#is that time of the semester again folks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hier--soir · 8 months

Text

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

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

Thursday.

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

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

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

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

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

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

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

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

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

Him who you were hellbent on impressing.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

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

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

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

And it seems today was that day.

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

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you try to listen, you really do.

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

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

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

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

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

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

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

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

“Oh,” you blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That can’t happen again.

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

Happy Birthday Professor x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Joel surprises you.

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

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

“Liked your essay.”

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

“You’re only saying that becau—”

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

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

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

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

Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

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

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

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The rest?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

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

yes

that wasn’t for you

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

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

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

Where are you?

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

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

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

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

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

Be there in 20.

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

“Get in.”

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

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

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

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

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

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

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

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

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

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

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

“M’not.”

“You better not.”

“I won’t.”

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

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

“What’re you—”

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

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

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

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

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

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

2K notes · View notes

bloompompom · 10 months

Text

Safekeeping

Your brother's best friend learns you don't want to leave for college a virgin, and he thinks he might be able to lend you a hand.

✧ content: ~9.2k word count. 20 y/o eren jaeger x 18 y/o female reader. shameless porn without plot, older brother's friend trope, inexperienced reader/virginity loss, praise, spit, corruption themes, dry humping, guided masturbation, oral sex (f!receiving), protected PIV sex, reader's brother has a name, pet name ('baby'), passing mentions of alcohol/marijuana, explicit sexual content, explicit language, reader discretion advised. 18+ only. ✧ a/n: virginity is a social construct but this is smut so i’m gonna play into it. enjoy ♡ ✧ part two

You planned to move away to college at the end of the summer, finally. Your school of choice was a three-hour drive from home. To you, it was the perfect distance. Just far enough to give you some much-needed space, but still within reason for a weekend visit if needed. You wouldn’t know anyone there, but that was what you were looking forward to the most, actually. It would be a fresh start.

You never did get the ‘fresh start’ that everyone talked about. You know, the new beginnings that came with every school year. You always tried to be optimistic about it but each time, without fail, your teachers scowled when they saw your last name on their rosters. They all knew your older brother Collin—very well, unfortunately.

His reputation preceded you as a punk who was sent to the principal’s office for acting out in class time and time again. Out of the classroom, too—in the hallways, on the football field after hours. Even in the parking lot when he got into a fender bender with his English teacher his senior year. You were cursed with the same teacher last semester and learned the hard way that she had a habit of holding grudges.

But that was beside the point. What you were trying to say was: you were ready for college. More than ready. Giddy and practically vibrating with excitement, marking the days off on your calendar until move-in week. Until you could finally quit your lousy summer job at the ice cream shop, waiting on old folk that never knew what they wanted and didn’t bother tipping.

Still, there was just one teensy little thing you were hoping to get out of the way before freshman year. But now that it was only a few weeks away—twenty-three days, but who’s counting?—it was starting to feel more like a pipe dream.

At the end of the day, there was no point throwing a tizzy over going to college a virgin. Surely, you wouldn’t be the only one.

Right?

Your parents had left for their annual end-of-summer trip down to the beach to visit your grandparents for a week. It used to be a family event, but now that you and Collin were deemed old enough, you had more say in whether you tagged along or not.

Collin had skipped out the last two summers, but this was the first year you were allowed to stay home, too, now that you were eighteen. But what you didn’t expect was that his three best friends would be there with the two of you—for the better half of the week, at that. Apparently, since they had done it the last two years, it had become a tradition, as they put it. Honestly, you were just impressed Collin was able to pull it off without your parents catching on, considering he was never one to clean the house when you were kids.

No matter, though; it didn’t bother you much. They had been your brother’s friends since they were in the eighth grade. Having them around was nothing new to you. Of course, it was more fun when you were younger—back when you could play Mario Party together and force Collin to sit out. Now, there wasn’t nearly as much in common besides the occasional tormenting of your brother.

