. But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language. He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that. You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally. Plump and ripe for the taking. Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you. What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression. You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him. And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen. You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?” When you take the water from him, your fingers graze. The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind. He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead. The two lines between his brow. “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table. Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree. You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop. All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down. You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster. You dread it, you really do. Going over your failures? You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,” Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift. The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head. “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought. You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax. Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself. “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything. See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.” Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format. This citation works for your research papers, right?” He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day. You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper. “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs. You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it? You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly. If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format. Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting. An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse. You shift your gaze to look at him. The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest. The freckles that splayed over his aged skin. “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement. And a pointed one, it seems. Someone to tell you what to do. And Joel wanted to be that person? Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it. Maybe he did that just because this was his house. That must’ve been it. He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next. He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either. What? I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart. Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap. You deserved better than that. He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself. He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes. He felt for you. And he was a bit lost in your eyes. You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit. Joel could see that. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted. You threw him off without even trying. The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise. You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly. “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay. You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.” He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. The candor, the nerve. A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were. Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain. They look soft, and… willing. You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else. You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming. He’s not married? You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this? So close? Backed by the glow of his house? It was so different from the boys you were used to. In their dorms or disgusting apartments. It smelled as nice as it looked. You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself. You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster. Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway. I know I didn’t at that age.”

There. The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?” You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee. Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers. “Forty-six. You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion. How will this land? What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa. He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out. Do you fake it? Do you give it to them straight? Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you? N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you. It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp. But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge. It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you. Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone. No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet. He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day? You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing. Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans. His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that. All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things. That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready. His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing. Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually. He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination. “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses. Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does. On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat. You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this. You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.” Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request. “I – what?”

“No?” Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood. It’s just, straddling his face? Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?” His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural. But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school. Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today. He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you. “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?” You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place. And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures. His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor. “Fuck,” you mutter. This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does. You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest. Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand? All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening. “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.” Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told. Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart. Then, it’s incredibly palpable. His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him. You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself. There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too. Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt. “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks. Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do. Has so much to teach you, if you let him. Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much. Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him. An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much. It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt. Delicious, deliberate. Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was. Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last. Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you. A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained. “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly. Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery. Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips. Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there. Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you. The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you. Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too. He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin. Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally. Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone. Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar. You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was. Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly. Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor. His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons. “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had. You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm. And everything else.

“You know what you did?” Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand. You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress. “What was it?” You ask, curiously. Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you. His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance. “What is it?” You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him. “No. No. I want to feel you. It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that. At how gone your brain is. Here he was, thinking he was the only one. “Okay, okay, darlin’. I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion. But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head. You were everywhere. His mouth, his glistening chest and beard. He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation. Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock. “Such a needy little thing, now,” it’s as if someone else is talking. This isn’t the Professor Miller you know. This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it. “So fucking wet. Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock. Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it. “Take my cock.”

And take, you do. Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock. Clenching around the head and he growls at that. “You dirty thing. This how you fuck all your teachers?” It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you! Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you. It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him. “Just me, show me then. Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over. Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once. Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own. The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else. His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole. You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected. Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore. “Fuck me, Joel! Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?” Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first. Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this. When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you. How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now. His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow. The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on. The way it sounds. Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you. Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake. You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs. Over your own stomach. You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your. His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it. I know you can take it. Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby. That’s it, that’s good, darlin’. Shh, easy. Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat. Come for me, I know you can be so good for me. Good for – fuck – fuck. Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit. “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop. Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come. Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore. You feel too good. Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves. “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!” Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms. You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out. So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear. He doesn’t want to any more than you do. But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out. Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you. You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back. But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle. When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too. He’s just as disheveled. The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?” He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender. More playful. More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.” he’s finished enough for you to roll over. You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop. He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant. “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow. “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,” Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now. “You will pass by your own volition. I meant it – you are bright. You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.” He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave. And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.” You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue. Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

#bee's requests #professor!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou smut #joel miller requests #soft!dom joel #softdom!joel #professor au #professor joel miller au #tlou au #joel miller au #by bee

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pedgito · 4 months

Text

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter One: Teacher’s Pet

Chapter Summary: First day woes and a difficult semester ahead, you find solace in your caring, attentive creative writing professor who shows you just a little more attention than everyone else, or so you think. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), mentions of infidelity (not by joel), sarah doesn't exist here, background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, talks of literature and lots of random writing topics, dream smut, gratuitous descriptions of mr. miller's body and personality.

note: thanks to @planet-marz1 for the last minute beta.

— AO3 | PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

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There’s a deafening silence that surrounds you when you step into the lecture room, not nearly as big as your other main course classes, it’s intimate. Close. If you kicked a foot out from the chair you were sitting in you could touch the professor’s desk.

Part of you wonders if you were the only person taking this class, sitting for a few minutes alone, not another person in sight—until one files in, then another, until there’s about ten of you seated sparsely in the small space. It’s mostly bare aside from the few books shoved away on a nearby shelf, antiquey books that, no doubt, had a thick layer of dust.

The problem with the class was that you weren’t sure if it was ever going to be a real thing—applying you had the expectation of who your teacher would be, what you could expect from the coursework, and just how manageable it would be amongst the rest of your classes. But, there was little known now.

All you did know was that they had to find a replacement quick, which they did, and you were sure that a sign of their lacking punctuality was a great start, tucking your chin over the bag placed on your desk as you waited in silence amongst simmered voices, feeling starchly out of place.

You didn’t know this place—it was new, Austin. You moved clear across the country on a whim, wanting a new start in a place you’ve never seen before. You’d plucked a community college out of the bunch, not worried with the semantics of applying to some big, ivy league school. You wanted something manageable, something attainable. This seemed like the easiest option, unsuspecting and unknown, you could slink by and go about your life peacefully.

That is what you wanted, after all.

Until you meet Mr. Miller.

Joel could’ve pursued music, or carpentry, or about a billion other things he was skilled at—yet somehow, teaching seemed to be the easiest option. It gave him the familial feeling of caring and guiding that he did enjoy, molding young minds and helping them bloom. He worked at a local high school in Austin for years—fifteen good, long years.

But, he too needed a change. His life was slowly crumbling in on himself.

He sees the job opening on the last weekend of summer, still teetering with the option of returning to his teaching job at the high school—it isn’t as manageable as it used to be, finding that in his older age that dealing with the behavior and arguments with ill-managed kids was more of a hassle than it needed to be for the pay he was receiving.

So, fuck it. He applies.

He gets a call the following Monday and he’s officially added to the staff by the end of the week—and of course, he’s never stepped foot on the campus until his first day. So, he’s lost. Joel realizes how unprofessional it looks, scrambling with his bag as he throws it over his shoulder and haphazardly adjusts his tie, hoping that his hair wasn’t too askew and wild, despite the wind flying through his hair in the chilly bite of the autumn weather.

Things couldn’t have been off to a better start.

There’s the slightest trickling of a thought that you should leave, give up that this class might be an ultimate failure but then he’s walking through the door. You knew his name, but that was as far as your reach extended. Mr. Miller. J. Miller, to be specific.

James. Justin. Jonathan. It was all a mystery to you.

You find that his appearance is less than prepared, mostly disheveled and he seems breathless as he offers a subtle nod of awkward acknowledgement as he slings his bag onto the desk. Thankfully, he seems to understand that there was a tinge of urgency with him being late and he quickly reaches into his bag and pulls out a stack of papers.

Class syllabuses. He hands them off silently to the person on the farthest side of the room and hoping they would get the idea, pass them off until they reach the final person. It’s crisp, stark white paper covered in a boring black-inked text. Nothing seemed out of the norm—different methods of writing you would try over the course of the semester and specific assignments that would pop-up throughout. You enjoyed the predictability of it. Though, there is a significant surprise when your professor begins to speak, pulling your attention to the front of the room.

He’s gathered himself rather quickly, assuming he’s had his fair share of time in the field.

He writes his name out in clear, dignified letters on the board.

Mr. Miller, the screech of a solid drag as he underlines his name.

“I know I’m not who you all were suspecting.” He begins, placing the chalk down, hand wrapping around a balled fist as he cracked his knuckles, walking slowly until he can lean against the edge of his desk, soles of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“And I’ll admit, I’m new to this,” He waves vaguely around the room, “I’m used to public school and the shittiness that comes with that—so I hope that if I can take this seriously, you all can extend that gesture too.”

You notice how comfortable he seems in group settings, relaxing his broad shoulders as he crosses his arm, glancing around the room casually, never lingering for too long.

“I won’t pester you too much today, given I already wasted some of your time,” Someone snickers softly toward the back of the room and Mr. Miller cracks a subtle smirk, seemingly embarrassed but not offering anything to pick at. “But, I’m willing to answer any questions you have while we have the time today.”

Questions flow in easily: what the semester would consist of, more elaboration outside of the syllabus, some of Mr. Miller’s favorite pieces of literature—part of you expects him to inject the usual ‘around the room introduction’ scheme, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into the more engaging questions asked, answering as freely and as interested as he can.

He loves Robert Frost, which makes sense. You’re not sure why, but it is predictable.

He is predictable. Sipping on a large mug of what you can only assume is coffee, the smell permeating toward you with where he’s resting against his desk, only a foot or so away. You haven’t managed to catch his gaze yet, which you’re partly thankful for. It allows you to study him, examine his expressions—admire…No.

And while he can continue his talk about favorite authors for days—the class draws to a close sooner than you expect, and you move lazily as most of the class disperses at the first opportunity with it being their final class of the day.

You’re throwing your bag over your shoulder when you hear his voice, addressing the only other person in the room.

You.

“Intimidating?” Your face screws up in confusion, head tilting his way as your eyes connect for the first time. “Oh, uh—sorry, I’ve just been doin’ this a while. I can tell when someone is anxious in class.”

And, while it wasn’t necessarily anxiety—it was more the idea of adjusting. This was new, this place wasn’t familiar and you were just trying to settle in. Mr. Miller seemed like the guy to have deep roots planted into these grounds, familiar with this town like he’s been here his entire life.

He has, but that wasn’t the point.

“No,” You answer indifferently, shrugging your shoulders, “I think your radar might be a little off.”

Joel chuckles softly, tapping his fingers against the leather cover of his bag as he leaned the tops of his thighs against the edge of his desk, “You know—you didn’t partake much in class discussion just now.”

You weren’t sure where he was driving his point, gradually stepping toward his desk, fingers wrapped around the straps of your bag, pulling against the tight material of your shirt as it stretched over your breasts, “And you were about—fifteen minutes late, too.”

Touche. He nods, lips pursed together.

“Just, fair warning—class discussion is a good chunk of your grade, participation and all that. I want you to feel comfortable enough to join in so…however I can help with that.”

Your eyebrows knit together, thoroughly thrown off by his forwardness—or well, so you assumed. He quickly realizes his misstep.

“No—not like…I mean, if there’s anything that you like or are interested in that you want covered over the semester, let me know. I don’t want it to be so focused on stuff that only appeases a few people. Alright?”

You think on his words, chewing at your bottom lip quietly.

He doesn’t know why he feels like he’s standing on the edge, waiting impatiently for your response—but when you do, it feels like he can breathe. Joel didn’t want to fuck this job up and he already felt like he’s stepped off on the wrong foot.

“Alright.” You confirm simply, nodding politely. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He nods in response, the smallest twitch of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Have a good day.” He bids kindly, waving at you haphazardly as you left.

And now the day felt even weirder than when it started.

The first few weeks of class are actually…a delight. You find yourself looking forward to them as the weeks grow on and drag out, slowly making your way through the day and finding that Mr. Miller’s was the only class you could successfully relax in, not so pressure to participate because it was as equally engaging on both ends.

Mr. Miller liked to talk and argue just as animatedly as most students who had a point to prove—and you see why he must’ve been hired on a whim, the ability to charm and wit himself in and out of any scenario he wanted. It was…mesmerizing in a way that intoxicated you and infected your body and mind. He had you locked in every time he opened his mouth, finding your eyes dragging along the planes of his face and his well-kept appearance now that he arrived on time, sharp. Never early, never late.

He was as punctual as they come, slowly littering his classroom with more and more personalization. More literature books, smaller books of poems, packets of some of his favorite script writings and a few non-fiction pieces he thought to be intriguing.

But, the most interesting thing you notice is the small tan line around his ring finger. The advantage of the small classroom allowed for such details to be revealed, alongside knowing when he had taken a certain morning to do a fresh shave of his facial hair or spill a small spattering of coffee against his shirt, dull brown staining the white, crisp button-up he usually dawned alongside the occasional navy blue or black.

So, he was married—you assumed. He just didn’t wear his ring.

The more you indulged in him, the more complex he seemed. The ever mysterious J-something Miller, finding that no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t seem to find any information on him or an inkling of what his first name might be.

He must be a private person—no socials, no good deeds leading to news articles about him, or anything of tangible evidence to allow such information to seep out to the public. He was good at hiding, integrating himself in places he might not belong. He was a natural chameleon, much like yourself.

And you’d like to think you were good at writing considering you were attempting to pursue a career in it, mostly focusing on the aspect of screenwriting and film, not entirely sure what you were after but knowing that was where you wanted to go. You were great at convoluting things and empowering your far too creative imagination—often dangerous. You were never lacking in ideas, but your first assignment is a struggle.

It was something pertaining to non-fiction, a boring topic that Mr. Miller wanted to be intrigued by—he wanted something so mundane to be eye-catching and page-turning. Hanging on the edge of his seat, as he’d said so menacingly.

So, here you were, writing about the monogamous lives of certain breeds of penguins and they’re mates—whatever the fuck that was all about. It’s like he picked obscure topics for this very reason, the difficulty and the need for assistance. He wanted to help and you learned that quickly.

You could’ve been stuck with global warming, so it wasn’t all that bad.

Mr. Miller is leaning against an empty desk as he’s talking to a student a few desks away—yeah, the unlucky one who snagged the global warming topic. His expression is sour, tapping his pencil against the desk rapidly as Mr. Miller talks quietly, nothing that you can make out. He travels around the room gradually, eventually landing on you with a raised eyebrow, seeing that you had some, if not very little outlined.

He looks amused, knowing how you were pulling an absolute fat nothing over this topic. You could sit there and lay out the facts, but that’s not what he wanted. He wanted it to be explained in a way that held you close and dragged you along. It all came down to wording, at the end of the day, and as much as you wanted to prove you were a decent writer, you still had a lot to learn.

“This is so stupid,” You gripe, looking up at him briefly before you continue to stare daggers into the notebook you were scribbling in, “—pardon my language, but what the fuck is this topic?”

Mr. Miller chuckles deeply at that, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll let that slide but try not to make it a habit,” He comments, acknowledging your foul language and understanding the frustration, “—it’s meant to challenge you. The obscurity of it. It’s not complicated, but you don’t want to just write a research paper.”

“Isn’t that…exactly how non-fiction works?” You ask curiously.

“You’ve read biographies, right? Auto-biograhpies and all that?”

You nod quietly.

“And I’m sure some of that caught your intention, right?” He asks and you respond with another nod, though meeker than before. “Non-fiction work is just as important as story-telling. Do some more research, explain why monogamy is sacred to them, explain their mating patterns, the behaviors—are you following?”

“Yeah—because some penguins mate for life, right?” You ask, feeling ridiculous asking him such an obscure question. “At least, I thought they did.”

“Most do.” Mr. Miller nods, “If you find yourself learning enough about the topic and actually finding some interest it won’t come out so…bland. Just look into it and write something you’d find intriguing to read, don’t stress over it that much. It’s just one assignment.”

It eases your worries slightly, but still, the frustration stuck.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Thank you.”

Mr. Miller offers a soft pat to your forearm as he nods silently in acknowledgment.

You were determined to make that assignment your bitch. Plain and simple.

Class discussion days are much easier. You switch between a certain selection of poems to snippets of scripts that Mr. Miller has pulled apart for the class to dissect and mince the words, learning how to write screenplays in a way that was both descriptive but directive and still managed to somehow keep the flow. Poems always seemed a little silly, but it was nice to debate the meanings and nuances of it all, always finding that you preferred to sit back and hear the thoughts of others until Mr. Miller decides he’s had enough one day—two months into the semester when he finally calls on you directly.

It was something he didn’t do often, but you find yourself going wide-eyed. He was always so polite to you, even when he’d catch you staring or lingering on his form for a moment too long, like he knew what you were thinking.

He was tall and—as was glaringly obvious, broad. His shoulders were immense and large as he extended his hands out and talked animatedly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks stretching over taut, tight muscle as he planted a foot in a nearby chair or stretched his stance out slightly as he stood—often finding it hard to stay still the longer class drew on.

You pull your attention to him, an innocent gaze glazing over your features.

“Why don’t you read the next poem?” He asks curiously.

“Oh—um,” Your eyes flick toward the poem book held tight in your grip, flitting to find the the place where the class last left off, so distracted you find yourself scrambling, but Mr. Miller is quick to lean over without much show or way of embarrassing you, pointing out the spot where the class last left of, blunt nail scratching against the paper as you follow the trail of his finger, you clear your throat and start:

“How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.”

The point was to interpret the words and form an explanation for why they were used, what they were trying to explain, but you lose any sense of thought when your eyes drag up to meet Mr. Miller and he’s staring right back, allowing you all the attention in the world.

Like no one else in the room existed. It was all a delusion in your own head, something you weren’t privy to then, but you believed whole-heartedly in the moment. He was just allowing you the floor and sharing you the same attention he had with everyone else.

At least, that’s what he tried to do.

Mr. Miller clears his throat to subtly bring you back down to earth when he notices your mind fleeing from your body, asking an easy, “So, what do we think about this one?”

No one answered, staunchly disinterested as they stared at you, waiting for a response as you were the only one who had avoided participating all day.

“Uh, it—it sounds like the love isn’t being returned,” You start slow, dissecting the words in your brain as Mr. Miller nods, “but that person is willing to show up and offer more to make up for it, maybe even to their own…undoing, I guess.”

“There’s really no right or wrong,” He addresses the class as a whole but pointedly acknowledges your observation, “and that’s the best thing—you’re allowed to think as individuals and come up with your own conclusions. Good job.”

The final part is directed at you. It makes you feel warm, gooey—like you were being given a star for good behavior or gentle praise under the guise of friendly language.

You despise how hard it is to stay focused some days with how often Mr. Miller likes to pick on you and point you out—but he sees potential there. Real potential. Not to say that it isn’t within the rest of the class, he just sees…more. And it intrigues him in a way that feels dangerous, but he wants to ensure that you are given the proper support needed, even if that means a little extra attention.

It was harmless, after all.

Your first big assignment comes three months into the semester.

