#Alp

[blairwolfwerewolf]

Two of our monster ladies I drew today, big bee and upbeat alp.

#drawings #monster girl #bug folk #alp #monster girlfriend

[hier--soir]

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

[auteurdelabre]

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

[sakamichibeeldarchief]

#白石麻衣 #ALP #乃木坂46 #mai shiraishi

[littlemissomega]

Malyshka

alpha!Wanda x omega!reader

Summary: Y/N joins the Avengers thinking she’ll be able to hide being an omega. Wanda bursts her bubble.

Warnings: smut, overstimulation, mating, biting, penetration, omega heat, fingering, knotting, pet names (malyshka, baby, luv, luvie), Bucky’s an asshole, a kinda maybe spark better Bucky (I can’t write fight scene without banter), scenting, scent blockers

Sorry if I forgot anything

Author’s note: This request for this was so sweet! I finally made myself sit down and finish this over the weekend :) I also marked where the smut starts if that's what you're here for

Edit: Just realized I posted this the first time with 'Emily' instead of 'Y/N'. I write my fics with a different name for the reader cause it flows easier with I brain, I just forgot to change it later. Please ignore 🤦🏻‍♀️

“Okay, everyone, this is Y/N! She’ll be joining the Avengers,” Tony voices.

Y/N fiddles with her bracelet as she gives the group of strangers a small smile. The overwhelming scent of alphas smacks her in the face, making her feel shyer than normal. She prays her scent suppressants and beta scent perfume are strong enough.

“Who decided that?” a brown haired man asks.

“I did. And I think you all will agree when you see what she can do,” Tony responds.

“It would have been nice to be consulted right, though,” a blond man points out.

“Well, I do bank roll this team, so…”

Y/N’s cheeks flush as the good discuss her like she didn’t there.

“Guy, don’t be rude! Ignore them. I’m Natasha,” the red haired woman smiles, “That’s Bucky, and that’s Steve. Steve is only agreeing with him because he wants to get laid later,’ “Hey now, ‘Tasha!” Steve laughs. 

Natasha shrugs at him with a smirk.

“That’s Clint,” a man dressed in all black waves at her, “And that’s Thor,” Natasha finishes, pointing at a man with long hair.

“Nice to meet you guys,” Y/N smiles, finally finding her voice and feeling awkward and meek around the group.

“Am I the only one who wants to see what the little lady can do?” Thor asks.

“I agree,” Bucky nods.

“Okay! I guess she can spare you, Buck. Show you guys what she can do,” Tony smirks.

“Gladly,” Bucky smirks back, shrugging off his jacket.

Y/N ties her hair up and pushes her sleeves up, trying to compose herself.

I can do this! Mr. Stark believes in me, so it can’t be that hard!

“Here’s the rooms; No cheap shots. We’re all big kids here. No weapons. If the other person says ‘yield’, you win and everyone stops. If the other person is pinned or down for 30 seconds or more, then the other wins. And don’t kill each other,” Tony explains.

“Remember that word, beta,” Bucky voices, getting in a fighting stance.

Y/N ignores his taunts, focusing on the energy bubbling up in her core. She imagines it spreading through her body and resting under the skin of her hands. Her hands start glowing with lavender purple energy, and Bucky’s cocky expression cracks for a second.

“Begin,” Tony announces, leading against the wall.

Bucky lunges forward, but doesn’t get far before a stream of glowing lavender energy shots from Y/N’s hands; wrapping around Bucky’s foot and pulling him to the ground. He lands with a grunt but doesn’t stay down long. Natasha’s laugh rings through the room.

“A little warning would have been nice, Tony!” Bucky calls as he swings his metal arm back to punch her.

Y/N’s glowing hand makes a shape like she caught his fist (she’s not actually touching him), and his hand stops. Her eyes start glowing a faint purple as she turns her hand to the side, and Bucky’s arm goes with it. He lands on his back. A frustrated groan slips from his lips, causing the corners of Y/N’s to go up.

Bucky rolls to his feet and jumps forward. Right before he grabs her, Y/N teleports to the other side of the room. He stumbles forward, but regains his balance.

“The f-”

He starts towards her again, and Y/N’s wills the water in a cup to the side to rise, turning into a disk of ice. It shoots towards Bucky, but he catches it with his metal hand and throws it back at her. The ice evaporates before it reaches her.

“Okay, no more magic, kid. Why don’t you level the playing field and beat me fair and square?” Bucky asks as he lunges toward again, panting slightly. Y/N side steps him and teleports behind him. She kicks him square in the back, causing him to go down.

“And why would I do that? I’m just using my resources wisely!” Y/N points out.

“Oh, so you don’t think you can beat me without your little party tricks! That’s okay, not everyone is strong enough,” Bucky eggs her on.

“You’re kinda an asshole, you know that?” Y/N shoots back, “How ‘bout this; I don’t use magic for 60 seconds. Give you a little head start. If you can beat me in that time, then great. If you can’t…”

“Deal,” he growls, kicking his leg out and sweeping her feet out from under her.

Y/N tumbles to the ground, landing hard on her ass. Bucky pins her to the ground, but she elbows him in the nose, causing his grip to loosen enough for her to slip away. She makes it to her feet before he makes his next attack. He swings a punch at her, but she douges it, dunking under his arm and elbowing his side. Bucky lets out another growl and Y/N shivers. 

“You scared, beta?” Bucky chuckles.