So, the four of them did their thing, and you did yours.

But therein lies the problem. Even while you minded your business, someone just couldn’t seem to mind theirs. He couldn’t prevent his thoughts from wandering back to you—couldn’t prevent his eyes from lingering longer than they should.

It wasn’t Armin. He would never dare to look at you that way, the girl he tutored in algebra. Nor was it Jean, hopelessly consumed with texting his classmate, still determined as ever to win her over.

No, it was Eren. 'The cute one,’ as coined by you and your friends once he hit his growth spurt and grew out his hair. Though Eren was unaware of the epithet, this would be the year he’d unknowingly return the sentiment, thinking of you as Collin's very cute sister.

Eren was gone last summer, away at an internship, so it had been a couple of years since he’d last seen you. And you appeared to have—ahem—really grown into yourself, to put it delicately.

Listen, it was harmless. It wasn’t like Eren planned on feeling this way toward you. He didn’t think twice about it when Collin said you’d be at his place, too. And there was no way in hell he’d act on it. He wouldn’t even dare to let the thoughts hang around in his mind, consistently shoving them aside before they could permeate. You were Collin’s—his best friend’s—sister. More than that, you were his little sister!

He thought he was being discreet about it, but man, did you have to make it so tough? Did you really need to lay out by your parents’ pool every single day? Jeez. As a matter of fact, when was the last time it rained? This had to be the longest they’d been without it, now that Eren was thinking about it.

Back to the point here: Eren was, in fact, not remotely discreet. Armin brought it to his attention as they went to grab another beer. You happened to pop into the kitchen at the same time, just to grab a snack, and damn it, why did you have next to nothing on? Like, yeah, the place was a little warm tonight, and it was your house and all, but seriously—tiny shorts rolled high on your waist and a tank top that looked extra clingy as you reached for a cup on the top shelf? Really?

“You can’t be serious,” Armin grumbled to Eren. Once you were gone, obviously.

Eren should have known what Armin was referencing, but he was dumb to it, wholly convinced he had been treading carefully. “What do you—”

“You can’t bang Collin’s sister!”

Who even says ‘bang’ anymore?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second.” Eren innocently held his palms up, waving them as if he could shake off the wicked accusation. “That’s a little far now, isn’t it?”

Armin was getting ahead of himself again; even Eren hadn’t let his mind wander past that boundary… yet.

Armin gave him a look, like he knew better than to take Eren’s word at face value. “Well, it sure looks like you’re trying to bang his sister.”

“Who’s trying to bang who’s sister?”

Both Eren and Armin jumped at the voice, heads spinning like they were on a swivel to find Collin. He emerged from the basement, Jean trailing behind with a suspicious, low-browed expression.

“Oh,” Eren stammered. He had to come up with something fast because he wasn’t about to leave it to Armin, the notoriously awful liar. “Armin was just telling me about some porn he watched the other night.” Eren shrugged. “You know, where the guy tries to bang someone’s sister.”

Armin glared at Eren for throwing him under the bus but reluctantly went along with the lie. “Yeah, and then he, uh… bangs the sister?”

Idiot, Eren couldn’t help but think. Whatever, it seemed to work well enough. Collin stared back at them like they were no better than a couple of horny morons. Jean dismissed it, too. Or at least, it didn’t bother him enough to let it interfere with him going for another beer.

With the crisis only half-averted, the four returned to the basement with freshly-cracked cans of beer in tow, where they would spend the rest of the night playing video games until they eventually passed out.

Well, at least three of them did.

Eren couldn’t sleep, but that wasn’t anything new. He battled with insomnia from time to time. Tossing and turning on a wobbly air mattress didn’t make it any easier to fall asleep, and with the basement only marginally cooler than the rest of the house, he thought he might as well get a glass of water.

Unluckily (luckily?) for him, he was interrupted before he could do just that. The sight of you, simply existing, lounged up on the couch, startled him.