It’s a simple writing assignment but tactful and heavy, given a week to complete it before you were due to turn it in for a final grade. A collection of self-written poems, the outline for a possible script idea for a scene, and a small creative writing assignment that must include some kind of supernatural element. You appreciate the Mr. Miller never allowed things to lay stagnant with his work, always giving you something to think about.

And everyone loved him, that much was blatantly obvious. He was, easily, one of the hottest professors at the college for someone his age—you could only assume he was somewhere in his late 40s. But, there remained the unknown of if he was married, something people debated often, but you examined in the privacy of your own mind.

There was no indication of another—no pictures lingering on his desk as his classroom continued to collect belongings, no screensaver on his phone or laptop (because yes, you were observant) that gave you any idea of what his partner looked like. And he never mentioned anything outside of his own interest in literature. The curiosity with no discovery was only slightly disappointing, because despite that, Mr. Miller showed his attention toward you like you were the only person in the room.

And maybe it was like that for everyone, but it felt special to you. There was always a little extra to give to you that he didn’t offer to everyone else.

You turn in your assignment a few minutes before it is due, well into the late hours of the night.

Mr. Miller, unbeknownst to you, smiles when he sees the notification on his computer as he sits in his office at home, scrolling down the deep troves of porn in the darkened space, quickly clicking away to another browser as he hears the door creak, his wife poking her head through the crack with a smile.

“Hey, it’s late—you comin’ to bed soon?” Tess asks, eyes ringed with a deep exhaustion.

Joel nods, scratching at the side of his face, blinking tiredly.

“Yeah. In a bit,” He excuses, “Just tryin’ to catch up on these assignments and then I’ll be done.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Things had been rough since the affair—finding that Tess had been sleeping with her boss at her law firm for a few months, something she swore meant nothing, despite how long it dragged on in secret. Joel forgave her, mostly. They were managing, attempting the idea of marriage counseling, but he still couldn’t bring himself to put his wedding band back on, despite how proudly she wore hers still.

He had his own reservations on the matter and while he was trying to work things out, he wasn’t sure they could ever resume the same rhythm they had before, thinking that this was something he had for life, slowly crumbling and falling between his fingertips.

This was why he needed a change of pace, something different.

And maybe he was stupid for entertaining the obvious affection you showed toward him—he definitely was, but he does it anyways. It was playful, so meaningless and harmless that he didn’t even think twice about it. He could see you craved the attention and while he couldn’t be bothered to save that energy for Tess anymore, he could try to offer it to you.

Because you—you had so much potential. It was refreshing, seeing so much of his younger self in you, drive and dedication. The willingness to question stuff without fear.

He clicks on the email notification with your assignment, opening in a separate browser as he rises to lock his office door quietly, before returning to his other browser as he sat and unbuckled the thick leather belt around his waistband, a dignified zip that echoes throughout the confines of the office, reverberates and reminds him of his own loneliness.

And he shouldn’t picture your face as he finds himself aching and fucking deseprate into his fist, soft gunts muffled behind clenched teeth. But, he does. And he loves it.

He’s so fucked.

The comments on your assignment come a few days later, curled up in your bed in the small apartment you rented out, scrolling desperately to find out any further information on Mr. Miller but coming up with absolutely nothing. What a fucking ghost he was.

You’re curious, though—so you quickly switch to your emails to check his response and what your grade ended up being after how hard you worked to make sure it turned out perfect. Better than perfect actually. You hoped that with his obvious relationship woes he would appreciate the angst and underlying meanings in your poems, a bunch of bullshit you couldn’t relate to but hoped, on a whim, that he might.

‘Way to press on the idea of heartbreak, well done. Very expressive and real. Thank you for pouring those feelings into your work, though I hope no one has ever broken your heart that bad. Wonderful job.’

And he scores you a 90/100.

Which—whatever. You could accept it. Still, you wondered if those lingering ten points lied with him and his own bitter dealings. You’re fingers are curled around the laptop, ready to close when you get another notification blaring through your speakers.

You lift the laptop to stare at the screen, seeing an email come in from an unknown sender—though, the name grabs your attention immediately. First name, last name, followed by a series of number you can only assume is a birth year—not the school email Mr. Miller had previously sent you a response from.

You perk up, legs crossing over each other as you take a peek at the contents of the glaring email, seeing that it had links to a few books, followed by:

‘I hope you don’t mind my emailing you like this. But, I have a few pieces I think you may enjoy and would help with some of what you’re trying to convey in your writing. You have a beautiful way of expressing feeling and you should harness that. Let me know what you think. :)’

In hindsight, Joel should’ve never sent it. But, there was an urge there he couldn’t fight.

Maybe it was out of spite for his life and his wife betraying him, his urge to try and do some real good for someone, seeing that potential in you no matter how inappropriate it may be to go around school ruling and message you from his private email.

But, now you had a sliver of information. A peek into who Mr. Miller—Joel Miller, was.

It sends you down a spiral, searching and scouring for any information available online.

You find out that he’s 48…or 49, not entirely sure of his actual birthday. Only going off the year designated in his email. And that he’s a published author, but nothing of significance. He used to be a high school teacher and he was…or is, married. It’s all vague and unassuming, but it has your mind stirring. Wondering what was so interesting about him, what part of him had crawled into your mind and refused to get out.

And him messaging you on a private email—complimenting you with unnecessary eagerness, even when it wasn’t needed. You can’t be this delusional. There’s something there, even if neither of you have spoken on it explicitly.

The faint touches and smiles traded, the hard-gazed looks and glances over his shoulder as he does a sweep of the room, always spending just a smidgen of extra time over your desk when you ask for help.

It makes you feel special. And that’s exactly what you need.

You fall asleep that night with a wild idea in your head, wondering just how brave you could be in this situation. It burrows into your mind and seeps into your dreams:

You’re pressed against the edge of a desk in a dark office, the solid wood pressed flat against your cunt as you lean forward and capture the lips of the person in front of you, a shaky breath coming from their mouth.

“Want that pretty mouth ‘round my cock.” He says—your heart skips, nearly stops.

You don’t know why you’re surprised to hear Joel’s voice, but it clears your mind and his hazy face finally comes into view in all of it’s intricate detail, right down to the soft crinkle of skin around his eyes, eyebrows furrowed as he pulls away to look at you, lips puffed from the kissing and seeming so innocent as he spoke in such a depraved manner.

Delicate fingers drag along the shape of your lips, stopping at your cupid’s bow before he’s pressing two fingers inside, grabbing the hand relaxed at your side and pressing it over the front of his slacks, the hard line of his cock pressing against the zipper.

There’s no other word to offer than intimidating, his size morphing any idea that you might’ve had–which, you did. His slacks are well-tailored, form fitting, and if he stretched just the right way in class you could see the head or outline of his cock press against the fabric for a split second….and you observed. A lot.

“Wanna stuff your mouth, huh?” He asks, eyes rolling back as his fingers press down on your tongue, quickly pulling out as he grips your face, spit spreading across your cheek, gasping at the suddenness of his movement. “Think it’ll fit?”

He sounds so condescending, eyeline over you but downcast on your figure from where your perched against his desk, idle hand exploring the soft, plush skin of your thighs as he drags his fingers along the full expanse of your cunt and it sets your whole body on fire, like you’re feeling everything dialed to an impossible level, every nerve in your body coming to life.

You shake your head meekly, gasping when he yanks you forward suddenly.

“Guess we’ll have to train that filthy mouth then, won’t we?” His eyebrow quirks up salaciously, earning a less than subtle grin as he presses his fingers into the wet spot of your underwear, not breaking the barrier but allowing you to feel the pressure.

And just as you feel yourself grabbing onto something tangible, hands gripped in the lapel of his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer, you’re startling awake with a gasp.

You could feel your imagination mixing with reality, falling lazily back against your bed as your chest heaved hurried breaths, palms pressed over your chest in an effort to calm down, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was hot, too hot to feel comfortable anymore.

Your lip pulls between your teeth, chewing thoughtfully at a bad idea.

You reach blindly for your laptop laid out near the end of your bed, opening the device with a swiftness, squinting at the blinding screen that burned at this time of night.

Nearly two in the morning—this was pointless.

But, you hit reply on his email anyways and slowly type out a response.

‘Thank you for noticing, Mr. Miller. It’s greatly appreciated and I will definitely look into those sources and give you a full, detailed review. :) I appreciate you thinking of me as someone so esteemed. I would love to talk more about literature, if that feels appropriate.’

The lines were already blurred. He’d blurred them. You were just smudging them a little more.

You never said that starting fresh meant you had to stay on your best behavior. Because really, there was nothing innocent about what game was developing between you both.

It was a game of chess and you felt a million moves ahead, nearing a checkmate—and you would do anything to have Joel Miller in the way you craved. Anything.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedrostories #professor!joel miller #miller's girl #my writing

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honeyedmiller · 8 months

Text

Law of Attraction — Chapter One: Rough Draft

series masterlist | next chapter

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: Professor!Joel, reader is self conscious for a bit, reader is mentioned to be plus sized, no outbreak au, smut (fingering, thigh riding, f oral receiving, unprotected piv), pet names, age gap (joel is in his mid forties and reader is in late twenties), no use of y/n.

word count: 4.4k

chapter synopsis: you need help with a paper you’re writing for Professor Miller’s class, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

Professor Miller’s class was your favorite.

Criminal Law was your favorite subject, and Professor Miller made learning about it sound like the most interesting thing in the world (which to you, it truly was).

Although the class itself was a bit monotonous, you got to look at the most handsome Professor on the University of Austin’s campus. It was no secret that people only joined Professor Miller’s class just to ogle over him and his ruggedly handsome looks.

You, on the other hand, needed this class to graduate. Which means you needed to try. You were a good student; A’s and B’s as your final grades at the end of each semester, took good notes, studied hard, and asked for help when you needed it. However, you found it to be a bit difficult to do so for Professor Miller.

Even just being around him made you unintentionally blush. His eyes always tended to land on yours because you sat up front, and, well, tried to pay attention to the lesson. So, when you weren’t exactly confident in the rough draft of a paper you wrote for his class, you’d emailed him for help.

to: [email protected]

Good evening Professor Miller,

I was just wondering if I could have you read through the rough draft of my paper. I seem to be struggling a bit with this particular section of the course, and would like some feedback to see what I need to change or can improve.

Thank you and kind regards.

You held your breath as you clicked ‘send’, and in less than five minutes, he replied to you. Your heart leaped into your throat when you saw his name on the screen, and you rolled your eyes at yourself for getting so worked up over a man that you’d never be able to have, regardless if you were well above a legal age.

from: [email protected]

Of course. Meet me after class tomorrow and we can go over it in my office during my office hours.

Have a good night.

Professor M

You often thought of Professor Miller outside of class, and, sometimes, you’d let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Places like what it’d feel like for him to run his hands over you, fingers in you, him moaning because of you.

Your thoughts always quickly dissipated though when reality sunk in. Surely he’d want someone his own age, not a student of his, and someone who was… well, thinner. You were a bigger girl and you’d struggled with your image a lot, especially because trauma from your childhood from being made fun of constantly haunted you into your adulthood.

It wasn’t easy not caring what people thought of you, especially since you weren’t society’s “standard” beauty. You were curvy, yes, but you didn’t have a flat tummy like other women. You’ve been on a journey of self love and healing for a long time, and you've come a long way. You've had a newfound confidence spring within you, but you just couldn't help the thought loom in the back of your mind as you fantasized about your unfairly gorgeous professor.

So, as it was, you went to bed that night fucking yourself with your fingers, wishing they were his instead as a ghost of his name was whispered from your lips.

It was unusually hot in Austin the next day, which resulted in you wearing a pencil skirt that came just above the knees, a button down shirt with the first couple of buttons undone, and strap back kitten heels. You had a presentation in your first class with a team to act as if you were profilers giving a profile on a high stakes case. So, naturally, you had to dress the part.

What you didn't take in account is the fact that several of your classmate's eyes landed on you as you walked into Professor Miller's class a few minutes before it started. Professor Miller's eyes snapped up and looked at you, taking in your professional attire. You felt your face get hot as you tried to subtly head to your desk in the front, but your heels clicking against the floor didn't help.

Joel cleared his throat as he typed something on his computer, turning on the projector so the screen could display today's lesson. Joel got up from his desk and trudged over to yours, knocking on it twice. Your head was already buried in the notes from the previous lessons, so his presence startled you.

"I remembered your email from yesterday. See me after class today if you can." He pauses, taking a moment to look over your features, pretty face was perfectly on display for him. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your doe eyes scanned his face, lips in a soft pout, and your chest was rising and falling faster than usual. The way he looked at you made you squeeze your legs together, and Joel noticed.

"For my paper." You stated matter-of-factly, rather than questioning it. He nodded, and you mirrored his actions once before he stalked back to his desk. He greeted the class shortly after, beginning the lesson almost immediately.

Class lasted the two hours as usual, and as everyone gathered their stuff, you stay put. You’d crossed your leg over one another because the heavy feeling of arousal just wasn’t going away.

Professor Miller looked particularly good today, with his hair done up and a tight cotton green button down hugging the muscles in his arms. You always admired his husky build, and this shirt he wore with the fitted denim jeans he had on accentuated it perfectly.

“So what exactly are you struggling with?” Professor Miller cuts to the chase, prompting you to come up to his desk. You clear your throat as you pull the rough draft from your folder, sliding out of your desk. You walk over to him, heels still clicking onto the floor with purpose. You hand him the paper and he takes it from you gently.

“I’m having trouble with the case study here,” You lean over his desk slightly, a perfectly manicured finger of yours pointing at the third paragraph on the first page. “I don’t know if I should apply or dispute it.” You chew on your bottom lip nervously, not realizing how incredibly sexy you look to your dear professor right now.

One of your hands was hooked to the edge of his desk, gripping on it to balance yourself as you leaned over giving him a slight peep of the very top of the soft flesh of your breasts. You biting your lip like that didn’t make things any better. Joel felt his cock twitch in his jeans, and he wanted to groan.

Joel’s admired your curviness since the first day you walked into his classroom. He always found plus size women attractive, so naturally, he felt more drawn to you. He knew you were a consenting adult and a grown woman at that, so he truthfully didn’t feel too guilty for unashamedly checking you out. You just never noticed.

Joel’s eyes snapped back to your paper, reading over the section you pointed at. “You should apply the argument,” Joel said, writing next to the printed words with red ink. “Everything looks good, though. Just apply the argument and assess the similarities between the two cases and you’re golden.” He hands you back the paper after writing his feedback.

“Great. Thank you for your help, Professor.”

“Call me Joel.”

You look at him a little confused. “Sir?” The word just slipped out of your mouth, and you didn’t realize what you’d just said until after the fact. Joel exhaled shakily out of his nose.

To change the subject, he took in your attire again. “What’ya doin’ dressed up all fancy like that?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. He was trying to distract his own mind from wandering places that it shouldn’t with you.

“Oh,” You laugh, and fuck if that wasn’t one of Joel’s new favorite sounds. “I have Professor Sanchez’s class before this. We had a group presentation today,” You turn away from him to put the paper back in your folder, so your back was facing him. You heard Joel get up from his chair, but his footsteps didn’t go far. It sounded like he was leaning up against his desk. “We basically had to give out a profile for a mock high stakes case.”

Joel hummed, and you whirred around to face him. His body looked elongated the way he leaned so cooly up against his mahogany desk, legs extended but crossed as his boots touched the ground, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked like a tall glass of water and you’d be damned if you didn’t get a sip.

“Professor Sanchez’s class sounds fun.” Joel quips, tilting his head.

“Yours is better.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?” He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself off of his desk, analyzing your body language again. He can tell by the way your legs are pressed together and the rising of your chest that you’re nervous, which makes him nearly smirk.

“More fun to learn about.” You shrug, trying to play it cool. You were certain he could see right through you, though, but neither of you were doing anything about it. You couldn’t help but have a hunch that Professor Miller might just want you the same way you want him. Maybe.

He huffs a chuckle and looks down at the linoleum tile on the floor, biting his tongue. You know he wants to say something, but he’s hesitant. So, you took the initiative and took a step closer to him, taking in his broad frame.

“Look, darlin’,” He starts, and your stomach flutters at the nickname. “I know you’re a grown woman and all, but you’re still my student.”

You tilt your head to the side in wonder, a ghost of a smirk on your lips. “What ever are you talking about, sir?” You’re playing with fire now as you take a step forward, just inches away from the man you’ve wanted to ruin you for so long.

“You know exactly–” He paused as you dragged your index finger down the side of his neck, to his exposed collarbone. “What I’m talkin’ about.”

“As far as I’m concerned, sir, we’re both consenting adults.” You drop your hand and shrug, your eyes feening innocence.

He sighs defeatedly, shaking his head.

“You’re not wrong about that. You don’t know how hard it’s been trying to keep my eyes to myself every time you walk into my classroom. And then you come in here looking like this?” Joel gestures to your whole body, and your heart is hammering in your chest.

“Never thought you’d look at me that way, Professor.” You confess.

“You kiddin’ me? You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life,” He scoffs as if he can’t believe you don’t see yourself in the same light that he does. He thinks for a moment before opening his mouth, then clamping it shut. It seems that he made a final decision when he sighs and closes his eyes, opening them to look directly into yours. His brown eyes were so mesmerizing, you almost didn’t hear him say his next words. “If you really want this, want me, follow me into my office.” He whispers, and you nod with subtle eagerness.

Holy fuck. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You trailed not too far behind him with your book bag slung over your shoulder, heels clicking against the floor in anticipation as you tried to keep up with his wide strides. You walked through a door in the classroom that led to a hallway with another door at the end. Joel unlocked the door and opened it for you, letting you in first. He trailed in hot on your heels and shut the door. He locked it and swiftly grabbed the softness of your hips, pushing you up against the door. You gasp softly, hands landing on his broad chest.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.” Was all he said before he crashed his lips with yours, gripping one of your thighs and bringing it up to wrap around his waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as your skirt rode to your hips, leaving you to feel just how hard Joel’s cock was getting.

You moaned into his mouth and tangled your fingers into his slightly graying hair, tugging the slightest bit. He pushed you even further into the door, grinding his hips into yours. You left out a soft whimper into his mouth, but he swallowed it right up when he swept his tongue over your bottom lip. You didn’t hesitate to let his tongue explore your mouth.

You both were clearly so ravenous for each other, and the clashing of tongues and teeth proved that. You gripped at each other like you’d both disappear and this would’ve been a sad, unfulfilling dream.

Joel pulled apart from your lips as he trailed his warm lips down your throat and to your collar bone, his hot tongue poking out to soothe tiny bites he made along the way.

“Joel, please.” You beg, not really sure for what though. You want him everywhere on you all at once. You wanted to drink him in like he was the last fucking water source in the world. You wanted to feel his burly muscles rippling beneath your hands as you became full of him, stretching you out so heavenly that you couldn’t even comprehend what was going on around you.