“No, I’m just getting a little cold from how little I have to work! And my name’s Y/N,”

Bucky wraps a hand around Y/N’s throat, and she tucks her chin while bringing her other arm around and breaking his grip. She grabs his arm and spins him around, putting him in a choke hold. Bucky’s hands fly up; trying and failing to break her grip around his neck. Y/N wraps his legs around her waist to stabilize herself as Bucky starts slamming her into the wall. She lets out a grunt as the air leaves her lungs.

“You smell…sweet?” Bucky points out, his voice muffled from his lack of air.

Shit, Y/N thinks. She realizes she’s started to sweat, which must be causing the scent blocker to wear off faster.

“I think you’re hallucinating, Barnes,” Y/N huffs as he slams her into the wall again, “And, your time’s up,”

Y/N teleports away right as Bucky slams against the wall again, causing him to take all of the blow. She kicks him in the stomach and he crumbles against the wall. Purple bands of light wrap around him, pinning him down. He struggles against them, but they don’t break.

“And.. Y/N wins!” Tony announces as the 30 seconds is up. The bands of light disappear immediately, and Bucky stumbles to his feet.

“Good match,” Y/N smiles, sticking her hand out to shake Bucky’s.

Bucky begrudgingly shakes her hands. Y/N thinks he’s being a good sport until he jerks her forward, dipping his nose down so it brushes the scent gland on her neck. Y/N gasps and stumbles back.

“Interesting,” Bucky chuckles softly.

“Did you just fucking scent me??” Y/N asks, shocked.

“Whoa, that’s too far, Bucky!” Natasha scolds, shoving Bucky.

“Sorry, sorry!” Bucky responds, the smirk not leaving his face.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah! Yeah..it’s whatever,” 

“He’s just grumpy cause he lost and wanted a reaction. That was pretty badass though, newbie!”

“I agree! That was hardcore!” Thor laughs, slapping Y/N on the back. Y/N jolts forward a little, but laughs it off.

“Hey, has anyone seen Wanda today?” Steve asks. He’s holding hands with a still slightly fuming Bucky.

“I’m right here!” a voice calls from the door.

Y/N turns to see a beautiful woman with dark ginger hair that falls in soft waves and blue gray eyes. She’s dressed in red and black leather, and Y/N struggles to keep her eyes on the woman’s face instead of the curve of her breasts. Her scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon hits Y/N like a freight train, causing a whole different heat to grow in her core. She can feel her own scent growing stronger.

“Hey, Wanda! You missed the show!” Natasha laughs.

“Did I?” Wanda asks, looking at Y/N, “What’s your name, malyshka (babygirl)?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but no words come out. Natasha quickly covers for her.

“This is Y/N! She’s joining the Avengers and she just kicked Bucky’s ass!”

Wanda’s eyes don’t leave Y/N, causing her to squirm a little. Y/N pulls out her phone, and looks at it, pretending to see a notification.

“Oh, I have a missed call, so I need to go call them back! But it was nice meeting y’all!”

Bucky smirks and gives Y/N a knowing look as she runs from the room. She fainting hears the other calling bye.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Y/N mumbles as she slams her bedroom door shut, rummaging through her stuff for her scent suppressant. She swallows two of them dry, then douses herself in the beta scent perfume.

Flopping down face first on the bed, Y/N reminds herself that joining the Avengers is a good thing. Her stupid omega pheromones just need to get their shit together. And Bucky keeps his stupid mouth shut.

Two weeks pass, and Y/N starts to settle into her new life. She trains with Natasha and Steve during the day, and they go on missions. She and Bucky continue to bully each other and have ‘friendly’ competitions. And Wanda. Oh Wanda.

Wanda has been so kind to Y/N, showing her around the compound and taking every chance to talk with her. But she also takes every chance to touch her. From putting a hand on Y/N’s shoulder when passing to letting their legs touch on the couch, Wanda has taken every chance. And Y/N hasn’t minded. Not at all.

Y/N hates how shy she gets around Wanda, and the almost gravitational pull she feels to her.

A knock on the door snaps Y/N from her thoughts.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Natasha asks through the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Y/N voices, rolling over.

“Okay! Well, dinner’s ready! You hungry?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second!” Y/N responds, glad to be included in the group.

Y/N quickly takes her hair out of the ponytail, fluffing the top of it. When she opens the door, Natasha is waiting for her. She smells of fresh sheets and leather polish. She’s an alpha, but her scent isn’t as overwhelming as most.

“What’s for dinner?” Y/N asks as they enter the kitchen.

“Chicken noodle soup!” Wanda responds, “How’d your call go?”

Gods she looks so pretty

“I-It was good! Just a friend,” Y/N voices, nervousness pooling in her stomach.

As they make bowls, Y/N realizes Bucky and Steve are missing.

“Where are the others?” She asks, carrying her bowl to the table.

“Oh, I heard Bucky and Steve arguing earlier, so they’re probably fucking by now,” Natasha laughs.

“My room is next to theirs, and you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard,” Tony voices, “Haven’t had a good night’s sleep since they mated,”

Y/N blushes, staring at her bowl. It’s always amazed her how some people are so open about sex. She picks up her spoon and takes a bite of the soup, almost moaning as it hits her taste buds.

“You like the soup, malyshka?” Wanda asks with a grin, sitting down next to her.

“Yeah!” Y/N nods, swallowing, “It’s really good,”

“I’m glad you think so,”

“Sorry, what does malyshka mean? Is it a different language?” Y/N asks. Wanda has taken to using the nickname with Y/N, and she had never asked what it ment. 

“It’s Russian for babygirl,” Natasha explains with a small, knowing smile.

“Oh,” 

That’s all Y/N can say as her face turns bright red. She coughs a little and takes a gulp of her water. Wanda’s shoe brushes against her calf.