Someone’s jumpy tonight. You giggled when he cursed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?” Eren asked.

You lightheartedly taunted, “Last time I checked, I live here, don’t I?”

He made a face at you, lacking the amusement your voice carried. “You know what I meant. Why are you still awake?”

It was the first time Eren had bumped into you. Not the first time ever, obviously; you had been alone together on countless occasions. But this was different, never this late at night before, and it was the only time it’d been just the two of you since he’d thought about you like that.

“Do I need a reason?” you airly replied, almost on a yawn as you stretched. “It’s summer break, and I don’t have work tomorrow.”

He didn’t offer more than a nod of acknowledgment before moseying across the room, his hands shoved into his pockets. Unsure of where this was going, you reached for the remote and paused your show.

“What are you guys doing down there?”

“They’re all asleep,” Eren answered. He stood idly in the middle of the room because, like you, he was curious as to where this was heading.

“And you’re not asleep because…?”

No, he couldn’t think like that. This was going nowhere.

“I came to grab some water,” he hurried to say—or at least, you thought it sounded hurried—and disappeared into the kitchen right after.

You listened for a moment, fingers dancing on the button of the remote as you debated starting your show again. But when the faucet flicked off, he didn’t return to the basement in the apparent rush he was in. Instead, he stayed there, with you.

Eren sipped his water, thinking of what to say next. It was an uphill battle because there wasn’t anything to say. There was no reason he needed to start a conversation with you. And yet, there he was, leaned up against the wall, dumbly scratching at his midriff as he racked—

Wait. Were you checking him out?

If there was one thing Eren had learned at college—let’s be real here, he had a nasty habit of skipping class—it was that he did pretty well for himself when it came to girls. Decent enough, he’d say. He at least had enough sense to know when a chick was interested in him. And now that you had creaked that door open, ogled at where his hand had lifted his shirt to reveal his stomach, he didn’t really have another choice but to step inside and explore around. Just a bit.

Armin’s warning blared in the back of Eren’s head. As luck would have it, his conscience tended to have Armin’s voice. But there wasn’t anything wrong with casual conversation, was there? After all, he had known you for years.

“So, are you excited to leave for college soon?”

Nope. There was no turning back now.

You perked up in your seat. “Yeah, for sure. It’ll be nice to go somewhere new. Meet new people, make new friends—”

“Maybe you’ll finally find your Fabio.”

There was a joke there, unfortunately. One you hadn’t heard in so long that you cringed at the memory.

As Collin’s sister, his friends were first-hand witnesses to your boy crazy phase, all your dating flops. Perhaps they had even learned you were quite the hopeless romantic. And by that, you meant Jean had found a smutty novel you had stolen from your mom—yes, it even had the signature Fabio-esque cover, hence the joke. Anyway, he read it aloud in front of your brother and the rest of their friends until Armin snatched the book from him, which somehow made the whole ordeal even worse.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” you offhandedly chuckled. “I was sort of hoping that would happen before college, but you know—I’m sure plenty of people go to college inexperienced.”

Your voice trailed off there at the end, almost like the notion really bothered you. Eren scrutinized it, this thing you handed him. It was a conversational game of hot potato—something you had shoved his way and forced him to hold onto. Why were you bringing this up? Were you looking for his advice?

Eren set down his glass and moved to sit by you on the couch. The far side of it. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No,” you blurted out, embarrassed and kicking yourself for having said anything in the first place. But your abruptness sounded just as bad, so with a sigh, you said, “I mean, I guess. I don’t want people to think I’m a loser for being a virgin.”

Again, why were you mentioning this to him? Eren felt like he was playing with fire. He knew he was going to wind up burnt the longer he stayed, maybe even scorching everything around him, even you, in the process.

Still, he poked it, added some kindling because he was unwilling to let it die out. “I think there’s a fairly simple solution to that.”