He moaned at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, and he pulled apart from you. He dragged you over to his desk, where he sat down in his large office chair and pulled you down to straddle one thigh of his.

“Go on, baby, use me.” He breathed, brushing the curve of your cheekbone softly. You leaned forward to kiss him again, finally registering what he meant. You settled your clothed core over his jean-clad thigh, grinding yourself onto him slowly at first. The friction was heavenly and you knew you were already close.

So many days and nights of fantasizing about this and how it’d go down, only for it to come true in the end, was truly otherworldly. His large hands moved down to unbutton a couple of more buttons on your shirt before moving down the curves of your body to rest on your ass, giving it a squeeze. You brought your hands onto his shoulders to steady yourself as you began to really ride his thigh.

You moaned softly and your eyebrows threaded together, the friction becoming nearly unbearable.

“Fuck.” You muttered, jaw going slack. Joel watched you in pure lust and amusement, waiting for you to soak a spot into his jeans. Seeing you like this, on top of him, riding his thigh, getting off because of him… made his head swirl with euphoria.

“That’s it, angel. C’mon. Give it to me, baby.” Joel encouraged, softly forcing his hands against your ass to get you to rut your hips a little faster.

“Fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna– fuck!” You came hard on his thigh, and he nearly came in his pants at the sight. He felt the warm slick on his thigh, and he needed to get a taste of you.

“So good for me, sweet girl,” He murmured as he lifted you by your hips and set you down on his neat desk. Your skirt was already up to your hips, so Joel swiftly removed your soaked panties and stuffed them in his back pocket. “Let me just get a taste.” He said, looking down at you. Your cunt clenched around nothing at his words, silently begging him to devour you like you were his last meal.

He got down on his knees and pulled your ass closer to the edge of the desk by your thighs, hooking them around his shoulders as he came face-to-face with your glistening heat. “So fuckin’ pretty. This pussy’s mine.” Joel mewled, calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs once more as his tongue circled your clit.

The drag of his muscle was slow, teasing. He took his time just to hear you beg for his mouth. He needed to hear it.

“Sir, please.” You softly whimper, and his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. His ran his tongue up and down your folds, swirling it a few times before it prodded your entrance. He delved his tongue inside of you, and you had to clamp your hand over your mouth in order to keep from screaming.

His tongue felt so warm and wet and heavenly in you and around your aching cunt, just begging to be devoured until you reach another orgasm. Joel is was moaning against you, and the vibrations shot straight up your core. It made your toes curl in your heels, and your hips buck up from the desk. He folded his hands on top of your stomach to keep you locked down, and you whined at the sensation.

You were panting heavily beneath your hand, trying to muffle the loud whines and moans that you emitted. Joel’s tongue kept working against you as he lapped up your slick, drinking you in like he was dehydrated in the desert. You tasted so good to him; like nectarine from the ripest peach.

He then solely focused his tongue on your clit, flicking over it rapidly before using his lips to lightly suck on it. Your nails from your free hand clawed at the desk, the feeling of overstimulation creeping in. You felt that low burning sensation in your core as your next orgasm began to build up. As if on cue, Joel swiftly detached his mouth from you as he gathered your slick on his middle finger, followed by his ring. He pushed his two fingers into your entrance slowly, relishing the tightness around his digits.

He latched his mouth back onto your clit, interchanging between licking and sucking. Your shaky thighs began to squeeze Joel’s head as your orgasm was about to peak.

Joel hummed against you as he curled his fingers , hitting that spongy spot inside of your cunt that had you rolling your eyes back as your body shook through your climax. You whimpered as he detached his mouth and removed his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean. The whole bottom half of his face was covered in your arousal, and he looked down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“So sweet f’me, baby. Could eat that perfect pussy all day.” He tossed you a shit-eating grin, and your thighs clamped shut as you tried to regain your breath. He leaned down to give you a kiss, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as he slipped it into your mouth. You could feel his painfully hard erection against your thigh, so you tried to muster up as much energy as you could to start taking off his belt.

Joel helped you by taking the rest of his belt off after you undid the buckle. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them down just below his ass. He tugged his boxers down too so he could free his erection. Your mouth watered at the sight of his erect cock, head weeping and leaking pre cum.

“L’me taste you.” You managed to say in your already fucked-out state, but Joel shook his head.

“Next time, baby,” Next time. You pouted at him and he chuckled, cradling your face. “Now if you need to tap out, give me two hard taps on my thigh, okay angel?” You swallowed and nodded at his directions, and once again, you clenched around nothing.

“I’m– I have an IUD.” You say, and Joel looks down at you.

“Good.” Was all he said before putting both of his hands by your head, leaning down to kiss you gently. Without removing his lips from yours, he took one hand and guided the head of his cock over your aching folds. You were buzzing with anticipation, because the need to have him in you was almost unbearable.

He slowly prodded your entrance, then pushed himself in. You nearly choke on a gasp as he fills you up. You felt every ridge and vein on his silky, girthy flesh and you closed your eyes in pure ecstasy at the feeling. His cock was heavy in you, the weight adding to the extra pleasure you were already experiencing.

Joel looked at your face, admiring how it was contorted in pleasure and slight pain before he leaned down again to bite the soft flesh of your breast as he adjusted to your tightness.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” Joel moaned, standing upright after littering a few more kisses on your chest.

“Please move, Joel.” Was all you said before he began to rock his hips steadily. His thrusts were slow at first, but you tried to grind your hips against his for more friction. A few times your clit met the coarse hair at the base of his cock, and that gave you the friction you needed to clench around him so deliciously.

“This pretty pussy is all mine, y’hear me? So fuckin’ wet and tight, darlin’. Have me fuckin’ losin’ my mind,” Joel picks up his pace, slamming into you at an impossible rate. “Say it.” He warns, taking your breasts out from the cup of your bra.

“It’s–fuck, it’s all yours sir. All yours.” You couldn’t believe how good he felt as he fucked you like this, feverishly and buried to the hilt every single time.

“Good girl.” You moaned at the praise, and he leaned down to capture a swollen bud into his mouth. His hot tongue swirled around your flesh, sucking it and ever so slightly nipping it with his teeth. You hissed at the feeling, but it only spurred your arousal on further.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he fucked you, but he stood up and removed your legs from him and put them over his shoulders instead. The new angle made it easier for him to fuck you deeper. A dark glint passed in Joel’s eyes as you moaned loudly.

He gathered both of your wrists into one of his, pinning them above your head. The pace of his hips picked up, and all that was heard in the windowless room was the sound of skin on skin slapping together, your wonton moans, and Joel’s grunts. He moved his other hand over your throat, wrapping around it and giving the sides a squeeze as he fucked you senselessly. You felt that tight coil in the pit of your core once more, and you were writhing beneath Joel the best you could.

“Fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“Go ‘head angel, cum f’me.” His deep Southern drawl is what sent you over the edge, crumbling down and shattering all at once as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, and Joel quickly removed his hand from your throat and kissed you urgently, but the pace of his hips didn’t let up. He released your wrists next and your hands found purchase in his hair, raking their way down his back as you desperately tried to grab a hold on him.

It resulted in your nails scratching down his back, which he hissed at but didn’t seem to mind overall. Joel was chasing his own release as your slick cunt gripped him so desperately.

“C’mon baby, give me one more.” He grunted, gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there were going to be bruises. As if on command, your body beckoned to his call and you found yourself orgasming for the fourth time that day. A gush of liquid expelled from your overstimulated cunt, and a strangled cry left your mouth.

Joel was teetering on the edge, teeth clenched and brow furrowed. “Where do you want me, angel?” His voice was strangulated and desperate, both of you gasping for air.

“In me, Joel, please.” You cry, gently gripping at his hair as his head dropped to your shoulder, warm spurts of cum shooting into you. He groaned into your ear, cursing under his breath as he filled you to the brim.

He collapsed onto you, cradling the side of your face as he kissed you passionately.

“So good f’me, sweet girl. Y’did so well.” He praises, kissing your lips once more before standing up slowly and pulling himself out of your sensitive cunt.

You hummed as you tried to relish in the feeling of being so fucked out by one of the hottest men you’ve ever come to know in your life. You couldn’t believe that just happened, and your mind was swirling with a million thoughts per minute.

Joel helped you up onto shaky legs, grinning to himself at how fucked out you looked. He was sure he looked the same way, but he couldn’t care less.

“You have any classes after this, baby?” Joel asks as he buttons up your shirt for you. You shake your head no, your voice not quite caught up to you just yet.

“‘M going home to sleep. Im exhausted.” You sigh, leaning against him. He chuckles and kisses the top of your head, smoothing out any stray hairs that were misplaced from your activities.

“Get some rest, baby. Here. Take my number and I’ll call you.” He rips a piece of paper from a notebook laying nearby, scribbling his number on it before tucking it into the breast pocket of your shirt. You beam up at him, hand trailing up his torso to rest on his chest. Your other hand found purchase on the back of his neck, softly tugging him down to kiss him once more.

“Mm. Will do, Professor.” You playfully wink at him, and he taps your ass playfully before you unlock the door to his office.

He half smiled as he watched you walk away, admiring your beautiful body from behind. He called out to you one last time, hoping you’d text him asap that night.

“Don’t forget to fix your rough draft!”

tag list:

@cool-iguana ; @wannab-urs ; @bastardmandennis ; @nostalxgic ; @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin ; @pamasaur ; @planet-marz1

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagines #joel miller imagine #joel miller x plus size reader #professor!joel #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x afab!reader

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slutforln4 · 9 months

Text

libertine — joel miller.

synopsis. you've been having sexual fantasies about the substitute professor at your college. when the opportunity to get a better mark on a shitty essay you wrote arises, you take it. quite literally take it.

pairing. professor!joel x student!reader/fem!reader

warnings. smut, a smidge of fluff at the end, masturbation in a public bathroom, joel's got a southern accent that i tried to make obvious in the fic (if it's crappy, 'm sorry), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, inexperienced and virgin reader, age gap (reader is in their early 20s and joel's in his late 40s), dom/sub dynamics praise kink, dirty talk. idk what else there is...

goes without saying but this is 18+, MDNI. i'm not responsible for what typa media you consume, but beware for your own good.

word count. 2.6k

author's note. i haven't written smut before so here's my shot at the self-indulgent professor!joel hc that i have... hope you enjoy ❤️ part two in the makings if this does well!!

Classic literature didn't come easy to you, but fucking your professor did.

It started off as every normal day at college did— you flow through your entire schedule, some free time here and there, during which you manage to take a nap or catch up on missing assignments, and at the end of almost every day, you were met with the class you hated, but also loved, the most… Classic literature.

The class itself is fairly easy. All you had to do was read some novels, write essays based on topics from said novels and also write a thorough analysis of it. Easy stuff. But you struggled with the essay writing, it just wasn't your thing.

However, you can't say that you didn't enjoy the class. The most interesting part of it being that substitute professor, Mr. Miller, that just transferred in. Him and that Texan accent of his, those deep, brown eyes, that salt-and-pepper hair trailing down his jaw, those luscious thighs and whatever's hiding behind the zipper of his jeans… You can't stop thinking about it.

It’s been occupying your mind for however long he's been working at your college, and you can't help but have those thoughts when it comes to him. From the way he looks, down to the way he talks about love, he’s attractive inside and out. The way he talks about women, though, was the thing that caught your attention the most. He speaks so highly of them that it almost seems like he worships them, which makes you want to fuck him all the more.

The day you decided to put your mind to rest and have your body do the work, Mr. Miller had put up another assignment.

You dreadfully open up your email at the beginning of class, and groan when the body of it reads “Essay about the importance of expressing love in current youth based on your analysis of Romeo and Juliet due next week Thursday, midnight.”

Turning off your phone, you assert your attention back to your professor. He stood there, in his suit and all, looking more delicious than ever as he reminded your class to check their emails. The stern tone in his voice made your insides flutter, and the way he held onto his waist… God, you can't help but rub your thighs together to hide the throbbing between your legs, already feeling the wetness in your panties.

“Alright, pull out ya laptops and open up that website I told y’all about,” Mr. Miller says, and you’re the first one to obey his order. He gives you a look and when your eyes lock with his, he smiles at you. “As I already mentioned in the emails, we’ll be readin’ and analysin’ Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.”

The more he spoke, the less you could pay attention. Your eyes travelled all over his face, his chest, down to his crotch. Even without a hard-on, there was an imprint in his dress pants. Mr. Miller was the type to speak with his hands, resulting in you ogling at the way his fingers move in the air.

Mr. Miller begins talking about how love is portrayed in the tragedy, his tone changing with each point he makes. You stare at his lips, silently wishing they were on your body, somewhere. Anywhere would be fine as long as all his attention was on you. On all the parts that long for his touch.

You try your best to focus on what he’s saying, writing down what you need to remember. Your thighs are clenching together again when Mr.Miller scratches the back of his head, his bicep visible through the sleeve of his jacket. That’s about as much as you can take.

You hesitantly get up from your seat, mumbling a quiet “excuse me” as you walk out through the doors. It must've looked weird, since you ran out the door in such a rush, but you didn't care. Your main concern was finding a bathroom before all the thoughts about your professor fucking you into oblivion could make you cum on the spot.

You hurry past all the staff that are scattered across the halls and barge into the women’s bathroom. It's quiet and you’re sure you're alone, but you still check. “Hello?” No response. You hurry yourself into a stall and lock the door.

You don't even lift the toilet seat when you sit down on it, your skirt and panties on the floor. You spread your legs and put your fingers into a V shape, spreading your lips open. Using your other hand, you gather some of the arousal that’s been leaking out of you for the past twenty minutes and use it to coat your clit as your finger slowly rubs circles on it.

"That’s it,” you can almost hear Mr. Miller talking in your ear. “That’s my girl.”

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, feeling yourself getting more horny with the flood of thoughts that won't stop. Your finger rubs circles on your clit, increasing the pressure from time to time. Subconsciously, your hand unbuttons the shirt you’re wearing to reveal your bare chest and begins twirling your hard nipple. You imagine it's his hands, that he’s the one pleasuring you. Your finger’s now working at a pace you can't keep up with, quietly moaning out your professors last name when you use the hand that was rubbing your clit to finger yourself.

One finger in and you’re already gasping at the image on the back of your eyelids. You’re imagining it's his fingers in you, his cock in his other hand as he jerks himself off. You put a second finger in and start thrusting it in and out, when the image changes to his hips clashing into yours as his dick hits spots your fingers could only dream of. Your hips jolt against your fingers at the image of his veiny cock so vividly throbbing in your imagination.

You bring your other hand down to your clit, rubbing the throbbing nub once again. “Fuck,” you whimper as you feel your climax nearing. Your fingers curl inside you, and you’re about to let go.

“Attagirl,” the voice in the back of your head says and that’s the last push for you to cum all over your own fingers, your juices leaking out onto the toilet seat. You continue rubbing your clit until your climax wears off.

When you’re back in the classroom, everyone's already left, only Mr. Miller’s sat at his desk, typing away. His eyes look up at you when you enter through the door. “Oh, hey. I kept your stuff safe, since ya left in such a rush.” A comforting smile decorates his face. He’s so considerate it makes your clit throb again.

“Uh, thank you, sir.” You mumble shyly, packing your stuff into your bag and getting ready to leave. Mr. Miller’s eyes are on you when you turn back towards him.

He clears his throat. “I also wanted to speak to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Alright, what is it?”

“Listen, sweetheart. Y’know the last essay I assigned you to write?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question. You bite your bottom lip as you think back on what the last assignment was. When you remember, you nod. “Alright, well… You didn't do too good on it.”

“I know,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to hide the shame you feel. “It wasn't my finest work.”

“Yeah.” He laughs with you in an attempt to ease the situation. “But, uh. You can rewrite it and I’ll raise your mark. Whaddya say?”

You think it over for a moment, before shaking your head. “I think I could…” You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from, but you’re suddenly approaching him. “Get my mark up another way…” Your eyes glance down at his crotch and you bite your lip. When Mr. Miller realises what you’re insinuating, he shakes his head, but his eyes say different.

“Honey, it goes against teacher-student policy, you know that.” He reminds you, but you’re already on your knees in front of him and under his desk, batting your long eyelashes at him to get your way. His bulge grows right in front of your face and you don't think anymore, you just do. Your fingers are unclasping his belt, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. “Sweetheart-” he gets cut off by his dick springing up after you pull his boxers down, precum already leaking out of it. “Fuck.”

You look at him, not sure of what to do. You’ve never sucked a dick before, and the one in front of you would surely end up somehow fucking up your throat. You contemplate just sitting down on it, riding it like you did to your pillow when you woke up from a wet dream about him. That is, until he speaks. “You gonna stare at it or suck it like you wanted to?”

The tone in his voice changed from formal and sweet to deep and dominant, and you’re wet again from just the sound of it. “I’ve never, uh… done this before.”

Mr. Miller nods his head towards you. “Put your lips on the tip,” you do as told, your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock. “Just like that,” he says, his voice wavering. “Now put it in your mouth,” you hesitate to do so, instead wrapping your fingers around the base of his large cock. “Don't be shy, you want your mark up, don't ya?”

You nod, slowly opening your mouth to put more of his cock in. When it hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit. “Breathe through your nose, babygirl.” You do as told and the gagging goes away. “Now, slowly bob your head up and down. Yeah, just- just like that, fuck.” You're bobbing your head up and down on his dick, your fingers working at the base of it. His hips buckle and his dick thrusts deeper in your throat. A moan rumbles in your throat and vibrates on Mr. Miller’s dick, and he has to refrain himself from shoving his whole dick down your throat.

“Fuck, just like that,” he moans. “Good girl.” The praise makes you that much more wet, and you moan against his dick again.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Mr. Miller sits up, looking at whoever entered his classroom. Your mouth doesn't leave his cock, you simply thrust it in your mouth harder, using your tongue to caress his shaft. “Good evening,” he greets the janitor who came in to clean the classroom. “I, uh, I still got some,” Mr. Miller balls his fingers into a fist as he holds back a moan, trying his best to focus on the conversation with your mouth still sucking him off. “I’m still workin’, gimme thirty more minutes.”

The door closes behind the janitor and Mr. Miller leans back against his chair, his eyes half-lidded and looking down at you. He feels his orgasm nearing when you begin pumping the base of his cock again, along with thrusting his dick into your mouth. “I’ll be cummin’ in your mouth if you don't pull away right now, sweetheart.”

Your mouth leaves his cock, but your fingers still jerk him off. A deep moan leaves his lips as a string of hot cum shoots out in loads onto your clothed chest and neck. You’re still pumping his dick when he motions for you to get up. You stand up from under his desk and he’s immediately pulling you closer to himself. You're sat on his lap, dick still hard and rubbing on your belly as his lips connect with yours. He can still taste himself in your mouth and he smirks at that.