“Don’t choke, princess!” Wanda chuckles.

Princess? Babygirl? This woman is going to be the death of me.

Y/N sets her cups down and focuses on eating without embarrassing herself. Halfway through, Steve and Bucky show up. Steve is limping significantly.

“Nice of you to join us,” Tony snickers.

“Shut up, Stark,” Bucky responds with a chuckle, “You’re just jealous you’re not getting any cause Pepper’s on a business trip,”

Y/N grimaces as pain shoots through her abdomen and lower back. She grips her spoon harder; her knuckles turning white. Natasha taps her foot under the table and mouths ‘You okay?’ at her. Y/N nods, relaxing her grip on the spoon even as the pain continues. The intense need to bury her face in Wanda’s chest and sit in her lap fills her.

It doesn’t help that every breath she takes is overwhelmed by Wanda’s rich scent.

Is she doing that on purpose? Y/N wonders. She can feel herself starting to sweat and takes a sip of water.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Steve asks, sounding genuinely worried.

“Yeah! O-of course!” Y/N responds, trying to sound normal.

“You look pretty flushed. Are you warm?”

Steve you’re very sweet, but please shut the fuck up. Y/N begs in her heat.

“A little! It’s just the soup. I think I’m actually gonna turn in for the night,” Y/N decides, grabbing her bowl to put in the sink. Wanda stops her.

“I can get that!” Wanda voices.

“No, that’s okay! I can-”

“Leave the bowl, malyshka,” Wanda voices, dominance seeping into her voice.

Y/N sets the bowl down and rushes up the stairs.

“What’s up with her?” she hears Tony ask.

“I wouldn’t bother her for the next week,” Bucky responds, sounding arrogant and almost condescending.

“Why not?” Natasha asks.

Y/N doesn’t wait to hear Bucky’s response. She quietly closes her bedroom door and uses the lavender light to create a barrier around the room. Now, no one will be able to scent her or hear her.

She stumbles over to her desk and opens her computer, looking at her heat calendar. It isn’t supposed to come for another 2 weeks!

“Go awayyyy,” Y/N whines as the cramps continue and a different type of need fills her. She changes into a soft, silk shorts and tank top set before climbing into bed. She nuzzles her face into the only blanket she brought from home.

Y/N tosses and turns for hours, kicking off the blankets as her body temperature goes up. A fine layer of sweat settles on her skin and pain shoots through her. She can feel herself growing wetter, and her mind keeps straying to how bad she wants to be knotted. 

  —--Spice starts here—----

She tries resisting, but she can’t help but kick off the shorts and slip her hand in her underwear. Y/N dips a finger in her dripping hole and moans. She drags the finger up to that hypersensitive bundle of nerves as draws gentle circles on it. Her moans float through the room.

A knock at the door causes Y/N to groan.

“Y/N, are you in there?” Wanda asks through the door.

Her brain is too foggy to form words.

“Y/N, open the door right now,” Wanda orders. Y/N whimpers at the dominance in her tone.

The door burst open before closing again. Y/N turns her head to see Wanda standing there, eyes and hands glowing a faint red color. Her scent is intoxicating. She’s wearing a cropped tank top and a pair of low rise pajama pants. The large bulge at her crotch is unmistakable. 

“Oh baby. Did you get your heat?” Wanda croons.

Y/N nods, burying her face in the blankets. She jolts in pain as another cramp rips through her and rubs another circle on her clit, hoping to help ease the pain.

“Y-you should go Wa-Wanda! It’s not appropriate,” Y/N struggles to say, finally pulling her hand from her underwear.

“But you don’t really want me to do that, do you?” Wanda asks, her voice getting closer. 

Y/N looks up to see Wanda right next to the bed. She sits down and lowers her face closer to hers. Wanda gently grabs her china and forces her to make eye contact. Y/N whimpers and her core throbs.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, malyshka. And I know you feel it. The bond. Begging for us to solidify it. You’re my mate, and you know it,” Wanda voices, grabbing her hand and bringing it to her mouth.

“W-what?” Y/N stutters.

Wanda eases Y/N’s slick covered finger into her mouth and sucks gently. Y/N and Wanda moan as she releases it with a pop

“Awww, you’re such a dumb baby omega! Thought you could pretend to be a beta and everything!” she brushes a stand of hair from Y/N’s face condescending, “No, you’re my mate and I’ve known from the second I saw you,”

Her eyes go wide as Wanda dips her head down and brushes her nose against Y/N’s scent glades. A small growl slips from Wanda’s lips and every hair on Y/N’s body stands up, causing her to whine.

“I’m going to burn whatever fake scent you use. And it you ever take a fucking scent blocker again, I’ll spank your pretty ass ‘til you can’t sit right for a month,” Wanda growls.

“Y-yes ma’am! I’m sor-sorry!” Y/N squeaks.

“You will be,”

Y/N lets out a shriek as Wanda picks her up and throws her over her shoulder.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Y/N asks, her tone sounding meek.

“Going to wash off that fucking beta scent! I wanna smell your scent when I pump you full with my pups,” 

“Mommyyy,” Y/N moans, her grip tightening on Wanda’s shoulders.

The tile in the bathroom is cold against Y/N’s bare feet. Wanda presses her against the wall; her lips a breath away from Y/N’s.

“I’m trying so hard to restrain myself, because I wanna fuck you for the first time in a bed, but you’re making it really hard, malyshka,” Wanda whispers, her lips dipping to hover over the scent glad on Y/N’s neck. 

Y/N lets out a breathy moan; squeezing her thighs together as Wanda’s nose nuzzles against her scent gland.