“What, getting laid? I think I know that,” you scoffed. “And it’s easy for you to say that, looking like—” You loosely waved your hand over the length of him. “You. Believe it or not, I don’t exactly have suitors lining up outside my door.”

Okay, so he was picking up on something here. He wasn’t crazy. You said it then: you found him attractive. And he found you attractive. Extremely so, if that wasn’t obvious already. The answer was easy enough; he might as well go on say it outright then.

“What if I did it?” Eren suggested.

You didn’t know what he meant by it, his casualness throwing you for a loop. Surely, he couldn’t be talking about that.

“You know, took your virginity.”

Oh. There was no mistaking it now. He was, without a doubt, talking about that.

And why were you considering it?

Your brother’s friends, Eren included, had taught you all sorts of things before, things they probably shouldn’t have. They told you to flush the toilet to mask your squeaky front door if you planned on sneaking out. Taught you how to roll a joint, and how to take a proper hit after you confessed you had never ‘felt high’ when you smoked. So, would this be any different?

While you mulled it over, Eren took the far-away look behind your eyes as a horrible sign. He realized how insane the proposition sounded once he spoke it into existence. Before he could take it back, play it off as a joke—he had one too many beers, that’s all—you piped up.

“Really?”

He certainly didn’t expect that, stammering, “I—yeah. Why not?”

Another lengthy pause passed before you accused, “Are you just fucking with me?”

“No, no! I wouldn’t.” He started rambling then, a jumbled mix of ‘I just—’ and ‘I shouldn’t have—’ until you decidedly cut him off.

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“I said okay. You can… take my virginity.” It felt like a strange way to say it, too formal. And to say it to Eren of all people, who would have guessed it?

Then again, maybe this was the most logical outcome. It wasn’t like you needed to make a big deal of losing your virginity. You weren’t looking for something romantic, with rose petals or a waterbed or any of that corny-porny crap. You were just looking to get it out of the way. That way, when you inevitably meet the love of your life in college (okay, so maybe you were a hopeless romantic), you wouldn’t embarrass yourself the first time you hooked up.

“Okay,” Eren replied on his inhale, a breath sucked through his teeth, like it was a sin to say aloud.

He scooted closer, sitting on the cushion that once separated you. You expected him to kiss you, even leaning into him with closed eyes, but your lips barely brushed into his. He didn’t come any closer than that.

Lowly, he asked you, “Do you trust me?”

You nodded. Your noses bumped.

“I need to hear it.”

“I trust you,” you said, even quieter than him. You could barely hear it over the sound of your heart, thumping so hard you swore it might burst into your throat.

Eren kissed you then, tentatively, with his hand cradling the side of your face. He didn’t move until you did, and when you returned the kiss, he followed while letting you take lead.

It didn’t last long, though. You jumped away from each other, back to the opposite sides of the couch, when the basement door squeaked open. The panic subsided when you caught the bright eyes of your family’s cat, her little head poking out from the shadows.

You held a hand to your chest, steadying your breath and trying to settle your rapid heartbeat, as if both were possible. When you met Eren’s gaze, he was already staring at you with a brittle sort of look. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he regret what he had done with you? You didn’t, and you prayed he didn’t either.

Before you had the chance to ask, he finally said, “Should we go to your room?”

“Good idea.”

He knew where your room was, but still, he followed right behind you anyway. At the top of the staircase, just before your bedroom door, you split. You turned to see Eren sneaking into Collin’s room. A minute passed while you listened to his rustling, but when he returned, held between his two fingers was that infamous, shiny foil.

You frowned, hard. “I’m not going to use one of my brother’s condoms.”

“Do you have one then?” Eren asked, already well aware of your answer.

“Fine.”

Eren had never been in your bedroom before. It felt foreign, and weirdly wrong, to have him in there. He looked out of place for it, too big, too mature, especially as you looked at all your girlish knick-knacks and old photos. You wished you could tuck everything away into some lonely drawer.