His hands are on your knees, but with each kiss, they inch closer and closer to where you need him the most. When he reaches the wet spot on your panties, he grins against your mouth. “So ready for me, hm?”

You nod, whimpering at the soft contact of his finger to your clothed clit. “Yes, Mr. Miller, please-”

“Call me Joel,” he mumbles as his fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and tug them off of you. He slowly grabs you by the waist and aligns his cock with your dripping cunt.

“Wait-” you pause kissing him when you feel the tip brushing up against your folds. “I haven't- Y’know…”

Joel smirks. “You a virgin, baby?” You nod, slowly. “I’ll take care of ya, I promise.” You feel his finger rub over your hole, gathering some of your slick to rub it on his dick.

His hands slowly lower your waist down, his cock slipping past your folds with ease and you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming of. He’s so big that it feels like you’re being split open. “You okay?” He asks you with a kiss to your collarbone. You nod, your bottom lip between your teeth and hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders. “Good, ‘cause this ain't all of it yet,” he says, voice low and taunting, before lowering you all the way down. You whimper as you feel his cock brush against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his lips as you adjust to the size of him. Joel just holds you there, not moving you until you’re ready. His fingers find your throbbing clit and start rubbing it, your lips still connected. “Mmh,” you moan, your hips jolting towards his fingers and moving his dick deeper inside of you.

You begin pushing yourself up and slipping back down, a string of moans leaving your lips. “Attagirl.”

You’re riding his cock, feeling each and every inch of him filling up your insides. You can feel every throb of his veins pulsing inside of you and you catch all his moans with your lips. His hands are gripping your hips, pulling you down with more force. The classroom is filled with sounds of skin clashing on skin. You’re moaning and whimpering, his cock threatening to tip you over the edge. “I’m… I-” you can't even speak.

“You what, baby?” He asks, his thumbs digging into your hips with the intensity of your thrusts. “You gonna cum for me? You gon’ be a good girl and cum all on my dick?” You can't manage to speak so you nod, tears spilling from your eyes as you feel your climax approaching.

He’s thrusting up at you, now, his climax approaching him again. You're a moaning and whimpering mess, begging him to make you cum with the broken words you’re mumbling. “Ple- Please… Fu-uck, Joel…”

“Let go for me,” he coaxes, his lips right by your ear. “I got you, pretty girl.”

With a loud moan, you’re cumming all over his dick and you feel his hot liquid fill up your insides with a couple more thrusts of his hips. Joel kisses you again. Like a starving man that hasn't eaten for days on end. He kisses you with passion, with more than just lust behind those eyes.

When you both pull away, he makes sure to clean you up. “You were so good for me, sweetheart.” He praises. “So good.”

You’re not sure what to say, so you just kiss him again. And again. And one more time. Until he’s kissing on your neck again, but he inevitably stops and leans into your ear. “I gotta get to work, baby.”

“Okay,” you say with a sigh. “Thanks for helping me with the essay,” your lips pull into a small smirk as you open the door to his classroom.

“All thanks to you.” He returns the same smile. “Couldn’t have finished it without you.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “You’re so unfunny,” and close the door behind yourself.

#joel miller #the last of us #pedro is daddy #joel x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #professor!joel #student!reader #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x you #praise

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auteurdelabre · 4 months

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I swear I think about this story more than I think about my own family. @hier--soir

(I want Professor Joel biblically)

#alp #a lovers pinch #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #smut #joel miller smut #joel miller #dad joel miller #big fan #when will it be my turn #i want professor Joel

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fearsomeandwretchedandwrong · 6 months

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#mst3k #joel robinson #jonah heston #gypsy #emily connor #professor bobo #tv's frank #crow t. robot #brain guy #tom servo #kinga forrester #dr. clayton forrester #mike nelson #max son of tv's frank #pearl forrester

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be-an-echo · 9 months

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"Professor Miller, sorry Doctor Miller..."

@wardenannie

#go read annie's professor au #like right now #im waiting #id do what tess did #i mean look at him #joel miller #joel tlou #joel x tess #tessjoel

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whiskeyncoke-redux · 1 year

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Advisement

Professor!Joel Miller x Reader

A/N: I repurposed a fic I had already written into this one. Thanks to @liquorlaughslove and @ziggyrocket for the advice. Feedback is always welcome.

Warnings: Smut, Oral (M/F Receiving), Unprotected Sex | 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your destination is on the left.”

You squinted at the number on the house to the left of you. It matched the address you had been given. You double checked your GPS on your phone to make sure you were in the right place; and sure enough you were. Upon second inspection, you realized that yes, this modest and unassuming house had to belong to Professor Miller, who was a fairly modest man.

You gathered your laptop bag out of your backseat, and, taking a deep breath, you exited your car. You slowly walked up the path to the front door, debating with yourself whether or not you should turn around, get back in your car, and head to your apartment. But you didn’t, you knew you didn’t want to anyway, so you kept walking.

How you even ended up here was still shocking to you. You had been working on this final paper for your degree, but you were having trouble with it. You were stuck and running out of ideas. So, after trying everything you could think of, you finally went to your professor for some advice. If truth be told you had avoided going to him for the entire year, not because he was a horrible person, but because of your overwhelming attraction to him. To be fair, you weren’t the only one who was attracted to him. Almost every woman who took his classes was.

When you had walked in on the first day, your friend Anna had pulled you to the front row of seats where other women were vying for good spots. You didn’t understand what was going on, until after you and Anna had found seats in the second row, and he walked in asking for silence. You felt your breath hitch in your throat when you saw him and you could feel every female around you let out a collective sigh when he walked to the front and stood in front of you all. You exchanged glances with Anna, who had taken a class with him before, and she just smirked at you in a way that said “told you so.” You settled down and tried to focus on what he was saying throughout class, because, despite how distractingly handsome he was, you needed this class to graduate.

Professor Miller’s class was hands down the most challenging (hence the issue with your paper), but he was also probably one of the most brilliant professors on campus, so it was to him you reluctantly went for help. You had nervously gone to his office. His door was slightly ajar and you peeped through it, seeing him bent over some papers on his desk, his brow furrowed as he marked them. You knocked on it, causing him to look up. When he spotted you standing there, he gave you a small smile that made your stomach twist and invited you in.

“What can I help you with?” he asked, motioning for you to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Well,” you started taking a seat. “I’ve been having trouble with this final assignment.”

“Really? With what exactly? I know you understand it, you’re one of my most brilliant students.”

You were surprised at that comment. You didn’t think he’d even noticed you.

“I-I am?”

He nodded, smiling at you again. “Of course you are. Some of the best grades, best papers I’ve ever read.”

You preened slightly at the praise. “W-well, I guess it’s more of an organizational issue.”

“Such as?”

You began to explain what you were having trouble with as he listened intently to you talk. Once you were finished he gave you some suggestions as to help you organize your paper. You nodded, taking mental notes.

“When you do that,” he said, standing up and gathering the papers he had on his desk, putting them into his briefcase. “Bring it to me to see. My office door is always open.”

You stood. “Right, will do.”

He walked over to his door, and held it open for you to walk through. You for sure thought it was your imagination, but you could swear you could feel his eyes on your body as you walked ahead of him. You tried to not think about it anymore as you headed to your shared apartment and worked on your paper. Everything Professor Miller had told you worked, but eventually you hit another block. So, of course you went back. And then again, and again. Not only was he a brilliant man and easy to talk to, he was funny too. You found yourself loosening up more around him. And you noticed during class (along with Anna and a few others) that he would smile at you a little more than the rest of the students when you’d ask something or answer one of his questions. You also noticed, during your advisement meetings, that his eyes would sometimes linger on you a little longer on you than they did at first. When you’d first noticed this, it made you warm all over.

With each meeting you spent more and more time in his office. At first you would only talk about your paper, but slowly the conversations ventured into other territories. Eventually you found yourself hanging out in his office, not even mentioning your assignment. So when he invited you over to his house to help you put the final touches on your paper over the holiday break, you agreed without really thinking about it.

That’s how you found yourself slowly walking up the path to his front door, more nervous than you had been before. He had invited you to his house and here you were, you were a little shocked at yourself for agreeing. Why would you do that? You asked yourself, but in the back of your mind, you knew why; those advisement meetings had become increasingly intimate.You knew what you wanted and what he probably wanted too, and it was for that reason you agreed.

You stood at his front door, straightening the dress you wore. You raised your hand to knock, but before you could, he opened it. He gave you that smile that made your knees go slightly weak.

“Right on time, Miss Y/N,” he drawled before stepping back and ushering you inside.

As you walked past him, you definitely could feel his eyes on your body as he closed the door behind you. You had worn the dress just for that reason, but it still made you feel warm all over.

Walking closely behind you so you could feel his warm breath on the nape of your neck, he said, “We can work in my office.”

He placed a hand on the lower part of your back, turning you in the direction he indicated. His touch sent a shiver through you you were sure he could feel, and you sighed. You knew he heard that, because you saw him smirk a bit. You followed him as he led the way. Your eyes couldn’t help but take in his body as you walked behind him; his broad muscular back, that even the dress shirt he wore couldn’t hide. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you stared at him. Of course you weren’t the first student to do that. You and a few of your other classmates had often whispered about it when he’d walk past you on campus; lewd remarks coming from all of you about what you’d do with him if you ever got the chance.

Once you were both in his office, he made his way over to his desk, picking up a chair on the way, and placing it in front of his desk for you to sit. You took your seat as he settled behind his desk.

“So, what do we need to finish?” he asked you.

“Just some final touches here and there,” you told him, reaching down and pulling your laptop out of its bag.

You turned it on and pulled up your paper, then handed it over to him. As he read over it, you couldn’t help but drink him in. It wasn’t the first time you’d done it, but you couldn’t seem to get enough of looking at him. His face, with those brown eyes that seemed to stare right through you, those cheekbones that would become prominent when he gave one of his smiles that lit up his whole face, and lips that made you curious to know how they’d feel against yours. He glanced up from the screen and saw you staring at him. You looked down at his desk quickly, as he typed something, your eyes going to his hands. Those hands. You remembered how one touch had made you feel, and you knew that, with his hands alone, he could make you come completely undone. You clenched your thighs at the thought

“Well,” he said finally, shaking you out of your thoughts. “Everything looks great, there’s just one part here, I think you could work on.”

You stood and walked over to his side of the desk, leaning over to read over the part he had been talking about. As you read and typed out the suggestions he made, you felt his hand ghosting over the back of your legs. You sucked in a breath as you felt his hand move up to the back of your thigh. Without thinking, you parted your legs as his hand went higher, still giving you suggestions as you typed.

His touch seemed to scramble your brain causing you to make more and more mistakes, red and blue lines littering your paper, the higher it went under your dress. When you felt his hand reach the apex of your thighs then push your panties to the side, you stopped typing completely and pushed your laptop to the side. You gripped the edge of the desk as you felt one of his fingers slide into your slick folds. You were so wet. When did that happen? You thought, but the idea was chased out of your mind when you felt him add another finger, making you moan softly.

When you felt him take his fingers from inside you, you let out a sigh of disappointment. He stood up behind you.

“Turn around,” you heard him say in your ear, his voice dropping an octave.

Obediently you turned to face him. You looked up into his dark eyes and felt yourself grow shy at his intense gaze. You looked down, focusing on his chest, on the way his shirt was unbuttoned and the bit skin that was peeping out.

“Look at me,” he said, placing his hand underneath your chin, and lifting your head up.

You looked back into his eyes, his stare making you tremble, not with fright, but excitement and need. He started stroking your cheek with his thumb softly.

“If you want to leave, you can,” he told you. “We can stop at any time.”

“I-I don’t want to leave.”

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

At your answer, he bent his head and kissed you softly. You put your hand on the back of his head, pushing him closer to you, deepening the kiss. He moaned as you kissed him harder. His moans sent tingles through your body, going straight to your core, making you wetter than you’d been before. His hands dropped to your hips, pulling you towards him. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you caught your breath. He chuckled lightly, before kissing you deeply once more, then lifting you to sit on the desk in front of his chair.

Positioning himself between your legs, he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck right below your ear. You felt his hands slide up your arms to the straps of your dress. He lowered them slowly, his lips traveling lower kissing you on your shoulder. The further he pulled your dress down the lower he kissed you.

When he got to the top of your breasts, he reached around and unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side, before lowering his head and taking a nipple into his mouth. Feeling his warm mouth on you, his tongue licking around it, sucking on it, made you moan louder. He switched to your other breast, his hand going to play with the first.

He continued kissing lower, pulling your dress down lower, you lifted your hips so he could pull it off. He stood back, looking down at you sitting on his desk in nothing but your panties. He reached behind him and pulled his chair up so he could sit down. Once seated, he traced his hands up your thighs, making you close your eyes at the feel of them on your skin. They were strong but soft. He reached for your panties and he hooked his hands in the elastic and pulled them off.

You rested a foot on each of the arms of his chair, caging him between your legs. He started kissing up your thighs, until he reached your core. He glanced up at you before lowering his head and licking his tongue up your folds, licking up the juices that had collected there. You felt him moan against your pussy lips, before sliding his tongue inside you. You raised a leg and placed it on his shoulder so he could go in deeper. When you felt his nose nudge against your clit, jerked your hips up. He flicked his tongue against your clit, making you jerk your hips again. He chuckled at that, and did it once more, getting the same reaction out of you. He then began sucking on your sensitive nub, while sliding two fingers back inside you. He curled his fingers searching for your g-spot. When you let out a sound somewhere between a moan and soft scream, he knew he had it. He began teasing it with his fingers while sucking and licking at your clit.

Soon, you felt an orgasm building. You reached down, pressing his head closer to you. Your legs began to tremble as the coil inside you broke, and you came with a loud moan of his name. He lifted his head, but kept working his fingers inside you, watching you ride out your orgasm. When your breathing leveled out, he took his fingers from inside you, and stood up, looking down at you.

“You okay?” he asked.

In response, you grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him in to kiss you, your tongue sliding into his mouth. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. As you kissed him, your hands were busy, undoing the buttons of his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. You pulled at the undershirt he wore, only breaking the kiss to pull it over his head. You threw it to the side, where it joined the rest of your clothes. You then hopped off the desk, reaching down to grip the belt in his pants, using it to pull him closer as you used your hands, lips and tongue to travel over the planes of his body.

He undid his belt, then his pants; pushing them down along with his boxers. When you went to kneel in front of him, he stopped you.

“Later,” he told you, before lightly pushing back onto the desk.

He lined himself up with your entrance, rubbing his dick up and down your slick folds, before pushing himself inside you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing him deeper until he was completely sheathed inside you. He stood there, inside you, both of you adjusting to the feel of the other.

“Shit,” you whispered with your eyes closed. He was bigger than you had expected, stretching you deliciously.

“You okay?” he asked again.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hummed, opening your eyes and looking up into his eyes before saying: “Fuck me, now.”

Without another word, he lifted one of your legs in his arm and started moving inside you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your hands rubbing up and down his back, as you moved with him. You reached up to bring his head down so you could kiss him again. When he hit that spot inside you, you moaned into his mouth.

When he grabbed your other leg in his arm, you laid back on the desk as he moved inside you faster. He leaned forward and you raised your legs, placing them on his shoulders, so he could go deeper. The head of his dick hitting your spot over and over with each thrust.

“Mmm fuck, right there.”

“Goddamn you feel so good, baby,” he groaned as you clenched your pussy around him. “Shit, so tight around me.”

You took your legs from his shoulders and wrapped them back around his waist, your arms going around his back, as your nails dug into his skin. The sounds of your moans and his groans filled the room along with the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin and the softer sounds of the desk moving slightly as he continued to rut against you making your back arch off the desk.

He stood up straight pulling you with him, before pulling out and motioning for you to get off the desk. You did and he turned you around, bending you over it and slipping back inside you. His hands went to grip your hips, as he began pounding into you.

“Mmm, I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” he grunted. “Ever since you walked into my office. Wanted to bend you over my desk right then.”

He reached under you, using the pad of his thumb to play with your clit. You straightened up, as he continued to tease your clit.

“Fuck, I’m so close, don’t stop.”

“C’mon, then, cum, wanna feel you cum around me.”

Once again you felt that coil tighten, as you reached around and pulled his head down for another kiss. With a loud moan you broke away from the kiss as you felt the coil break and you came hard, gushing over his dick; your legs shaking. You leaned forward on the desk to hold yourself up as you caught your breath.

He kept moving inside you, chasing his own orgasm. He soon pulled out and turned you around to face him, stroking himself. You knew what he wanted and you pushed him down into his chair and knelt in front of him. Taking his dick into your hands and stroking him, you licked up the underside and around the head, before taking the head into your mouth and sucking on it. You moaned around him, tasting yourself on his dick. He gripped the arms of his chair, leaning his head back while enjoying the feel of your mouth on him. You took more inside your mouth until you gagged and began bobbing your head up and down, your hand working the rest of his shaft that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. When you felt him push down on your head, you knew he was close. You picked up your pace.

“Shit, shit, fuck,” you heard him curse, before you felt his release, his dick twitching as warm ropes of cum filling your mouth.

You swallowed as much as you could, before licking up any that had dripped out of your mouth. Once you were sure you had gotten all of it, you looked up at him. He smiled down at you, and reached to pull you up. You stood and settled on his lap, resting your head on his shoulder. You both sat there in silence as he stroked your back with one hand, the other on your thigh. You nuzzled your face into his neck, your hand tracing lines on his chest.

You spoke first. “That was better than I imagined.”

“You’ve been imagining it?”

You nodded “Since the first day of class. How could I not?”

He chuckled, making you slap him lightly on his chest. You stood up and stretched.

“You about to leave?” he asked, getting up too

You turned to look at him. “Not unless you want me to.”

He bent to kiss you again as backed you into the desk, but instead of putting you up on it, he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around him.

“Mmm, no, I’m not finished with you yet,” he said as he carried you out of his office into his bedroom. “Besides it’s a holiday so we have plenty of time.”

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molt3ngold · 3 months

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Fell to my knees when I saw this video

#via variety on tiktok #it’s giving professor!pedro #man i love dilfs #the emmy’s #the emmy’s 2024 #pedro pascal #the last of us #Joel miller

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joelswritingmistress · 4 months

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You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 6

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Did he just say that? He just said that. Right?

I wondered if I had somehow inserted that last excerpt from Dr. Miller’s mouth into the conversation on my own. Had my mind made it up because I wanted him so badly?

He was smiling now, not at all able to fight it back. I could tell that he was attempting to without avail.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” His voice caused my knees to part under the table. I didn’t know if it was instinctual or if the muscles in my legs had suddenly just turned to Jello but I literally felt myself melt down further into the oversized mahogany chair.