“Your scent is finally pecking through those damned scent blockers,” Wanda voices, “Now let’s wash the rest off,”

The cool air chills Y/N’s skin as Wanda pulls the shirt off her, leaving her bare. Her nipples pebble into stiff peaks and the shorts quickly follow the shirt to its place on the ground. Y/N wants to touch her so bad, but doesn’t want to anger her. Wanda’s eyes don’t leave her as she turns the shower on.

“Listen carefully,” Wanda turns her fingers up Y/N’s arms, barely touching them, “You’re gonna get in the shower and get nice and clean, and I’m gonna go get a few things. You aren’t gonna touch yourself of put on any more scent blockers, then you’re going to dry off and go wait in bed,”

“Do-Don’t want you to leave,” Y/N pouts, practically shaking with need.

Wanda gently rubs her thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip before connecting them with hers. Y/N melts into the kiss; hands coming up to brace herself on Wanda’s shoulder. She whines when Wanda pulls away.

“I’ll be right back. Be a good little omega and do as your told,” 

Wanda leaves the door cracked behind her and Y/N lets in a shaky breath from getting the shower. The cool water is a shock to her system and she quickly washes her body. Her skin is hypersensitive and she struggles to hold back whimpers as she washes her scent glands.

After turning the water off, she dries off with a fluffy towel Wanda must have left for her. Y/N wraps the towel around herself before tip-toeing back into the bedroom. The room is empty and she sits on the edge of the bed, apprehension building in her.

The temporary relief Wanda’s calming pheromones brought disappears and the intense pain continues. Y/N leaves back in the bed, gripping the sheets and pressing her feet into the mattress. Her whines fill the room and all she wants is Wanda’s knot deep inside her, breeding her.

“Fuck, malyshka, you’re so beautiful,” Wanda practically moans from the door.

Wanda’s holding a bundle of different sweatshirts, blankets, and t-shirts.

“Wh-what’s that?” Y/N asks.

“I brought you a few things for your nest, baby,”

“Want you now though, Mommy,” she whines.

“One second, luvie, I gotta get your cozy nest set up,” Wanda explains, arranging the different things on the bed.

Y/N bucks her hips and moans at the intense scent of her mate around her.

“Mommy hurryyy need you so bad!” 

“All done, baby,” Wanda soothes, straddling Y/N’s hips. Y/N’s shaky hands come up and tug at Wanda’s pants.

“Need you now, Mommy!”

“I know luvie, but Mommy’s just gotta taste her sweet baby first,” Wanda croons, sliding down her body.

Wanda growls at the sight of her omega’s dripping pussy. She licks fromm her dripping whole to throbbing clit.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have waited so long to do this,” Wanda groans, “You’re such a good omega, you would have spread your legs for me that first night, wouldn’t you have?”

“Uh huh, Mommy! Just for you!” 

The vibrations of Wanda’s chuckle ripple through Y/N and cause the knot in her core to grow. Wanda lips attach to her clit and her moans fill the room. Her hands fly down, lacing in Wanda’s hair and presses her further into her pussy.

“Oh my god that feels so good Mommy, so sensitive!” Y/N moans.

Wanda doesn’t give any warning before slipping two fingers into her, filling her to the brim. Y/N bucks her hips up, desperate for me.

“Mommy pleaseee, need you in me so bad!”

“What part of me, malyshka?” Wanda asks innocently, “My fingers? My tongue? Or is there something else you want? Use you words,”

The fog in Y/N’s head grows with how desperate she is, and she struggles to form the words.

“Fuck, Mommy, need your cock! Need your cock in me so bad! Need you to bread my and knot me and fuck me so good!” Y/N blabbers.

“Good girl,” Wanda croons, her eyes glowing red. Her clothes disappear and she straddles her again in a second, her hard cock lined up with Y/N’s dripping entrance.

Y/N wrapped her legs around Wanda’s hips, bringing her lips up to suck on one of Wanda’s perky, hard nipples. Wanda moans and thrusts into Y/N a little too fast. Y/N whines at the intense stretch and sucks harder.

“I know, malyshka, Mommy’s cock is so much bigger that your little baby omega pussy,” Wanda croons condescending, “You’re gonna take every inch like the good little girl you are, though,” Y/N give’s Wanda’s hair a little tug in response.

By the time Wanda is halfway in, Y/N is squirming and quivering. She finally lets go of Wanda’s nipple.

“Want your pups so bad, Mommy! Want you to breed me!” Y/N cries, spasming with pleasure and need.

“I know, baby, Mommy’s gonna fill up your pretty pussy so good; gonna make you all pretty and round!” Wanda voices, thrusting her hips forward so another inch goes in, “You aren’t so shy anymore, are you baby? All you needed was Mommy’s cock stretching you out to start talking!”

“Mommy,” Y/N whimpers as Wanda bottoms out.

“I know,” Wanda repeats, dipping her head to the crock of Y/N’s neck.

Wanda inhales deeply and moans.

“Can’t believe you hide your scent from me for so long, malyshka! You smell heavenly. Like fucking carmel and chocolate,” Wanda moans, licking Y/N’s scent glad. Y/N mewls at the sensation, squeezing around Wanda.

“Gonna cum, Mommy!” 

“Cum for me, baby,”

Y/N falls over the edge, stars dancing in her vision. Her chest comes off the bed and the sounds she makes are unrecognizable. A scream escapes her as Wanda’s fangs pierce her neck. Her hands move to Wanda’s back, digging in and drawing blood. Wanda sucks on the tender wound and continues thrusting her hips as Y/N comes down from her high. The solidified bond is overwhelming. Wanda’s scent becomes even more overwhelming and Y/N can feel the pleasure she’s feeling, making her even more sensitive. 

“Mo-Mommy?” Y/N stutters weakly, her orgasm still stringing out.

“Yes, my luv?” Wanda responds gently.

“Want you to cum, Mommy! Please cum in me,”

“Oh baby,” Wanda moans.

Every vein and ridge sets Y/N on faster as Wanda’s thrust quickens, hitting every sensitive spot in her.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” Y/N sobs, tears of pleasure slipping down her cheeks, “Fuck, feels so go-good!”

“Mommy’s gonna cum down, malyshka,” Wanda pants, “Gonna fill you up so good,” Wanda’s knot starts growing, stretching her mate out even more. 

“Can fe- ohhh feel it, Mommy!” 

Y/N’s wall squeezes around her, and that’s all Wanda needs to fall over the edge. Her hot cum warms Y/N and she can feel it in every inch of her body. Wanda can’t take her eyes off Y/N’s absolutely wrecked face though. Her head is thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth in an ‘O’ shape. Wanda lowers her head and kisses her check, then her lips, her other check, each eyelid, her forehead, and makes her way back down to her lips as Emiy comes down from her extended high.

“How are you feeling, malyshka?” Wanda asks softly.

“Warm…and full and so good” Y/N sighs contently.

“I’m glad, luvie,” Wanda smiles, gently flipping them so Y/N is on top.

Y/N moans softly as Wanda’s cock shifts deeper with the new position. Her alpha strokes her back.

“I love you, Mommy,” she mumbles dreamily.

“I love you too, malyshka,”

Taglist:

@liidiaaag

@flourishandblotts-inc

@aagn360

@smromanoff

#littlemissomega #smut #marvel smut #mommy kink #fluff #omega heat #omegaverse #omega!heat #omega!heat first #alpha!stucky x reader #alp #mutual pinning #soft!dom!wanda #a/b/o #a/b/o fanfic #a/b/o fic #a/b/o kink #a/b/o headcanon #a/b/o smut #a/b/o universe #a/b/o verse #avengers a/b/o #tw a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #alpha!wanda #omega!reader #alpha!wanda x omega!reader #omega heat smut #omega!reader heat #mommy!wanda smut

[hauntedhokage]

Established!Kirishima/F!Reader & Kirishima/Bakugou

Slow burn Bakugou/F!Reader for eventual poly!Kirishima/F!Reader/Bakugou

series summary: you’re a successful news woman in a very happy relationship with top 5 hero Red Riot…who’s boyfriend is very hard to read and you low key think he hates you. Eijiro knows him better, though, and knows that Katsuki just has a crush but doesn’t have the emotional capacity to do anything about it. All it takes are some well placed nudges, and a little patience.

series warnings: slow burn (like…very slow), Bakugou & Kirishima have an open relationship, miscommunications galore between reader and bakugou, smut in part 04 (so far)

{ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]

New chapters posted weekly on Wednesdays - chapter list below the cut

01: Stolen Shirt

02: Introductory Lunch 

03: Awkward Encounters

04: Date Night

05: Corrective Measures

06: Fight Night

07: Aftershock

08: On the Mend 

09: Planted

10: Patching Up

11: Dance

12: Early Mornings

13: The Date

14: Proposals

15: Proposals pt 2

16: Delivery

17: Smitten

....other parts TBA

Said "sugar make it slow and we'll come together fine"

All we need is just a little patience

#alp masterlist #hh.masterlist #alp #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou imagine #kirishima x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo imagine #kiribaku #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic

[puppetmaster13u]

So. Demon Batclan.

If I were to work on a oneshot. Which of the following would you prefer to read earlier/first (nowhere near soon whenever I write a oneshot it's usually like 8k plus words lol)

Succubus/Incubus- Don't get your hopes up, it's not any sexy times. More like they feed through physical contact. Any physical contact. Lots of cuddling and hugs in this family

Alp Demon- Feeding on dreams and nightmares, and perhaps Bruce should have maybe informed the league that the kids are on the Watchtower. Or that he even had kids.

Imps- Hey, when you partially feed on mischief, the family prank wars can get Legendary. And perhaps incredibly deadly to the perspective of outsiders who don't know.

Kejōrō- Technically, yokai not exactly demon but. Long hair batfam. Who probably don't kill, or if they do you can't prove it was them. Not exactly mafia batclan but...

I am also open to further ideas in replies or reblogs. Or asks/submissions.

#batman au #batman #dc #dcu #cryptid batman #cryptid batfam #cryptid batfamily #poll #demon batfam #fuck ur bullshit (found familys ur monsters) project #demons #demon au #yokai #imps #arch imps #kejorou #alp #alp demon #give me found family dangit

[purseowner4thequalityanimation]

#Shin Megami Tensei #NINE #Alp #MegaTen

[jasonguilbeau]

Bunker - Uri - Schweiz

#bunker #concrete #festung #architecture #war #suisse #schweiz #landscape #archiporn #new topography #new topographics #artists on tumblr #swiss #switzerland #alps #alp #mountain #rock #camouflage #camo

[kairunatic]

The Kohais at Ueno sure asking the real questions

>>A small continuation to this one

#housamo #tokyo afterschool summoners #summosnap #Leib #Alp

[hier--soir]

night breeze

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: joel comes home to find you sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes. warnings/tags: established relationship, consensual somnophilia, oral [f receiving], joel loves when you wear his clothes, premature ejaculation, reader wears joel's clothes; body type is not described explicitly but his boxers are described as "snug" on her thighs. word count: 1.8k masterlist follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is envisioned as a part of the ALP universe [set between 7 and 8] but it can be read as a stand alone.