“That, uh..” I toyed with a strand of my hair for a half-a-second in my nervous tic, “That makes me a lot of things.”

“Another round?” The waitress appeared out of thin air and I was about to speak but Dr. Miller responded, with a simple, “We’ll take the check.”

I wanted to stay. When he was so eager to get the check after just one drink I couldn’t fight off the look of discouragement that was written all over my face. I knew what I must have looked like and I couldn’t reel it in. And then I thought about it some more. Maybe he was getting the check because he wanted to go somewhere else.

Like his house. It was wishful thinking.

“Stop looking like someone just shit in your cereal.” His accompanying laughter made me grin. There had to be something up his sleeve. This night couldn’t end with such an obscene, suggestive comment and lead nowhere.

“Didn’t want another drink?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“It’s a school night. We both have to be up early.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock.”

Dr. Miller gave a chuckle again and then looked up as the waitress handed him a black, leather case with the tab for two drinks tucked inside. He held up a finger, slipped a one hundred dollar bill inside and then handed it to her.

“I’ll be back with your change,” replied the woman.

“It’s yours.” He looked me in the eye as he spoke to her again and then began rising to his feet as he reached for his coat.

I followed his lead and allowed him to lead us out of the place.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

Was the night really over? On that note? On that red hot amorous note that had been left with a teetering, ‘dot, dot, dot’ next to it. To be continued? Would it?

Stop freaking out! My brain was screaming, shrieking; throwing a fit like a five year old in Toys ‘R Us that didn’t get the toy she wanted to play with. On the outside I smiled, gripped my keys and tried not to stare for too long as I walked beside Dr. Miller.

“You never gave an elaboration to your response,” he said to me once we stood by the driver’s side door in front of the old church.

I looked down and back up. “Should I elaborate?”

“I’d like to know where we stand.” He looked at me with certainty but, again, there was the slightest hint of uneasiness in his posture. Dr. Miller was tense in his shoulders and it traveled up his neck into his jaw as he waited.

“So would I,” I responded, taking a breath. I couldn’t look away from those brown eyes that were swelled black around the pupil. I knew what that meant - at least I thought I did.

“Well, how about this?” He took a step in my direction so there were only a few inches between us. “If you want to discuss it further, I’m opening up my office hours during our regularly scheduled class time on Thursday. Seven-thirty, I’ll walk you into the building, myself.”

I cleared my throat. Of course I was going to go. “Thursday.” I gave a little nod, wishing I had something to say that would affect him as much as he was currently affecting me.

“Email me if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” I said right away. My chest heaved beneath my jacket and I opened my mouth to speak. At first nothing came out but then I finally asked the question that had been on my mind for the past seven or eight minutes, “Was that true what you said?”

“Which part?”

“About the elevator.” I swallowed hard now and Dr. Miller laughed again.

“Save all of your questions for Thursday at seven-thirty.” He took a step toward me and then nodded toward my vehicle, “Now get in your car so I know you’re safe.”

I looked at his lips. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to lean in and see if he reciprocated, but from what I could tell of Dr. Miller, he was a forthright individual. If he wanted to kiss me, he would kiss me. He wanted to tell me about his racy musings when we were alone in the elevator. He wanted me to meet him alone at the school on Thursday. If he didn’t lean in for a kiss that means he didn’t want one.

Yet, I told myself.

I hit the button on my key fob and heard the click as my headlights flickered to let everyone in the immediate area know I had just unlocked the car.

“Goodnight (Y/N).” Dr. Miller gave a pained smile that emphasized the crow’s feet on the outskirts of his eyes.

“Goodnight Dr. Miller.” He didn’t correct me this time or ask me to refer to him as Joel. I knew at least a part of him liked having the title roll off my willing lips to acknowledge his authority over me.

Shutting my car door might as well have been shutting the jail cell. I gave a wave and started up the vehicle before reluctantly backing away from where he now stood on the walkway.

Even as I drove down the road, I glanced in my rearview mirror until I could no longer see his figure there and then finally turned the corner to head towards home.

The next day-and-a-half had me worrying about myself. My behavior felt obsessive. I had inspected every social media outlet in search of Joel Miller but there was nothing. He didn't even have a LinkedIn. That one, I had to say, surprised me.

No Snapchat. No Instagram. No Facebook. Nothing.

For my own senseless reasons it frustrated me. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to see a collection of pictures from his life over the course of the past decade. I decided I was spoiled for having access to just about anyone else's life I wanted to dig into.

Maybe I should put my profiles on private. It was Dr. Miller's casual piece of advice. Anyone could dig into my life and I was too concerned about getting “likes” than I was my own privacy.

I'm a walking cliche of today's pre-thirty generation.

Seeing as though my plan to gain access to Dr. Miller's life fell flat on the pavement, I carefully adjusted the private settings on all of my accounts. It had been a suggestion echoed to me by numerous friends and professionals that I hadn't taken seriously; yet here I was after one fleeting proposition from a man I just met making the meager change to my digital identity.

After work on Wednesday I found myself driving past The Library. My eyes scanned for the black Mercedes and I was actually satisfied in knowing that Dr. Miller wasn't out at the bar - at least when I drove by. It allowed my brain to rest rather than toy with the idea of dropping everything to go search inside for him.

Yes, I was officially obsessing. It felt like a violation of not only Dr. Miller's privacy, but also my own sanity.

It didn't stop me from repeating the action on the following afternoon after work. My amateur investigations weren't particularly thorough, though I assumed his car would stand out if he had been around, especially when my eyes were actively seeking out one specific automobile.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, however. It was Thursday. It was the evening I would be attending Dr. Miller's office hours.

Office hours. I was sure he hadn't actually posted any office hours. I was going to be alone with him.

In all of my years I hadn't had an off-kilter fantasy. My brain had never fancied the idea of taboo love affairs, or men in uniform or any of the typical sexual scenarios that I had heard others speak about.

Now, the idea of letting my handsome, older professor take me on his desk was enough to ignite a fire in every single part of my body - my head, my heart, my soul, my.. everything.

I wouldn't deny him. Correction, I couldn't deny him. I had created the scenario in my mind time after time. It was far too heavy a weight on my shoulders by now to just shy away from. I wanted Dr. Miller in the worst way.

Tori, my roommate, eyed me suspiciously as I exited my bedroom that evening. My clothes were casual, though rather than a sweatshirt and my white Converse sneakers I wore knee-high, brown boots and a tight, gray sweater that revealed just a bit of cleavage.

My ponytail was replaced by perfectly straightened hair and just a tad more than the average amount of makeup I typically sported. Yes, if our roles had been reversed I would have had questions. Unless we were going out somewhere I always slummed it in the most comfortably acceptable clothes I could manage.

“Umm..” My roommate’s eyebrows pressed together, “Do you have a date I don't know about?”

I decided to meet her questions in the middle. “I'm going to a quick study session.” Tori gave me an ‘I don't believe you’ look and so I went on, “And then I'm going out with a guy I met at school.”

My professor, I added in my mind.

Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. But she seemed to believe it and so I smiled when she offered me good luck.

“I'll fill you in,” I lied, knowing whatever happened that evening I would surely be keeping to myself - at least for the time being. Although I loathed the ‘YOLO’ expression, there was a time for everything and so I reminded myself, you only live once.

The drive to Woodbridge had my stomach in knots. I didn't know what was going to happen. Suddenly I wondered if I would even know what to do. I was twenty-seven. I had had sex before - plenty of it actually. I wasn't a nun.. but I wasn't a freak either. What was Dr. Miller expecting? He had certainly been around the block a time or two.

The faintest hint of sweat coated my hairline, a result of my budding anxiety. I couldn't wait, but then again I was so completely out of my league. I had never met a man so sure of himself. The guys I had dated, we were on an even playing field. I felt like a fan in the stands of a rock concert that was just called on stage to sing with Bon Jovi.

Stop putting him on such a pedestal, I told myself; though I truly couldn't help it. All reason had betrayed me.

The black Mercedes was there when I pulled into the lot and I saw Dr. Miller casually step out of his vehicle the second my blinker winked in favor of the parking lot on the left off the main road that cut through campus.

I parked closer to the building and slowly climbed out of the car as he approached. I knew I was a mess. There was no hiding what I was feeling. I was sure he might even be able to hear the thudding of my heart in my chest.

“I offered to walk you in,” he reminded me, to which I nodded as we walked in silence through the threshold of the academic enclosure.

Dr. Miller walked with a purpose toward the elevator in the main lobby, eagerly pressing the down button that would lead us to the basement where his office and our lecture hall sat vacant.

I thought of his words from Tuesday night at the bar as the doors opened and we entered. There were no other people in the building that I saw. There were no cameras in the elevator. As the doors shut with a resounding thump I side-glanced at my professor.

Out of my peripheral vision I could see how tensely straight he stood. His eyes were straight ahead; focused. He didn't blink or move. It almost looked as if he was holding his breath.

Please. I begged him in my mind, though I have to say when the doors reopened and we emerged to the basement level I was disappointed that he didn't immediately try to jump my bones. The opportunity had presented itself for Dr. Miller to do all the dirty things he claimed to have been craving and he hadn't even flinched on the ride. It was okay, now, wasn't it? Now that he knew I was a willing participant.

You're being ridiculous. I was currently questioning my every thought, my every word, my every move.

The stillness of the typically buzzing building heightened my anxiety. It felt as if butterflies were having a rave inside of my stomach. The only sound that gave a mild echo off the walls of the vacant corridor were the gentle clicks of Dr. Miller's shoes.

My temperature felt like it was rising with each door we passed. I counted them to maintain some level-headedness.

One. Two. Three. Four.

When the fifth door came into clear view, Dr. Miller reached a hand into his khakis and removed a ring of keys.

Next to the oversized, wooden door was a black piece of plastic with Dr. Miller’s name etched into it. Below his name was the door number: 007.

Of course it is, I thought, almost smiling and rolling my eyes. The heat returned to my cheeks, however, when my gaze met his from just a few inches away.

I swallowed hard when the silver key eased into the door handle, glancing down for just a second, before regaining his eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation on Dr. Miller's part before he finally turned the key and let the door swing open from a little push of his forearm.

“After you.” His arm extended outward now and the light automatically went on as I crossed through the threshold. “Can I get you something to drink?”

He waltzed in, loosening his tie a bit as he rounded an oversized, espresso desk.

“Umm.. no.” I shook my head, “No I'm fine.”

The corner of Dr. Miller's mouth tipped up in a little smirk. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair across from where he made himself comfortable and leaned forward with both hands folded on top of the desk.

I did as I was told. On the surface I thought I appeared like I had my shit together; like I wasn't imagining him pinning me down on the desk and having his way with me; like I wasn't conflicted about whether my feelings on the matter were wrong or right; or if he could lose his job if something did happen between us.

The man had a way of building tension. The brief moment of silence that lingered was deafening. His stare was almost too much for me. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't find the words to kick off a conversation.

“I assume you still have the question in your mind.” Dr. Miller finally spoke. “From the other night.”

My chest heaved up and down once from a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I opened my mouth to speak but I was interrupted.

“Dr. Miller!” An overzealous young man waved a stack of papers and held an IPad under his arm as he entered through the open door from the hallway.

I held my breath for half-a-second. It was Trevor Nelson. I had had two classes with him and his sheer presence alone was enough to drive me crazy. Right then, he was the bane of my existence. What was he doing here?

His stammering repetition of Dr. Miller’s name almost led me to a physical eye roll.

“Good evening.” Dr. Miller extended his arm out and Trevor eagerly shook it. “Remind me again of your-”

“Trevor,” he more-or-less shouted, glancing at me briefly.

I could see Dr. Miller was taken off-guard, though it was his organically, suave nature that allowed him to get through the unwanted conversation with ease.

“What can I do for you Trevor?”

“I just wanted to discuss a few points from the reading if you had a moment,” Trevor said, “And seeing as though you sent out an email with office hours I suspected you had the time.”

Office hours. He did send out his office hours.

Fuck! Was I all wrong?

“Yes,” Dr. Miller motioned to a second chair beside me. “I wasn't expecting you,” he admitted, “I sent out a sign up sheet-”

“My Wifi kept malfunctioning,” Trevor went on, cutting him off. “I tried. And that's why I printed some things out. I just assumed you would be here anyway and..” He shrugged and then looked at me for the first time, “I'm surprised to see you here.”

Dr. Miller huffed a laugh now. He looked at me with raised eyebrows as if to study what my reaction would be. What would I say to Trevor’s snide remark?

His very tone and uppity attitude was the precise reason why I couldn't stand him.

“I had questions about the reading, as well.” I remained cordial. There was no way I was about to air out a petty reply that would make me seem bitter or immature in my ways.

“Well.. great. We can bounce questions off one another then.” Trevor forced a smile that, while mum, seemed to have the same whiny tone as his nasally voice.

“I blocked off twenty minute time slots,” Dr. Miller reminded him. “I have another appointment at 7:50.”

My stomach dropped and our eyes caught one another’s. He winked as Trevor took a fleeting peek at his watch with as much disappointment as I knew my face had suddenly been white-washed with.

Despite the wink I couldn't tell if he was serious or lying. Was Trevor really fucking up my twenty minutes alone with Dr. Miller? Was there another student coming in at ten of eight?

As my classmate began his vexatious ramblings I felt a burning hostility brewing in my core. At one point Dr. Miller's foot grazed mine beneath the table but he didn't look in my direction as it happened.

I decided I had to harness my disdain, which I knew was heightened to an unwarranted degree for poor Trevor. I actively told myself to stop being a jerk.

The genuine question that I had from the reading the other night popped into my head. Hallelujah, reason prevailed.

“If it's not too morbid, do you think whoever killed the girl on campus might be suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder?” It was my first genuine attempt to engage in the conversation.

Typically, I truly did enjoy the subject matter. That night, however, my mind was deep in the gutter. That's why I had to run with the lone, pertinent thought that inhabited my brain.

Dr. Miller turned and a small smile formed on his face. The dimples that drove me crazy were out in full force and I could see he was intrigued by my question.

“Interesting.” He leaned back in his seat and folded one leg over the other. “Depending on the motive I could entertain it as a possibility.”

I smiled wide, enjoying his mild praise.

“That is an interesting question,” Trevor added.

My eyes shifted toward Trevor for a second as he eyed the ceiling as he pondered my question. When I looked back, Dr. Miller had tipped his mouth up in a half-smirk again.

When Trevor came back down to earth, our professor motioned to the clock above me on the wall. “I'm sorry to kick you out.” Dr. Miller looked directly at Trevor now, “I think we've ended this session with a valid question that we can open with during Tuesday's class.” He rose to his feet and extended an arm in my classmate’s direction, “Sit on that idea over the weekend. Bring some notes to class.” He glanced at me and added, “I think that was a great topic of conversation Ms. (Y/LN).”

“Thank you.” I gave a little nod and Trevor appeared appeased as the three of us began a natural shift toward the door.

“Thank you for your time Dr. Miller.” The young man smiled and tucked his IPad back under his arm before vacating the room ahead of me. He turned for a second and asked, “Do you think they'll catch whoever killed that girl?”

My gaze switched from Trevor to Dr. Miller and he sucked his teeth while folding his hands together on top of the table. “I'm no investigator,” he said, “But if you want my honest opinion..” a breath exited through his nose and he finished with a simple, “No. No, I don't.”

“Why not?” Trevor leaned an arm on the door and Dr. Miller laughed while motioning to the clock again.

“Save it for another time.”

Like Trevor, I wanted to know his reasoning; though I didn't dig deeper into it right then. As intriguing and scary as it all was, other emotions were tugging at my core.

“I'll see you in class,” Trevor said, though I didn't know if he was speaking to me or our professor.

I wasn't so quick to leave, but I knew it was time. I hadn't expected Dr. Miller to actually post office hours so it was probable that there was another student about to arrive.

Was it a female student? Yep, sparked jealousy inside of me.

When Dr. Miller didn't immediately make a plea for me to stay, I wandered through the open door toward the hallway.

And then I jumped. It was almost inhuman how fast his arm wrapped around my midsection and pulled me back into the room with him with the ferocity of a wolf mauling a lamb.

A gasp escaped my lips when he turned me around to face him as the door closed and my back planted against it. It was all one giant obscure action; a whirlwind of tension released when our bodies were finally pressed up against one another's and I was left panting.

“I thought you had another-”

His finger found my lips to shut me up. A wicked smile advertised his true intentions and his blackened eyes could have set me ablaze right there.

“You are as gullible as your friend Trevor.”

Before I could respond his lips crashed against mine. They literally crashed leaving the back of my head slamming against the thick wood behind me. I barely felt it.

What I did feel was a rush of adrenaline and desire and a thirst for the man that I couldn't suppress - not when his hands were roaming my body and his tongue aggressively penetrated my lips.

I could barely keep up. I had built the moment up so much and now that I was wrapped up in the middle of this avid tornado of passion it had far surpassed my fantasies.

My arms wrapped high around his shoulders, though he quickly pinned them above my head against the door with one hand. His other hand hastily fiddled in his pocket to remove a set of keys, at which time my cheeks blushed a more fiery red when I saw his arousal peaking the front of his khakis.

My eyes were the only part of me capable of moving freely. The rest of me was a willing prisoner to the force of his body against mine. I never wanted to be released.

Dr. Miller's key slipped into the slot in the center of the doorknob and a click secured us behind closed doors.

With an echoing clank the keys hit the floor and my aching, vacant lips were welcomed back with the immediate warmth of his. When his hand released both of mine on the door my arms instinctively wrapped around him again. I was on cloud nine; in a state of mindless bliss. For the first time, possibly ever, I thought of nothing and just acted without reserve.

It was only when I struggled to breathe that I took a parting breath, allowing air back into my aching lungs. Dr. Miller groaned with the brief separation though it gave him the second he needed to wrestle with the button on my jeans.

In that one swift movement of his fingers he had access to everything I had to offer. I bit my lip in anticipation of him touching me for the first time. Just before my eyes were forced shut I saw his hungry eyes drinking in every part of me.

Dr. Miller's over-pronounced sigh accompanied the sensation of his first two fingers as they made home against my most sensitive areas.

I moaned as quietly as possible, though he made the task more difficult when his lips grazed the area just beneath my ear.

I let out a louder moan when his fingers pushed inside of me and his hot breath landed on my neck, the other cupped over my mouth and my eyes suddenly snapped open.

“Shhh..” Dr. Miller gave a hushed reminder that we weren't exactly in our own private love shack while his fingers continued their exploration. “We wouldn't want Trevor to wander back here because he heard a suspicious noise would we?”

Slowly, his hand was removed from across my mouth. I reached a hand down toward his waist but he swatted it away.

“You're not ready for that yet,” he growled, still speaking in a voice just above a whisper.