The air is calm at dusk.

Soft and sweet against your skin, the smell of salt in your nostrils.

The sky is a kaleidoscope of purples and pinks and blues, and a slick orange sun drips and wanes until its belly kisses the ocean. Lower, lower, until the sky spins navy and the water pitches black. You float in that black darkness, unbothered by the heavy swells that rise and roll beneath you. The water is rocky and rough, though the waves never seem to break. Too far from the shore, they simply build and build, with no end in sight.  

And the water should be icy, cold enough to chill you to the bone and set you shivering, but you just feel hot. A searing, stuffy heat that clings even as you float over the rolling masses, letting them lap at your neck and face. Humid and dry, you want nothing more than for the water to suck you in deeper. Down, down, until your body is covered, and your hair is a floating halo, and you are finally cool.  

Yet as time passes, you find that it is not the water that is warm, but you. That stifling sticky sun that sank beneath the horizon now burns at the centre of you, red hot and raging, ready to rise again already.

You try to smother it, to tamp it down. Tangle your legs on the water’s surface and hold your breath, but it burns still. A scorching scratch at the inside of your skin, your skull, your chest cavity. And something crawls its way up through your chest now. Something loose-limbed and drowsy, working its way past your stomach, your lungs, your throat, your—

A ragged moan wakes you.   

Your fingers twitch and tighten, gripping soft sheets. Eyes roll behind lids as you drift slowly into consciousness. The air in his bedroom is cold, but in the haze of your sleep-addled brain you can’t quite pinpoint why you’re so warm. Face down on a pillow, you blink lazily and start to piece together what’s happening.

Your shirt—Joel’s shirt—clings to your skin. Sweat beads along the skin of your back, soaking into the thin fabric. The waistband of his boxers is forgiving, resting against the soft flesh beneath your belly button, though the hem of each leg is snug around your thighs. Oh, your thighs…. something sturdy holds them apart.

Two solid weights pressing against the inside of your legs, spreading them wide across the bed. A third weight against the small of your back… a hand. Fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, bunching the material at the base of your spine, keeping your stomach flush to the bed. Another moan startles you, sharpens your mind a little. Your tongue feels heavy, mind a slow blur as you realise that the sound came from your own mouth. And as that understanding sinks in, you finally feel it.

Something hot and wet, lapping at the dark fabric shielding your cunt. And you’re wet. Fucking hell, you’re so wet it’s near uncomfortable. The sopping material clings to your folds, a persistent tongue pressing it in deeper, soaking the material in your slick juices as they drip from you. You gasp, trying fruitlessly to turn your head and see over your shoulder in the darkness.

“S’me,” he says then, and his voice is a pained, haggard thing. Rough and wanton with desire, with need, muffled from how his face is buried between your thighs. “S’just me… fuck, m’sorry.”   

“Joel,” you rasp, breathless as his tongue glances over your clit through his boxers. He groans and then the thick point of his nose is pressing between your cheeks, nudging at your covered asshole. The pressure there sharpens your senses to a point, and sends a surprised moan peeling from your throat.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, just let me…” Joel inhales deeply, cursing under his breath when you lazily rut your sex back against his face.

“Jesus Christ,” you whimper. When you move your face, something damp tickles your cheek. Saliva, pooling out the side of your open mouth and leaving a small damp circle on his pillow. Embarrassment warms your face, but the sound of Joel moaning against your cunt is a welcome distraction.

Muscular shoulders keep your thighs wide open, and he mouths shamelessly at the material, licking and kissing everywhere he can reach, and it suddenly makes sense why you feel like you’re on the edge already. The boxers must be ruined; slick and spit mix together to soak the entirety of the fabric until it clings to your swollen skin.

“H-how… fuck, Joel, how long have you—”

“Don’t know,” he mumbles. “Twenty minutes? Fuck, I don’t—”

Lewd sucking noises fill the room and the muscles in your abdomen go rigid, mouth hanging wide open as his fingers curl around the gusset of the boxers, dragging them to the side. You moan and squirm against the bed as he dips his tongue between your folds, gliding it through the sloppy messy of you. His sounds match yours; hot exhales billowing against your exposed skin and sending goosebumps sprouting across the backs of your thighs.  

Joel pulls back for a minute. Keeps the material pulled to the side, allowing the cool night air to dance across the scorching skin between your legs while he watches you drip for him.

“Got home late,” he apologises, and you twitch as his breath hits your centre. He’s still so close. “Jimmy needed help with somethin’ and I—fuck, it doesn’t matter, but you were so perfect. My good girl, all tucked up in my bed, wearin’ my fuckin’ clothes, just waitin’ for me.”

“Tried to stay awake.” You hum softly, trying to inch yourself back against his face. But Joel just tuts, and you feel a sharp sting as he nips at the skin of your thigh. You pout against his pillow, body going lax and pliant once more. “Wanted to fall asleep with you.”

“I know,” he soothes, licking over where his teeth marks mar your flesh. His lips dance higher and higher until his tongue flicks into your hole. He swears low, resting his forehead against the soft plush of your ass. “But this? Comin’ home to this… fuckin’ luckiest man in the world, I tell ya.”

It's slow and steady when he lets his mouth fall upon you again. Soft little licks around your lips, tracing the dips and folds of your labia, mapping out every inch of you before his tongue dares graze against your clit. And when he does finally make contact, you jolt and whimper, already acutely aware of that familiar tingle in your spine.

Unable to reach him, your fingers tangle uselessly in his sheets, entirely at his mercy as he devours you from behind. Thick thumbs spread you open for his eyes to see, keeping you apart as he licks broad strokes up the entirety of your cunt before lathing languid open-mouthed kisses against it. Hot and wet and needy, his moans vibrate through you, letting you know he loves this just as much as you. Maybe even more.

Your clit pulses against his tongue, alive with a throbbing heartbeat of its own. And with every swipe and glide and circle you feel that heat swirl stiffer in your belly, the wave building and building. You can feel the way your hole, painfully empty, clenches over and over around nothing but air, winking at him and begging for more.

The slippery sounds of your arousal fill the room once more and soon enough you’re keening his name beneath your breath, spurring him on as you imagine the way it must shine on his beard, his lips, even in the darkness.

“Please,” you mewl, drooling against his pillow still, vaguely aware of your saliva gliding down your neck, thick and viscous. “Joel, fuck me, I want it, want you—”

“I will,” he swears, but you can feel how rapt he is by this. How every facet of his attention is trained on keeping his mouth on your pussy, his tongue rubbing firm circles around your clit just how you like. He gasps and pants against you, nodding a little, groaning when his nose glides through your folds and your scent coats his nostrils. “I will, I will, I just need you like this a little longer. I will. Promise.”

His grip is tender against the crease of your thighs, fingers digging in right where your leg meets the flesh of your ass as he eats at you. And you can tell by the way his noises deepen, turning guttural and depraved, that he won’t be making good on that promise tonight. Know it from the way his face ruts forward into your core every few seconds that he must be grinding his leaking cock against the mattress, feverish and desperate for relief. And the mere thought of it, of him hot and hard, straining inside his pants, has the muscles in your legs going taut.

Joel murmurs your name, so soft under his breath. His long tongue dips inside of you and then strokes up to flick against your clit, and finally you dissolve under his mouth.

The orgasm flows through you much like the waves in your dream. Joel coaxes it out from deep in your stomach until you’re a wet trembling mess beneath him; nothing but a rolling mass of waves for the sticky sun to sink into. Warm and wet, the high laps at your body from every angle until the edges of your mind are fuzzy, molten heat drooling from your cunt and onto his grateful tongue as he groans.

He doesn’t let up those soft swirls of his tongue until your hips are twitching away and you’re whining his name, and begging him to come up here. And so he crawls up your body, movements slow and sleepy as he drops heavily against your back. Thick thighs bracket your own, and that scruffy chin sits against the slope of your shoulder as he presses a kiss and a drowsy mumble of hey baby behind your ear.

“That was nice.” You smile when he takes your earlobe between his teeth. Curious, you work a hand between your back and his chest, fingers trailing down until you reach the damp spot at the front of his trousers. He exhales roughly, hips jerking backward, sensitive. “Fuck, did you come?”

“Shh,” he murmurs, his smile sheepish and shy against your skin. You laugh, heart swelling and eyes falling shut as you let him tip you onto your side and pull you back against his chest. A broad palm snakes over your hip, fingers dancing beneath the band of the boxers to rest against your skin, and he squeezes the flesh there greedily. “Gonna fuck you in the mornin’,” he vows.

You hum, already half asleep again despite how chilled your skin turns as your sweat cools. “Gonna wake me up with your cock inside me, hm?”  

“Fuck,” Joel chokes out, his grip on you tightening. “Yeah, baby. I will.”

“Is that a promise?”

“S’a promise.”

thank you for reading x

#my writing #fic: night breeze #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ALP #somnophilia #cw consensual somnophilia

[summocrap]

#housamo #tokyo afterschool summoners #Tindalos #Alp #volos #jinn #triton #ophion #ahab #hippolytus

[kurovah]

Bogie + Alp

#my art #monster girl encyclopedia #Alp #femboy

[cross-snuff]

Connor Temple in Primeval: New World (2012)

#connor temple #primeval #andrew lee potts #alp #primeval new world #gifset

[hauntedhokage]

PART 10: Patching Up

WORD COUNT: Thread by thread you're coming to accept that Bakugou really doesn't hate you.

SUMMARY:  1.5k

[series masterlist] | {ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]

“We haven’t had a true date night in a while.” 

The comment from Eijirou has you pausing in your apple slicing, and he doesn’t miss the chance to pull a slice from the cutting board to snack on while you’re distracted. “I’m not complaining, though. It’s something Bakugou brought up and wanted to make sure we were okay without that time.”

Of course it was something Bakugou had brought up. But that made you wonder if he was getting that time he needed with his boyfriend as well. Was bringing it up a hint or were you reading too much into it? Probably a yes to the latter, since Bakugou wasn’t the type to tip-toe around a topic when he was talking to Eijirou, but you can’t help but be a bit nervous when the blonde was making observations about your relationship. Things were better, but they still weren’t perfect.

“I hadn’t really thought about it, being honest.” You finally state after a moment of consideration, setting down the knife beside your half sliced apple so you could properly turn to look at your boyfriend. “I feel like we’re still getting that time, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m not upset about it by any means. I also hadn’t really noticed until he brought it up.”

It was interesting to you that Bakugou would bring it up at all. Not surprising that he’d notice by any means, since the blonde paid attention to everything, but he wouldn’t necessarily comment. Especially where your relationship with Eijirou was concerned. Now you were thinking the worst, and can’t stop yourself from voicing the first thought that came to mind.

“He’s not sick of us being here all the time, is he?”

“No, baby, that’s not it at all.”