I was paralyzed. Paralyzed by pleasure. Paralyzed by the thrill. Paralyzed by my raw attraction to Dr. Miller. At that moment I didn't think I could speak if I tried.

A brand new combination of nervousness and arousal made home within me when his free hand now lingered on my throat. The barely-there pressure added something to what I had been feeling all along.

“You like that?” It was closer to a statement than a question but I choked out a whispered, “Yes,” in response.

There was a shake in my legs that I couldn't relieve. Dr. Miller felt it. There was no way he didn't. I was writhing beneath him against the door as the distance between my parted feet on the floor widened with the spread of my legs.

It didn't take long to reach my climax that was induced by his fingers, his hand on my throat, and the dirty nothings he whispered as he encouraged my impending orgasm.

I struggled to maintain my composure. As the first curse word escaped my lips his hand more forcefully clamped over my mouth again, though all the same his lips found my ear again as he encouraged me to, “Let it out,” in a hiss of whisper.

That was the final push. Fireworks might as well have gone off in my lower half as my muffled moans sounded off against the warmth of his palm. My eyes alternated between open and closed in those final seconds and Dr. Miller's provocative growling voice took my right back to the dream I’d had. This was no dream.

The shot of adrenaline had filtered through my body, numbing my limbs like some type of drug had just been injected into my veins.

Fuck! For several seconds I could only focus on the pleasure as I breathed heavily in and out in an attempt to remain quiet.

When I began to come down off the high. All of my senses began to return and I could hear my own breathing as his generous hand warily crept back out from beneath my damp panties.

A smile formed on my face as he stared at him. I was hot and disheveled. My pants were still down off my waist and as I went to tug them back up Dr. Miller stopped me.

“Oh we're not done yet,” he assured me, glancing over his shoulder toward the oversized desk. When he turned back around he reached for my hand and towed me across the room. I felt like I was floating.

When he made himself comfortable in the oversized chair, I just stared at him. With the two fingers that had just been inside of me he waved for me to come to him and pulled me down in for another heated kiss before whispering against my lips. “Now you're going to get down on your knees and return the favor.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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hier--soir · 6 months

Text

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin. And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.”

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

“Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye.

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name.

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.”

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock.

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm.

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder.

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home. Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.”

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists.

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you.

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching.

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?”

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much.

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?”

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.”

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you.

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

#i hope you wanna know what happened at the dinner with rachel #cause i'm gonna tell you #my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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thereaperisabitch · 4 months

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My Joel Miller's fics recs from 2023

I’ve planned to do this since before Christmas, but life caught me up, so that's why I'm here rushing to finishing this before the reveillon party. 2023 was a very tough year for me, in different ways, and this stories were my refuge and my balm during good times and bad times, so this was the way I found to honor all these incredible authors who made my life better this year.

To the authors: you guys are the most amazing and sweet people ever, I know that I'm not active as other readers and I don't reblog your works enough - and I'm sorry for that, I wish I could shower you with the praises you guys deserve.

Hope this will make up for all the comments and reblogs that I haven't give.

And to the readers who find this recs: most of these stories are series and most of them has age gap and are Joel Miller x fem/afab!reader. I won't put warnings from each fic because it would be a too long post, so click the link and read the author's warnings in each before you start to read - I'm afraid to get into fandoms because of people who give shit to authors, so please, don't be this kind of person.

Someday I'll make a part 2 of other stories that caught me up this year.

That all being said, thank you @morning-star-joy @hier--soir @frannyzooey @joelsgreys @fuckyeahdindjarin @the-ginger-hedge-witch @eupheme @bageldaddy @covetyou @theidiotwhowritesthings @atinylittlepain @imtryingmybeskar @ezrasbirdie

A stranger's heart without a home (complete)

Summary: A one night stand that later becomes a secret affair – or masterpiece of literature – all the poets and great writers ran so Doni could walk.

This is my favorite fic of all times, forever! I read and re-read it so much that I can’t even count how many times I’ve had read it, it’s my 100% comfort fic. Enemies to lovers is my favorite trope, and the way @morning-star-joy developed here it’s perfection in the most pure way.

It’s Joel on his Jackson era and it’s a perfect character development from both sides, how to people who prefer to deal things on their own learn to rely on someone else.

I also highly recommend But you know the killer doesn't understand, which it’s on-going Joel x fem! Reader also post-Outbreak in Jackson, but it’s different and addicting as ASHWAH.

A Lover’s Pinch (on-going)

Summary: a one night stand (do I have a pattern?) at the bar turns to be so much more when you discover that your fling it’s your professor at university.

The professor x student trope might be cliché for some, and by the very brief summary that I wrote above may sound like Pretty Little Liars, but @hier--soir works with those elements and creates something beyond amazing, it is like contemplate a work of art at a museum, but much better.

I’m very much obsessed with this story, that’s why I reread it with more and more frequency.

Can’t even mention the references in this story – it’s truly enriching, it makes all better, truly.

Plus: the playlist it’s amazing!!!!

Short Days, Long Nights (on-going)

Summary: Remnants of a band travelers, you and Joel find a cabin in the woods - what would be the problem with staying?

I’m crazy about this one, it’s my true love and it had 3 or 4 chapters when I started and now we’re heading to chapter 17, blessed be @frannyzooey for sustaining us with this preciosity for so long.

I'm a sucker for when there's one character (Joel) reluctant for his feelings, and if the story was only about this, I would be perfectly glad too with, too. BUT Kelli it's a genius, an amazing writer, giving me all that I didn't even knew I wanted.

It's fluff, with smut from the highest quality - with some tense moments, wich turns everything more addicting.

A Safe Haven (on-going)

Summary: Joel's quickly drawn to the vet of Jackson - even knowing she's married. Will this affair thrive? Or there's more underneath of the vet's story? (Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry for this lame summary, but I refuse to copy from your masterlist and I’m also rushing to finishing this rec today).

I was bought on the infidelity trope and the drama that comes with it. It would still be a nice story, but @joelsgreys it’s so much fucking talented that she wrote the most beautiful thing ever!

It has tooth roting fluff, drenching panties smut and heartstopping angst! All perfectly written and balanced.

I also love how Ellie it's also a crucial character for the couple's history and I really adore how she's attached to Peach.

Special mention to Fall Into Temptation and Strawberry, that lived rent free in my mind since I've read those.

Seams (on-going)

Summary: Joel pays visit to Jackson's seamstress after a trouble with his too-tight jeans – and it's only heaven from that on, won't say more.

Now I call @fuckyeahdindjarin ✨Queen of the Build Up✨ and that's because the way Cee builds up the sexual tension between characters it's undescribable.

Cee is such an excellent writer, not only in Seams but on other stories too she's gives a rich description of details that makes the reading flow better, it's like knowing you looking at gem stone.

Breakout (complete)

Summary: Boxer!Joel AU when he has to train a fuckboy who happens to date a sweet little thing.

Well I'm a fan from @the-ginger-hedge-witch for a while, she wrote one of the best Javier Peña fics ever (which turned into a book and that's fucking A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!!!) and other amazing stories, but this one got me hooked so bad.

Clearly I have a pattern because I LOVE when there is an obstacle for the characters to stay together, in this case, a relationship (I already spoiled that her boyfriend sucks, but I don't think it's spoils the story development) and Ren just atests she's a wonderful writer - now book writer, blessed be her 🙏🏻

And the idea of Joel using his fists it's already apealing, am I right?

I also recommend Friendly Fire, that I love just for knowing that in this, Ren envisioned an Aries character for reader - but also the premise of the story is great, too.

In The Woods Somewhere (complete)

Summary: living alone in a cabin at the apocalypse gets less dull when a teenager appears with a handsome injured man.

I've read this since a while, but it marked me. @eupheme created such tenderness between the characters - they know he and Ellie can't stay, which makes the affair even more apealling.

I’ll know It when I see it (on-going)

Summary: Joel as a porn star in its golden era who meets Lucky, a rising star in porn - chemestry goes beyond the cameras.

@bageldaddy deserves all the shout out forever because this here it's golden. They're both are porn stars and I could be hot just for this, but of course there's feelings involved - and the way they struggle to fight against these it's what makes this story even more perfect. Shout out to the one shot Sundown, as well, it’s completely wonderful.

Something wretched about this (complete)

Summary: Joel Miller it's a self appointed pharmacist in the QZ, and fucks you when you don't have how to pay for your father's medicine

Whoring yourself for meds sounds bad? In this story it's hot af! It's filthy, each chapter explores different sexual practices and it's THE. BEST. THING. IN. THE. WORLD!!!

@covetyou it's the most blessed being for writing a perfection like this, seriously. I loved every single chapter of this, loved Joel being an asshole and a slut. I can't tell enough how much joy this story has brought me. And lo it's better than Santa, because she provides christmas gifts for the nice and naughty, with Freeze-thaw (smut with fluff) and Baubles (smut with FILTH) - I can't die before I try the balldo, I didn't even knew this, didn't think that this could be possible - but happily it is, and this one shot it's perfect in every aspect.

Take Care of You (on-going)

Summary: Joel it's a sugar daddy in this AU and appears in your life to make all better 👀 He doesn't charges for the sexual part of the arrangement, but he's irresistible - so what will you do?

The ideia of a sugar daddy it's extremely appealing to me because that's all I wanted, you know? Some rich hot guy telling me I don't need to work and paying everything to me - that's living! Okay jk, but I started reading this when things caught up badly at work, so it was a sweet refuge.

@theidiotwhowritesthings it's the perfect writer! It's the perfect slow burn that makes you thirst for more and more!

Apothecary (complete)

Summary: Summary: Joel falls in love with the "witch" from Jackson and it has its perks and struggles.

I LOVE Practical Magic, it's one of my favorites witch movies so to read something inspired on that it's great -but @atinylittlepain it's such a wonderful, talented, amazing writer - so we were all blessed with this masterpiece.

It has fluff, angst, smut - stupid people being scared about what they don't understand and etc. It's very sweet, Joel also doesn't understands about her, but can't help being drawn. And Ellie it's a natural, their relationship here, how they grow to be a family ... it's utterly sweet. Special mention to Only Lovers Left Alive (another movie that I LOVE), The Heyloft and the masterpiece Down to The Ankles (it's perfection and it's inspired in Bones and All, other film that I truly love).

Come home (on-going)

Summary: when you've lost everything and everyone, you reach to Jackson - and meets a ruggedly handsome who you can't help being drawn to.

I've read this for a while, as well, but I still think about this story often. It's a slow burn - which I love (in case you haven't noticed from the stories listed above) - and it's so sweet, the blossom of a friendship that turns to more, their relationship with Ellie ... It's been a while since it was uptaded and I hope @imtryingmybeskar it's okay, because this story it's lovely and I really wish to see and ending for them.

Catalyst

I'm gonna just summarize that it's a threesome with Joel and Frankie Morales from Triple Frontier, that's it - if that ain't reason enough for you to read, idk man.

I didn't even knew that I wanted it, that I needed it - until I read it. I find threesomes hot af, but I don't tend to enjoy when it's with characters that I love too deeply - don't ask me why - but in THIS ONE, GOD FUCKING DAAAAAMN!

It has filth, of course, but there's also fluff - which I find inevitable when it's about Frankie. In the chapter Here, especially, @ezrasbirdie builds perfectly of the struggles that I imagine for a threeway relationship, reading it was sad, hot and lovely.

Hope all the links work, 'cause I don't have time to check now 🙃

Sorry if my comments felt weird, if I forgot to mention something, as I've said above, I intend to make a part 2 of recs someday soon (hopefully).

I wish everyone a happy new year 🎆🥂🎇

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pedgito · 3 months

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MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Three: Forbidden Fruit

Chapter Summary: Mr. Miller receives your assignment in it's full detailed exposé and despite his reaction, doesn't seem as pleased as you anticipated. It leads to a tense interaction that lands you in his office with more questions and confusion. [4k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, masturbation (m), confrontations, joel manhandling reader (kinda roughly), panty ripping, one (1) forbidden kiss

— AO3 | PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec

Joel takes the plunge into the assignments the following night—it was a small class so he knew it wouldn’t take a large chunk of time, a couple hours at the end of his day and he’d have it out of the way and grades posted before the following morning. It was always easier to do things this way, hidden away in his office to force his focus and block out the rest of what was going on.

He flies through the assignments with a detailed precision, giving proper and full notes on things he thinks the students could work on or tweak, give some personal thoughts on creativity, and allow some encouragement where it was needed.

But, your name sits in the bottom of his inbox, bold lettered and unread—he saved it for last.

He could lie and say he didn’t do it on purpose, but he’s come to thoroughly enjoy your writing, so he pushes it off until it’s the final thing he has to grade that night. He knows Tess should be arriving home soon, so despite his want to give you his full, undivided attention—he intends to give it a quick skim.

Joel knows there’s no real notes he can give you. You always had a clear idea on your work, so meticulously planned out that it reminded him of himself in a way.

He takes a sip of the quickly dissipating bourbon in the cup sitting on his desk, ice clinking against the glass as he clicks on your essay and watches it expand onto the screen.

He likes to jot down his thoughts on paper as he goes, making it easier to format and type as he replies—he grips the pencil tight, reading the title of your essay.

ill-suited innocence

In a crowd she finds herself searching, looking for him. Days and days of tense glances and inappropriate thoughts—he must share them too? While she can’t be bothered by the fantasy of mythical creatures and things that only made sense in fiction, she did believe in the fantasy of wanting what she couldn’t have. Him.

Much older, wiser—grim around the eyes and a deep sorrow that burrowed its way into his chest and made home. He couldn’t fix himself, but she could. At least, she thinks she could.

Joel straightened his back, leaning into the screen to assure himself he wasn’t misreading. It was…an interesting take on the assignment he gave you, but he’ll bite. He’s used to your stuff being a little more unorthodox.

Something along the lines of forbidden fantasy? A tale of love? It wasn’t his particular choice of fiction but he wasn’t opposed to it. He squints, reading more.

He drops the pencil for a moment

Their lives mundane and unassuming, they traverse through life with little enjoyment. Two sides of the same coin and he was too oblivious to realize. He offered smiles and kind words, guidance that seemed from a good place but only allowed her to feel more misdirection. He was an enigma, difficult to decipher and she craved him.

And though he tries to fight whatever attraction he may feel, she can see it in his tense gaze. The lingering touches he leaves on her body. Secret meetings, talks that allowed themselves to be more deep than should be allowed. He was allowing her in little by little but she needed more.

She just had to ask, so she did.

Joel feels a tightening deep in his gut that wasn’t there before, reading between the lines of text and allowing faint glimpses of memories with you to match themselves with the words—his brow furrowing under the guise of…anger? No, frustration. He shouldn’t be equating his perfectly…appropriate relationship with you to this. In fact, it shouldn’t cross his mind. But, it does.

All of this from a dream? He could lie and say he wasn't intrigued, but that wasn't the case.

Joel doesn’t expect the full 180 turn as he glances down at the chunk of text that follows.

“You’re my student,” He whispers to her, “I can’t allow this.”

She bites at her lip, noticing the subtle click of his heels as they hit the floor, back them against his desk as she takes a seat, plastic cup full of pencils falling to the floor but neither of their eyes leaving each other.

“You can,” She encourages, “I’m hardly a student anymore. I’m a friend. We’re friends, right?”

And given his ability to let her in so easily, he also considered her a friend. Naively. He’s gotten himself into this position and he can’t find a reason to not give her what she wants—what he wants.

He captures her lips in a searing kiss, much less polite than a friend would, her fingers quickly undoing his belt—

Joel feels his cock hardening under the confines of his slacks, clearing his throat slightly. He should stop reading—he knows he should. The glaringly obvious lines being crossed are blurred for a moment. He shouldn’t have led you on like this, allowed you to cook up some depraved illusion of what you thought things could be.

Because they couldn’t. That wasn’t what this was. Joel had told himself over and over—he was helping. He didn’t think you’d take advantage of the scenario like this. Still, he finds himself loosening the buckle of his belt as well, unzipping his pants enough that he can stuff his hand into the tight space between his bare cock and briefs, palming himself impatiently.

And he skims—words sticking and fading in his mind. It starts of with a slow, sensual make out and a messily described handjob that has his cocking throbbing with every tight stroke he pulls at his shaft, eventually tired of fighting the tight space he’s allowed with his slacks making it impossible to move, he leans back and pulls his cock out far enough that he has free, unrestrained range. The bourbon glass leaves a sweat ring on the oak of his desk but Joel can’t be bothered, he scrolls down further, taking in the last few scenes that allowed him a full idea of just what exactly you thought was going on between the both of you. Or, what you wanted to happen.

He allows himself a moment to slip out of his headspace and imagine, selfishly.

Bent over the desk, items scattered to the floor he pulled at her skirt, something she wore necessarily—easy access, she whispered against his lips before he bent her fully over the desk, chest pressed against the solid wood.

Joel imagines it vividly, his breath quickening as he tugs at his cock in rough, fast strokes and pictures it—you, bent over his desk and your ass presented to him like a prize and how good it would feel to squeeze the flesh between his hands. He knows your sounds would be sweet, divine, and it drives him wild.

He’s thought about you before like this, hand wrapped around his cock, but never in full detail as you’d written out.

And then he slips his cock inside of her, a small gasp of, “Just like that, professor.” falling from her lips and it only spurs Joel deeper into his despair, tugging himself until he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, a churning in his gut that feels too good to quit and he reads out the last few lines, as he comes deep inside of, recklessly and without much decision making.

He thought you were smarter than this. Expected more out of you.

There’s a creak of a floorboard down the hall that sends his world crashing down on him, dampening his orgasm almost immediately as he scrambles to shove himself back inside of his slacks, buttoning and buckling his belt hastily as he clicks out of his browsers and feigns exhaustion, Tess’s fingers curling around the doorknob as she peeks her head in, watching as Joel’s fingers circled the glass of liquor.

God, he hates her.

Not you. Tess.

He figured his reasoning was valid, but truthfully—he just couldn’t stand her any longer. He's been battling the decision to go through with his divorce, but this seemed like as big a sign as ever. It's the unbridled rage he was tired of harboring around her, trying to act like things were fine.

Nothing was fine and his life was imploding.

He was lusting after a student and worse, he know you were after him—actively, clear in the boldness you showed through your assignment.

He thinks back briefly on the video call that he shouldn’t have allowed, your question that seemed…vague but unassuming. Had you planned this the entire time?

Was he just that stupid to not see it?

“Coming to bed tonight?” Tess asks hesitantly.

Joel offers a clear and concise, “No.”

He wasn’t sure if he could even sleep, contemplating over how to handle this…situation.

He couldn’t allow it to stray further.

It would damage his career and ruin his life.

But truthfully, he felt like he’d already reached that point, so what did he have to lose?

You wake up on Monday with a deep pit in your chest, knowing that grades were posted that morning. You knew it was a risk, being so open with him—but he couldn’t fail you. You followed the parameters of the assignment and made sure to clear the few questions you had with him.

Part of you is expecting another email from his private account, wondering his thoughts beyond what he would address appropriately. But, the moment your eyes drag along the screen, still blurry from sleep, you feel your heart stop.

0/100. A complete failure.

No comment besides—Rewrite and resend immediately. No extension. Due by the end of the day.

Your jaw clenches in frustration.

Oh, you were not being ignored that easily.

You storm into his room later that day during your free hour for lunch, knowing he’d be saddled up at his desk eating his own lunch.

You couldn’t even think about eating, full of anger and annoyance that kept you full and ready to strike. He can hear your footsteps before you approach and is wiping at his mouth with a napkin when you stop at his desk.

He holds a hand up, face steely and emotionless.

For a moment, you think he might break. Crack a smile and say it was an excuse to get you here.

Instead, he has your essay printed out and ready to shove at you, your fingers curling around the stack and crinkling the edges.

“You can’t fail me,” You start tensely, “I did your stupid assignment and I followed the steps you asked for.”

“I expect a new one by the end of the day. Appropriate to the topic. End of discussion.”

You scoff, not daring to look at the glaring zero he drew out on the paper just to prove a point. It lands in the trash as you throw it down, “No.”

Joel’s chair squeaks as he rises and it startles you slightly, and suddenly he’s invading your space, the muscles in his neck tightening as he pointed an accusatory finger at the trashed papers.

“In what situation did you think any of that was appropriate to write and send to your professor?” Joel asks, noting the way you blink quickly, backing away slightly.

He almost…feels bad? No. He quickly wipes the thought away as more anger crosses your face, eyes dilating in rage.

You lean in slightly, thankful that the halls were quiet around this time of day and that you had closed the door behind you.

“You started this,” You argue, “You crossed that line when you messaged me on a private email. Telling me that you liked the time we spent together. I’m your student—maybe you should’ve taken that into account first.”

His fist clenched at his side, almost to restrain himself, knowing he’d rather shove that finger into your chest and blame you. But, you were both to blame. And he even more so. Still, he doubles down.

“Rewrite it or I’ll fail you for the entire semester.”

Your mouth gapes open, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“That’s…completely unfair.” You settle, voice softer as you drop the act. “I just—”

“Rewrite it.” Joel responds firmly.

“Mr. Miller—” You begin, trying to find a feasible way to get him to listen.

“Or I fail you.” He says with finality. “You’re lucky I don’t take this to the board.”

Which, he never would. He’s just as much at fault. But, he’s taking his frustration out on you. An easy target, slim pickings.

You weren’t playing into that though, not now.

“You won’t,” You challenge him, “because if you do—I can assure you, you won’t appreciate the results.”

It was a threat. Cold and plain.

“Rewrite it,” He reiterates again, his voice softer now. “I have to submit these assignments at the end of the semester and if—that cannot be in there. I need a real essay. Real. Not some fucking delusion.”

It’s the first time he’s talked so…out of term. It feels like him, the real Mr. Miller.

Fine—you’ll write the goddamn essay as he intended. You roll your eyes and Joel relaxes slightly, seeing your defeat as you settle your shoulders back.

“I want it on my desk by the end of day.”

Sure, you could manage that.

If anything, it gave you more of an excuse to drag out his torture a little longer.

You spend the entirety of his class working out a new essay, bullshitting your way through an hour of class and typing up something feasible enough to get you a decent grade, knowing that his views of you were already tainted. But, that didn’t matter.

You had plans.

When evening rolls around and classes are finally done for the day, you make the long trek across campus to his class, finding it empty but spotting the light in his private office is still on, a low and muted orange that shined through the window. You approach slowly and knock on the door, hearing his muffled greeting on the other side.

You peek inside, noting his position as he rests with his fist pressed against the side of his face, seemingly nursing a headache as he rubs the fingers of his free hand over his forehead and sighs, closing his laptop as you hold out the small stack of papers for him to grab. He does, skimming through it briefly. You toss your bag off your shoulder and rest it in a nearby chair, standing quietly.

“Something bothering you?” You ask politely, hands crossed over your front as fiddled idly with your fingers, “Mr. Miller?”

He looks up tensely, eyes darkened and foreboding.

“What did you mean earlier?” He asks suddenly, reading your essay with a careful eye. Scribbling something down before he pushes it away, fingers clasped together under his chin as he gives you his full attention. “That I wouldn’t…appreciate the results?”

“Oh, that was—”

A threat. He knows it. You know it.

And he voices it.

“It was a threat, wasn’t it?” He asks coarsely, his voice sounding rough.

He seemed worse for wear, with good reason.

The dignified squeak of his chair is like deja-vu but you don’t back away this time, turning to him as he rounds his desk—his tie is gone, starch pressed shirt unbuttoned to a dangerous degree and his belt is missing, your eyes tracking it in a nearby corner where it’s slung over an empty chair.

He allowed you in here, the small glimpse of his relaxed state. He wasn’t shutting you out necessarily, which was good. But, you still felt unwanted. It was almost like he was dangling a myriad of fruit in front of you, ripe for the taking, but riddled with poison. Forbidden.

“No—”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, tight and gasp-inducing as he pulls it up until it’s level between you both, right at chest level and you’re waiting for him to let go, but he doesn’t.

“Tell. The. Truth.” He says pointedly, a small jerk of your arm with every syllable as he pulls you undoubtedly closer, “I want to hear it.”

Instead of admitting that you did openly threaten him, you switch gears.

“What? That I want you to fuck me?” You ask innocently, pulling your wrist away harshly. “Joel, come on—don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

His name is like a gut-punch, a reminder that he gave you that information under the idea that you would keep it safe, but now you were using it against him.

“Don’t—” He warns and your hands press into his crisp button-up, scrunching the fabric in an effort to wrinkle it, feeling the solid press of muscle under your hands that makes your mouth water, eyes widening slightly at the touch and for a split second, he allows it.

He had to escape the situation before he acted on something he would regret.

“Get out.” Joel responds through gritted teeth, shoving your hands away harshly and in turn, forcing you back a few steps with the urgency of it. “Now.”

Still, you step closer, chest against chest as you can feel the distinct bulge in his slacks against your front, tongue clicking in your mouth as you cocked your head to the side mockingly, a finger tracing along the buttons of his shirt until you can curl the tip of it around the hem of his pants.

“You can do it, you know,” You offer, “You could fuck me right now and I wouldn’t tell a soul, not even your wife—or…ex-wife? I’m not sure since you never wear your ring.”

Fuck this and her smart ass mouth, Joel thinks.

Joel’s nostrils flare and he snaps, backing you into the wall by his hand pressed against your chest, the bookshelf beside you shaking with the force. His hands creep up your neck, pressing rigid against the skin and he keeps you there, trapped.

“I can feel it,” You tease through strained vocal cords, his finger squeezing against your neck–not quite cutting off air flow, but the pressure is there and you feel it. It makes your head swim, squirming against his hold as he shifts closer, body pressed against your own firmly, “is that why you asked me to turn the paper in by the end of the day? You wanted me here, didn’t you? I guess my essay did strike a nerve after all.”

The laugh that follows is sickening, a grin appearing under his sneer. His fingers move up a few inches to grip your face. Hard. Squeezing until he feels the solid press of your cheekbones under his thumb and he speaks, so quietly into the space you can barely hear him, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes drift to his, his head tilting up slightly away from your ear that he had whispered into and there’s glint in your eye. It’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted to burrow yourself under his skin so he couldn't get rid of you.

He feels your fingers continue to trace along the seam of his shirt, tracing over the bumps of the material until you meet his slacks, pressing your palm flat over his cock, hardened under the material and straining–and he can’t help the way his breath intakes sharply, the full body restraint it takes to not rut into your hand. He knows he has the upper hand here, but with the small amount of effort it takes to break his revere for himself, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

“I would,” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he tightens his grip with your admittance and in turn, you squeeze him just a little harder. He hisses and leans in, letting go of your face to return to your neck–he isn’t squeezing this time, but his hand is a solid presence. You move, he moves. And if he doesn’t like how you move, you would end up exactly where he wants you to, “Come on, Joel. You read all about it. I can do so much more than whatever your wife is doing—isn’t that why you reached out to me?”

“Don’t—stop saying my name.” He warns, trying to keep what little line of professionalism he had between you there, unblurred. “I reached out to help. As your mentor.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a few things you could teach me.” You say sweetly, the deft sound of his zipper being undone by your hand, popping the button on his pants, “Joel, please.”

He stops your hand in it’s decent, fingers tracing along the hem of his underwear before he’s gripping your arm and turning you with little resistance on your end, front pressed harshly against the stucco wall, a sharp gasp emitting from your throat as he crowds you in again, whispering harshly into your ear, “Mr. Miller. Not Joel. You don’t get that privilege. And stop talking about my fucking wife.”

You moan brokenly at the feeling of his cock pressed against your ass, skirt riding up your thighs and you were sure—positive that Joel could see the fabric of your underwear clinging to your hips from how high up and mused your skirt was now, but he can’t take his eyes of your face, anger emitting from his own and suffocating you like a blanket.

You were pressing his buttons just right and he hated it.

“So, no marital troubles then?” You pester him and he shuts you up immediately, palm covering your mouth tightly as his free hand grips at the hem of your underwear at your hip and tugs—yep, he saw them. Some soft color, all lacy, meant to be attention-grabbing. And if Joel couldn’t have you the way he truly desires, he’d make you wish you could have it even worse than he wanted it. “You—huh, you can’t even wear your wedding ring, Mr. Miller—don’t lie to me.”

He pulls at the material of your panties until they’re riding up your ass slightly, pulled tighter against your cunt and the drag of the material against your clit is almost unexpected. He’s pointedly avoiding touching you so intimately, teetering on the edge of not enough and too much.

“You thought it would be that easy?” Joel asks testingly, jerking your head slightly when you don’t answer. You figured it was redundant but clearly not. You mumble against his hand, overwhelmed by his touch that all you can do is nod, forehead pressed against the wall as he breathes down your neck. “You’re mistaken.”

There’s a distinct rip of fabric as he removes his hand from your mouth quickly using his hands to grip your panties in tight fists, tearing it apart as it falls from your body and you think he might just do it—shove his slacks just far enough down his thighs and slip inside of you, bring an end to all of your suffering.

And his own.

Instead his fingers tighten around your forearm, spinning you in his hold and shoving the ripped fabric into your hand, leaving you bare under your skirt and exposed and Joel doesn’t mistake the wetness on the material. His fingers linger over your palm and you scoff, adjusting your skirt and slightly skewed shirt.

“Keep them,” You challenge, shoving the material into his chest before he allows them to drop to the floor, eyes trailing your departing figure as you reach for your discarded bag, “a gift for your wife—you know, the one who you avoided to spend time with me. Right?”

You want the words to linger and sting, bag slung lazily around your shoulder as you depart for the door, ignoring the quickly approaching footsteps. Joel, unbeknownst to you, had already pocketed your panties, torn to shreds in the pocket of his slacks. But, the words cut deep and he can’t leave things like this and allow you the final word.

Joel yanks the strap of your bag and backs you against the office door, the wood rattling against your conjoined weight as his lips press against yours in haste, messy and uncoordinated but your brain quickly assess what’s happening and joins, your lips parting to allow his eager tongue into your mouth. His kiss is biting and furious, mean and full of nothing but tense emotion. It’s months of suffocated lust pouring into you, out of him, and you swallow it down eagerly. His hand holds your chin forcefully, sloppy exchanges of spit and forceful bites, a battle for dominance that Joel quickly won out on.

And you think that maybe that comment was the final straw, that he might just give you what you want, but your delicate moan that slips into his mouth as chase him, his head pulling back slightly at the noise—it had him falling back to reality, right on his ass.

There wasn’t any line left to cross anymore. He’d obliterated it.

“Don’t threaten me again,” He warns, “ever.”

There’s one solid shove against the door as your head hits the surface gently, his touch quickly dissipating and his disheveled appearance a tell-tale sign in your mind. He was fighting his own battle and losing terribly.

“Of course,” You agree sardonically, “Mr. Miller.”

The silent click of the door is deafening and Joel retreats to his desk, punching a fist into the solid wood, the papers of your assignment flying to the floor. He can't be bothered to pick them up or even allow them the proper glance they deserve.

Because you—in his mind, don't deserve it.

And he's not going to give you that satisfaction.

It's unprofessional, but he'll allow it this once. It only takes a few quick clicks and he's adjusting the assignment out for your new one.

Poof. Gone. Like it never existed.

But, the grade is unchanging and he knows that will make things tremendously worse, but he can't be bothered to care anymore.

You'd be back and that's exactly what he wants.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #professor!joel miller #tlou fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #my writing #pedro pascal characters

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honeyedmiller · 8 months

Text

Law of Attraction — Chapter Two: Exposition

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: professor!Joel, student!reader, (consensual) professor x student relations, joel miller au, reader is mentioned to be plus sized, drinking, jealousy, age gap (reader is late 20’s, joel mid 40’s), smut (m oral receiving, fingering, face sitting, unprotected piv), fluff, no use of y/n. 18+, minors dni.

word count: 5.3k

chapter synopsis: only one student gets chosen to go on an all-inclusive trip to the criminal justice expo that’s held at a different location every year. what happens when professor miller happens to be the attending staff representing the university of austin?

Your phone pinged in your lap, and you tore your eyes away from the TV screen to see what it was. You and your roommate, Adrienne, who also happened to be your best friend, were watching reruns of Gilmore Girls.

It was Saturday night and both of you felt like staying in, which ended up with both of you making dinner and filling up wine glasses before you settled in on the couch to watch the beloved show.

“Holy shit.” You say out loud, not believing the student e-mail you received in your inbox.

“What?” Adrienne questioned, gaze slowly moving to you.

“I got accepted– my application,” You started, completely dumbfounded. “I get to go to the criminal justice expo.”

“What? No fucking way dude! Isn’t that like a one-student-only type deal?” Adrienne questioned, turning her body to fully face you.

You nod, looking down to your phone again. You scrolled down the email, looking for the details of where it was going to be this year.

“It’s in California this year,” You say, chewing on your bottom lip to find out the attending staff from your school. You froze when you saw his name pop up. “Professor Miller is the attending staff.”

Adrienne’s face lit up, and she nudged you with her foot. “Are you kidding me? Free drinks, free food, free flight, and you get to bone again with your hot Professor?”

“Adri!”

“What? Oh, come on, you said that the sex you two had was mind blowing. Now you guys can, you know, fuck on an actual bed instead of a desk.” She snickered, and you rolled your eyes.

Adrienne knew how hot Joel was. She never had him as a professor, but people talked regardless. She was an alumni now and when you told her you two fucked, she nearly lost her mind. She told you to give her all the juicy details, and congratulated you for finally allowing yourself to have something like this.

You and Joel had been texting back and forth every so often within the past couple of weeks, and when it came to seeing him in class, he could barely look your way. He told you that if he did, he’d just get way too turned on to even carry on with the lesson.

The trip was over the beginning weekend of spring break, which was in a week. You sighed and toyed with your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating on telling Joel if you were the chosen student.

“So are you gonna tell Professor Hottie that you’re going to California?” It’s like Adrienne could read your mind sometimes.

“Actually, I think I’m going to keep it a surprise.”

She raises her eyebrows, “Will there be a bar there?”

You look up the hotel listed on the itinerary— J.W. Marriott in Los Angeles.

“The hotel has a bar.”

“So what I’m hearing is we need to go shopping for a nice little number that’ll make him wanna eat you right up.” Adrienne cocks an eyebrow up at you, and you purse your lips into a thin line. You knew you wouldn’t win this argument if you told her no.

“I mean, I’m going back home. Might as well shmooze some potential employers too, right?” You crack a grin at her, and she cheers while clapping her hands.

“You’re gonna look so hot in California. Professor M won’t know what’s coming to him.”

The following week went by swiftly. Your flight left at six in the morning to Los Angeles. As soon as you got to the hotel, you showered and napped before you had to get ready for the convergence of the first night.

The black dress Adrienne helped you pick out defined your curves, giving you a sexy silhouette. You took your time getting ready. You wore your hair down, put dark brown shadow in the crease of your eye, dusted gold shimmer over the top of your lid, and painted your lips red. You slipped on your trustee black heels and gave yourself one last look-over before you decided you looked hot enough to woo the richest man in the room.

You knew Joel was going to be downstairs, as staff and faculty had to pair with students from their own school. He texted you that he’d miss you since he had to go to this event before spring break, so it meant that he had absolutely no clue you’d be here. Unless he did, and he was just playing coy.

You put your keycard in your clutch, spritzing your favorite perfume on yourself, and walked out of your room to head for the elevator. Your heels clicked against the wooden floors of the elevator, and the glossy metal surrounding you gave you a good view of your reflection. You hit the button to take you down to the lobby, going back to looking at yourself a little bit longer.

You felt confident if you were honest with yourself. You usually adorned your body in looser clothing, something comfy and casual that wouldn’t show off too many of your curves. That was just your comfort zone—but, after the way you’ve been feeling lately, it’s elevated ten times more.

The elevator dinged, signaling you were down at the lobby’s level. The convention room wasn’t too far off, veering to the right. There were already so many students and faculty members from all kinds of different universities, mingling and drinking and having a good time. Nerves overtook your body for a split second before completely dissipating when you realized you were the one turning heads.

You decided it was safest to head for the bar first, just to get a little bit of liquid courage into your system. You ordered a Mai Tai, graciously thanking the bartender as you slipped onto a stool and deliberately sipped on your drink.

You turned your body so your eyes could casually scan the crowd, but in all reality, you were looking for Joel. Not even a few minutes later, and you spotted him. He looked deliciously handsome, with some dark slacks that hung low on his hips with an aqua blue button-up that complimented his tan skin tone exquisitely. His black glasses that framed his face matched his shiny black shoes. But, there was just one thing.

He wasn’t alone.

Some woman, who looked to be around his age, had a gentle hand on his bicep as she was laughing at something he said. They were talking with two other gentlemen whom you didn’t recognize.

You felt it. The ugly green monster slowly crept into you, seeping into your bones the longer you stared at Joel and the woman. They actually looked really nice together. Someone his age, more experienced, and really pretty. Someone his type.

You sipped on your drink some more, hating how you felt this way. He wasn’t even your boyfriend or anything of the sort. You two’ve only fucked once. He doesn’t owe you anything, and he can see whoever he pleases. So why did this make you so uneasy?

You sighed and slipped off of the stool, heading to the check-in area to get your lanyard that was supposed to say your name and the school you represented.