“Are you and him getting the time you need? Like, I’m not-”

“You’re not intruding, not taking anything from him. He’s not upset, take a deep breath and relax.” And you do, letting him take your hands in his and holding them to his chest as he takes a deep breath. On the second breath you follow the action, smiling up at your boyfriend as he grins down at you. “Do you wanna go out on a date tonight?”

“Dinner and the arcade?”

“What about the mini golf place?”

“That new one? Nah, let the hype die down first. Last time we went somewhere new people thought I was doing a promo piece on it.”

“We got in for free though,” he reminds, and you roll your eyes as you pull away so you can go back to slicing your apple. “Arcade is good too. Scores on the strength meter reset last week so I gotta reclaim my throne anyway.”

“The only other people who try that thing are like twelve, babe.”

“I'm an inspiration to grow up and get big and strong.”

“More like overly competitive,” you counter, smacking his hand to keep him from taking another apple slice. “If you wanted me to slice an apple for you, you should’ve asked.”

“Is it too late to ask?”

“Considering you already ate half of my apple, yes.” 

You elect to ignore the pathetic whine that leaves him, instead moving what was left of your apple onto the small plate before taking the cutting board to the sink to deal with after you’d finished your snack. You had work to do anyway, he could fend for himself for a couple hours. He doesn’t join you at the kitchen table, instead turning right where you had turned left while saying that he was going to pick out your date night outfit to leave you one less thing to worry about today, and that gives you the moment of freedom from his concerned gaze at how concerned you still were about Bakugou and how the blonde potentially felt about you. 

You hated that you couldn’t just let things happen. He’d told you that he’d never hated you, he’d saved your life, he’d bought you a massive palm that was staring back at you - the palm that only ever brought a smile to your face whenever you looked at it. He was trying and trying so hard, why was it so hard for you to accept that he was okay with you being around? Why was your first instinct to assume that he had a problem whenever he was brought up? That wasn’t fair to him in any way. 

Maybe Bakugou and I need our own date night? You ponder, clicking your pen idly as you consider it. Technically you were going to that community center opening together, but did that count as a date? You didn’t see why it couldn’t, but you also felt that he maybe needed something a bit more private to be comfortable calling it a date. You’d ask Eijirou for his thoughts when he came back from raiding his closet and dresser for a suitable outfit.

“How come you haven’t worn this shirt in a while?” The question comes fifteen minutes later and has you looking up over your laptop to see Eijirou holding up one of your blouses, the black one with the white and orange flowers. The one you’d worn the day you yelled at Bakugou at the news station, the one you’d been staring at every time you saw it neatly folded on the shelf above their washing machine over the last couple of months. The one that reminded you that Bakugou had tried to extend an olive branch and you’d snapped it in two without thinking twice, extending the suffering for the both of you. “It’s one of my favorites and I miss seeing you in it.”

“The button came off,” you explain simply, choosing to leave out the rest of the history that shirt held for the sake of avoiding a conversation about how bad you felt about that day. “I’ve been meaning to take it to the dry cleaner to have them fix it since I can’t but I keep forgetting. The last few weeks have been a bit much.”

“Yeah, fair. Which button was it?”

“The top one. Not really one I use, but I don’t want to lose the button either.”

“You sure you’re not thinking of a different shirt?” He asks, earning a raised brow from you as you lean back in your seat.  “Because the button is attached?”

“No, it was that one because that’s the-” you catch yourself, standing from your chair so you can cross the flat to get to where he’s standing with your shirt in hand. He hands it over easily, concern obvious on his features as he watches you closely inspect the button. “I swear it was this one. This is the shirt I was wearing when I yelled at Bakugou at the station, he had offered to- oh my god.”

“What?”

“He fixed it.” You whisper, looking closely at the threads that held the imitation pearl button in place before comparing it to a button that you knew wasn’t damaged. Sure enough, the threads on the fixed button were brighter than the worn threads of the others - meaning that they were newer. “Katsuki fixed the button.”

It was something that was so small in the grand scheme of things, but in this moment with the history that you had with the blonde it meant everything. He had taken the time to locate your shirt and reattach the button and patch the small tear, even though he had nothing to do with the damage to your shirt. He’d only been there when it happened, that’s all. 

“I’m not good at this shit, but I don’t hate you. Never have.”

He said that to you at the hospital, and you can only laugh to yourself at the fact that he was terrible at this shit. But, clearly, so were you if you’d resigned yourself to never wearing a shirt until you remembered to take it to the dry cleaners when you knew the blonde was capable of fixing it and you just didn’t want to ask. 

“God, I suck,” you whisper, lowering the fabric to see Eijirou watching you with a concerned frown. “I suck so much, Eiji.”

“Not right now, baby. You did then, but how you both were then isn’t how you are now,” he reasons, gently pulling the blouse from you and draping it over his shoulder. “Then, yeah, you both sucked a lot but I think it’s safe to say you’ve both grown out of it and are a lot better now.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts, and no more living in the past.” His tone is very final as he gently squeezes your hands, and you can only nod while biting your bottom lip. “Stop worrying, or I’ll kiss that frown off your face.”

“That’s the opposite of a threat, Eijirou,” you tease, finally smiling as he pulls you in for a kiss. “He’s out all night?”

“Yeah, why?” You only look up at him, eyebrow raised as your fingers play with the hair at the base of his neck. “Oh! You don’t want to go out anymore?”

“I’d rather have you kiss the frown off of my face, Eiji.”

#alp #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou imagine #kirishima x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo imagine #kiribaku #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic

[sakamichi-steps]

#白石麻衣 #ALP #乃木坂46 #mai shiraishi