That’s when Joel spotted you from behind. He could recognize those beautiful curves anywhere. He excused himself from the conversation briefly as he made his way over to you, leaning against the table. You jumped at his presence, putting a hand over your heart, which was now racing.

“Joel.” You spoke softly, and he looked confused.

“Darlin’, what are you doin’ here? Are you the student that got chosen? Why didn’t ya tell me?” He asked all at once, his words coming out in a rush.

You simply shrugged. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, it’s definitely one hell of a surprise. Look at you.” He whistled, eyes trailing down your body. You looked incredible and the more he looked at his surroundings, the more he saw men staring at you. They looked at you in an almost perverted way, and Joel frowned.

“Thanks, Professor. You clean up nicely too.” Your smile is lip tight, and you’re secretly begging the alcohol to start taking effect. Joel’s eyes roam down to your drink, and he quirks an eyebrow.

“C’mon, I have someone I want ya t’meet.” He holds out his arm for you so he can escort you to his previous spot, where the same woman you saw with him earlier stood talking to another woman this time.

“Joel! I was just telling Misty that their food at the breakfast buffet here is amazing. Will you join us tomorrow morning?” The woman asks, and Joel smiles.

“Of course, Tess. I’d love to.”

“And who might this lovely young woman be?” The woman, who’s name is apparently Tess, gestures to you.

“My student in my criminal law class. The one I told you about last week.”

So he talks about you?

“Mm. Well ain’t you a beauty. Even prettier than Joel described you to be.” Tess smiles at you, holding out a hand for you to shake. You take her hand in yours, giving it a shake as a shy smiles comes over your lips.

“Tess and I go way back. Went to college together. She’s my best friend. She works for the FBI now, actually.” Joel chuckles, and Tess waves a hand to ward his words off.

“That’s impressive. Hope my background check came out clean.” You joke, and Tess laughs.

“She’s funny, Joel,” Tess nudges him. She then turns to you. “Lovely woman you are, sweetheart. This here is my partner, Misty. She also works for the FBI.”

Her fucking partner. You feel so stupid. Why the fuck would you be so presumptuous when Joel’s been nothing but honest with you about everything you’ve asked him?

“It’s nice to meet you, Misty.” You say, shaking her hand.

“You too!” She beams, and you can already see the sunshine and realist dynamic between the two women. “You should join us for breakfast tomorrow.” She offers, tossing you a warm smile.

“Uhm,” You look at Joel for a split second. “I don’t want to intrude, really.”

“Nonsense! You’re not intruding at all, sweetheart. I wanna get to know the woman Joel’s been gushing about to me all week.” Tess teases, and Joel’s face immediately turns crimson.

“Okay, Tess. Enough.” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

You quietly chuckle as you lightly pat his back.

“Didn’t know you were so fond of me, Professor.” You tease, and he looks at you with an amused expression.

Tess laughs lightheartedly at the interaction between you two, telling you both that she’ll see you both tomorrow before her and Misty bid you two goodbye.

You sipped on the rest of your drink, avoiding trying to talk. The air between you and Joel shifted, and you could feel the tension radiating between both of you.

“Let’s go get you another drink, yeah?” Joel offered, smiling softly down at you. You eyed your empty Mai Tai and nodded, making your way over to the bar with him.

“Another Mai Tai for her. I’ll take a whiskey, neat please.” He told the bartender, and he got started on your drinks.

“Lotta fellas lookin’ at you tonight, darlin’. Y’sure are stealin’ the show.” Joel looks down at you, then to the many eyes staring at you before glancing back to you. The amused expression on his face told you that he wasn’t jealous, but you saw the way his jaw clenched and the muscle ticked in annoyance.

Before you could say anything, the bartender handed you both your drinks. You thanked him and turned back to Joel, who was gripping his whiskey glass rather tightly.

“Are you jealous, Professor?” You quirk your eyebrow at him, taking the drink out of his hand before he could react. You sipped it once, leaving a red lipstick stain to coat the top of the glass. You smirked and slid the drink back into his hand, and his eyes widened as he wearily looked around the room to see if anyone was watching your flirtatious endeavor.

It’s not like you two would particularly get into trouble, because after all, you two were very much legal, consenting adults. However, professors sleeping with their students was a bit… well, frowned upon. Plus, the last thing Joel wanted was for anyone to think that you didn’t get into this expo due to hard work—which was the truth—but rather, by sleeping with him to weasel your way into the one student slot.

“Not here, darlin’.”

“Still didn’t answer my question, Mr. Miller.” Your voice was thick with lust, the idea of Joel getting jealous over you extremely gratifying.

You felt the stickiness of your arousal coat the thin pair of panties you had on, and you started to squirm in your seat.

Joel noticed this too, but he remained collected. “Yes, alright? I don’t like when others look at what’s mine.”

“Yours.” You repeat slowly, a small scoff behind your words. It came off as if you were unimpressed by his wording, but in reality, your stomach erupted with butterflies.

Joel leaned closer to you, not liking your response to his words. “Yes,” He hissed, “Mine. That delicious, tight little pussy is all mine, n’ I mean it when I say I don’t like sharin’.”

You swallowed thickly as he pulled back, studying your face. He took a nonchalant sip of his whiskey, smirk hidden behind the glass.

The smart ass in you wanted to tell him that it was modern times and you weren’t his fucking property, but you refrained. If that’s what it took for this man to fuck you again, then so be it.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Mr. Miller.” You crossed one leg over the other as you sipped on your drink. The bartender had a heavy pour, so you were quickly feeling the affects of the alcohol now.

“Not dangerous when I know how to finish it.” He grits, downing the rest of his whiskey. You sip the rest of your drink nervously, all remembrance of being a lightweight being thrown out the window.

Joel could sense the nervousness that overtook you. You hated yourself for making it so clear that he affected you so much this way, but who could blame you with the way he looked at you?

He nods his head toward the exit. “C’mon, let me walk you to your room.”

Your heart sank in disappointment. Surely his words were just teasing words, and you almost pouted at him. How were you supposed to tell him you wanted him to fuck you until you saw stars?

You silently planted your heels to the ground once more, and with the convergence still in full swing, you doubt you two would be missed. Joel followed you into the elevator, and you let your body sink against the wall. You closed your eyes briefly, exhaustion slowly creeping over your body.

“What floor?” Joel asked.

“Fifteenth.”

He pushed the fifteenth floor button, and only about three floors up, you felt Joel’s hand on your waist. You peeled your eyes open and gasped softly at the new proximity between you two.

“You know how crazy you’ve been drivin’ me all night lookin’ like this, baby?” His whisper is hoarse, dangerously low. A glint of arousal flashes across the dark pools of his brown eyes, and your body instinctively moves closer to his. You’re flush up against him now, breathing uneven as you try to balance yourself.

“Joel.” You whine softly, clutching onto the collar of his shirt.

“I know, baby, I know.” He leans down to kiss you softly, and you completely melt into him. It’s like your body instinctively morphed into his as soon as he got close enough. You couldn’t help it. You craved his touch, his kiss, his expert tongue like nothing you’ve ever craved before.

He was intoxicating, and intoxicated off of him you were.

He took a free hand to slowly slide in between your thighs, already feeling how wet you were between your legs.

“Fuck, sweet girl.” Joel groaned, and you whimpered when he rubbed your clit over the fabric of your panties. He moved them to the side, knuckles teasing your slick folds as you clung onto him for dear life.

You started to grind your hips onto his knuckles, desperate for any kind of friction you could get. Joel chuckled at you, kissing your temple as you used his fingers to pleasure yourself.

“Such a needy pussy, baby.”

“Need you, Joel.”

“You’ll get me, baby. Patience.”

You groaned as he pushed a finger into you, pumping it at an expert pace. You felt the tight coil of release building up so much quicker than you anticipated, and right before you were about to cum, the elevator stopped with a ‘ding’.

Joel pulled his slick-soaked finger out of you, slipping it into his mouth as he sucked your arousal off of his digit. He pulled down your dress quickly before the doors opened, and you were practically trying to drag him to your room.

You made sure the coast was clear before unlocking your door with the keycard, tossing your clutch onto the table beside the door. As soon as the door closed, Joel pushed you up against it.

You had a moment of déjà vu, feeling like you were back in Joel’s office with you up against the door as he hungrily kissed you.

Your hands tangled into his styled hair, greedily tugging at it. You moaned against him, pushing yourself off of the door to lead Joel back to the king sized bed in the middle of the room. The back of his knees hit the bed, and you gently pushed him down so he’d sit.

“Take this dress off, baby. I wanna see you.” You turned around so he could help you with the zipper, and he happily obliged. He kissed the middle of your back once it became bare, and you turned around to face him again as you peeled the straps off of your shoulders. You were moving slowly on purpose, giving Joel a bit of a sensual show before you wanted to make him feel good.

Once the dress was completely off, you got down on your knees in front of him and began undoing his belt buckle. He ran a hand through your hair, cupping your jaw as you fiddled with the button of his slacks next.

“Y’don’t have to, baby.” Joel whispered, searching your eyes for apprehension. You shook your head at him.

“I want to. Wanted to since the day I laid eyes on you.” You confess, and he groans softly as you tap his hips, signaling him to lift them so you could take the clothing off of him. You palmed him through his boxers, giving his cock a slight tug over the cotton material.

If it’s one thing you were determined about, it was giving Joel the best head he’s ever had in his life. You slowly peeled off his boxers as well, tossing them somewhere in the room.

His erection sprang free, head swollen and leaking pre cum. You whined at the sight, biting your faded cherry red lips in anticipation. You looked up at Joel who looked at you expectantly, and you smiled up at him shyly before taking his cock into your hand, giving the silky flesh a few tugs. You kept doing that as you leaned down to trail kisses up his tan thighs, free hand rubbing circles into his skin before using your tongue to lick your way up to the base of his cock.

You moved your mouth away from him so you could finally give the tip a kiss, kitten licking it softly for a few seconds. The salty taste of pre cum melted onto your tongue, and you hummed up at him. You took the tip into your mouth, tongue swirling over it before moving further down his girthy shaft.

“Mmph– fuck, your mouth feels so goddamn good, baby.” Joel groaned, cradling the back of your head with his hand. You moved your mouth all the way down, being met with the coarse, unruly hairs at the bottom of his cock.

You moaned around him as you felt him twitch in your mouth, and you moved your mouth back up while squeezing your lips around him. You continued this motion for the next couple of minutes, bringing your free hand to gently fondle his balls.

His hips bucked up, causing you to gag around him. “Fuck, darlin’, ‘m sorry.”

You hummed against him again as you looked up into his eyes, brow furrowed and jaw clenched.

“Look so pretty with your mouth wrapped around my cock like that, baby.” He was panting now, and you stuck your tongue out of your lips so you could lick the underside of his cock with ease.

Joel gripped the bed sheets with such sheer force that you thought the threading was going to rip. His uneven breathing was apparent now, and his head tossed back as he held onto the back of your head, moving it up and down faster.

“Fuck baby, ‘m gonna– shit.” He cursed, and you swallowed every last drop of cum that spilled onto your tongue. You let go of his cock from your mouth with a small pop, leaning back on your heels to look up at him. His eyes met yours after a brief minute and he hummed, chuckling while he shook his head.

“Christ, babydoll.” Was all he said before gently tugging your arm so you’d stand up. You looked so divine like this in front of him—all lace and heels and curves and a sex appeal he just couldn’t fulfill himself enough with. He needed you in every way all the time. He couldn’t get enough of you.

“You sound so hot when you moan for me, Joel.” You say, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” He pulled you closer to him by your hips. You nod, biting your lip. He smirks as you as your hands trail down to the buttons of his shirt. You undo them one by one before slipping the aqua material off of his body, leaving him completely bare for you.

“You’re so handsome.” You whisper, and he smiled shyly up at you. Joel Miller? Shy? That’s a new one. You concluded that he didn’t get told that often, so you made a mental note to tell him as much as possible from now on.

Joel moves back on the bed to lay his head down where the pillows were. “C’mere.”

You moved to sit on your heels on the bed next to him, and he tugged at your wrist. He brought you down for a kiss before mumbling against your lips. “I want you to sit on my face, sweet girl.”

You pulled apart from him quickly, puzzled and completely mortified. “What?”

“I want you,” He repeated, tugging you back down to him, “To sit. On. My. Face.” He emphasized each word, and you felt yourself clench around nothing at his request.

“Joel, are you sure? I’m– what if you can’t breathe? What if I’m too heavy?” Insecurity started to flood your mind quickly, and Joel shook his head.

“You’re not too heavy, baby. You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Just, please, sit that pretty pussy onto my goddamn face.” He begged, and your brows furrowed at him in disbelief.

You trusted him, though, so you sighed as you straddled Joel’s chest carefully. You shuffled forward before stopping right below where he wanted you most in that moment. He grabbed your thighs and forced you to move upward so you were hovering over his face.

“Sit.” Was all he said, but you hesitated for a second. His hands slid up to your hips, forcing them down so his breath fanned over your slick-coated pussy. He kissed your soft flesh over the lace of your panties, moaning at how your hips bucked at the slightest touch.

He brought one hand up before moving the lace of your panties aside, kissing your bare pussy this time. You moaned softly, grabbing onto the headboard before Joel licked a long stripe up your folds. You moaned louder this time, relishing in the heat of his skilled tongue as he lapped up your arousal. He started to eat you out like a man starved, dipping his tongue into you before moving it up and circling around your clit. His hands moved down to grip the soft flesh of your thighs once more, moving them back and forth to encourage you to ride his face.

“Use my face, sweet girl. C’mon.” His voice was muffled, but you got the message loud and clear. You decided to let go of your fears and started to grind your soaked cunt into his face, clit catching onto the hook of his strong nose.

“Fuck, Joel.” You cried, mouth falling agape as you used his mouth for your pleasure. He brought a hand down to your ass and squeezed it, moving his hand back to give your soft flesh a smack. You moaned at the feeling of your stinging flesh, moving your hips in circles.

Joel moaned from underneath you, shooting vibrations up and through your body. You felt that tight coil rapidly approaching again as Joel settled on sucking your clit once more, and you couldn’t hold it anymore.

It was like a dam bursting and the floodwaters came rushing in, unstoppable and forceful.

Your hips rutted against his face as you rode out your intense orgasm, crying his name like a prayer. All that was on your mind was exactly what was coming out of your mouth: Joel Joel Joel.

“Did so well f’me, honey. So fucking good.” He praised, bringing your body down to be leveled with his on the mattress.

Joel looked at you in your already blissfully fucked-out state, brushing your hair out of your face. Your eyes were glossed over as they stared at him, body still convulsing at certain points as you rode out the last of your orgasm.

“Think y’got one more in you, sweet girl?” He asked, and you were confused at his initial question before it quickly dawned on you that he meant another orgasm. The exhausted part of you wanted to say no, but the insatiable part of you wanted to be filled and stretched by his intoxicating cock.

You nodded your head, and he smiled down at you with mischief. “Good. Wanna see those pretty eyes of yours roll back when I make you feel good.”

Fuck, he was really going to be the death of you.

He moved to unhook your bra from you in one easy motion, tossing the lace item somewhere in the room along with the rest of the clothes already in disarray. He maneuvered himself on top of you, and you looked up at him with such adoration. He smiled down at you as he moved down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, a hand cupping your jaw gently as you two just simply kissed for awhile.

It was nice that Joel brought the balance of sweet and sensual to the rough and sexy parts of having sex with him. Though you’ve only fucked once before this, you knew he was a tender lover when he really wanted to be.

Your felt Joel’s hardened cock against your inner thigh, so you took it upon yourself to gently grab it and start gliding his shaft against your folds. He moaned into your mouth as your thumb swiped over the tip, bucking your hips against him to get him soaked with your sticky sweetness.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He asked, taking his own cock into his hand before lining the tip up with your entrance. You nodded, and he gently pushed inside you until he reached the hilt.

The stretch was just as delicious as you remembered. So fucking full that it nearly knocked the breath out of you. You grabbed onto his biceps, jaw slack and brows furrowed.

“Look at me, sweet girl.” He murmured, and your eyes snapped open to find his. He smiled down at you before he started to move his hips, thrusting slowly at first before he started to pick up the pace.

“Feel so good, Joel.” You mumbled, intertwining your hands into his hair.

“So do you, angel.” He moaned as you clenched around him, savoring the feeling of you so warm and wet. He continued the tortured pace of his hips for a couple of more minutes before you decided you wanted, no, needed more. You wanted to see aforementioned stars.

“Faster Joel, please. Need you to fuck me faster.”

“Needy little cunt.” Joel chuckled, and you nodded in agreement.

“Please.” You whisper, and his hips doubled in pace.

“This what you want, angel?” He asks through gritted teeth, knowing he probably wouldn’t last long if he kept fucking you at this pace.

“God, fuck, yes!” You cried, gripping onto the bedsheets as your eyes started to roll into the back of your head. The tip of his cock was kissing that oh so sweet spot inside of you, and you got what you wanted: you were seeing stars.

You clamped your eyes shut as the sound of skin slapping on skin and lewd moans from the both of you filled the cozy hotel room. Joel brought his middle finger to your mouth, and he didn’t even have to ask you to suck on it. You just did.

With Joel, it was this invisible push and pull that drove you crazy. It truly bewildered you how well your body listened to him without him having to say a single goddamn word.

He popped his finger out of your mouth before moving it down to your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles around it. Your body felt like it was on fire as your orgasm built up inside of you. The pit in the depth of your core was licking flames up your spine, ready to burst at the seams at any given time.

“Joel, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You choked out, and he groaned in response.

“Cum with me, baby.” His voice sounded pleading, and you nodded quickly. You felt yourself come undone in the blink of an eye, Joel following suit.

You brought down Joel’s face to smash your lips with his, swallowing each other’s moans as you both rode out your earth-shattering orgasms.

Joel pulled apart from you and dropped his head onto your shoulder as he pumped into you twice more before pulling out. Joel immediately brought you into his side, stroking your bare back with his hand. Goosebumps raised onto your skin, and Joel smiled.

You both laid there for a couple of minutes trying to catch your breaths, enjoying the peaceful aftermath of it all. You turned your head to press a kiss to his chest, heart beating slightly faster at your subtle movement.

“I think this is the best exposition I’ve ever been to.” You teased, tracing patterns on Joel’s chest. It rumbled when he laughed, grabbing your hand to press his lips to the back of it.

“Gotta say, it’s definitely mine too.” He agreed, and you softly giggled as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

You had so much to tell Adrienne when you got back home from California, and you knew she’d lose her mind–just like you’re losing yours as you slowly realized you’re falling for the man that lay beside you.

tag list: @cool-iguana ; @beskarandblasters ; @nostalxgic @pamasaur ; @untamedheart81 ; @joelslegalwhre ; @ilovepedro ; @sarap-77

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