You avoided Eren’s eyes and fixed your attention on adjusting the lights. Your bright ceiling light was far too unforgiving for this, so you switched it out for your bedside lamp. The drone of the old bulb buzzed in the back of your ears, its light a fizzy yellow.

You were nervous. Eren didn’t need to see your face to know it was written all across it. Not that it surprised him, considering this was about to be your first time having sex, and it would be with him.

He felt his heart drop into his stomach, the sick feeling you get on a rollercoaster, but somehow you want to ride again. Maybe he was just as nervous as you. You had put your trust in him, enough to take your virginity. Handing it to him as if it were some sentimental treasure he could watch over, for safekeeping.

Sure, he knew the optics were bad. Not just bad but horrendous, actually. He was about to sleep with his best friend’s younger sister, a recently eighteen-year-old virgin. The whole situation sounded no better than a second-rate porno—like the one he had made up with Armin in the kitchen, ha!

This was as much a blessing straight from heaven as it was a curse. But he couldn’t care about the optics now, not with you taking a seat on the bed, looking over at him with these come-and-get-me eyes that may or may not have been intentional.

No, this wasn’t a curse at all. If it were so wrong of him, then why was it that he already felt his cock straining against his sweats at the mere thought? The thought of how delicate he’d be with you. He needed to be, for the last thing he wanted was to ruin your first time. He’d be the first to show you what pleasure could be with another person—what you were deserving of before going off and letting other boys touch you.

He set the condom on the nightstand and joined you at the edge of your bed, his knee barely grazing yours. He was about to ask if he could kiss you again, but you entirely side-skipped any conversation by picking up right where the two of you had left off.

Again, Eren relinquished control to you, but he did take the initiative to swipe his tongue into your mouth. You tasted him, the bittersweet flavor of light beer. He was nothing like the last boy you kissed. He didn’t ram his tongue down your throat but kissed you as though he wanted to taste you, to muse over and memorize you. And you let him, lips languidly caressing one another with little point or purpose, solely running on instinct.

You balled his shirt in your fist, twisted the fabric of it between your hands to have him close—closer. He hoisted you onto his lap with his hands at your waist, and you went along with him more than willing. You draped your hands over his shoulders, crossing them at the wrist, and didn’t let your lips break from his once.

He smoothed his palms up and down the small of your back until he eventually ventured lower. He gripped at your ass, pulling you down to grind over him. Just once, so you could feel him, how achingly hard he was for you. Then, you did it again all on your own. Lightheaded and teeming with desire, the pressure against your clit, even through your layers of clothing, was an addicting relief. You moved against him, again and again, until you were dragging yourself over him, practically about get off from that alone.

But Eren didn’t let that happen. Before you get there, Eren used his hold on your hips to stall you. His voice was a mumble against your mouth as he asked you, “How far have you gone?”

“This,” you professed. “This is the farthest I’ve gone.”

Fuck.

“Okay.” It was the word of the night. Eren breathed it out like he was talking to himself. The type of sigh you’d give yourself in the mirror when trying to calm down, which was precisely his goal.

He lifted you with little effort, had you lie back into the pillows before he crawled on top of you. He kissed at your jawline, then placed another on the side of your neck. He left a few of them there. It was all lip, all wispy, like he could break you. Still, you felt each of them like a spark at the base of your spine.

His fingers trailed lower, tickling over your collarbone but stopping short of the neckline of your tank top.

“Is it all right if I touch you here?” he asked, punctuating it by running a hand down your breast, over your shirt.

“Yes,” you whispered with a shudder.

With the confirmation, he massaged lightly, his thumb caressing over your perked nipple.

He kissed you again, his tongue meeting yours while he rolled your nipple between his fingers. Your back arched instinctively, wanting more—needing more. He listened to your body, learning as he went, and tugged down your tank top. With nothing between you, he lightly pinched at your nipple, pulling a whine from you, one that didn’t get the chance to meet the air.

Eren kissed the side of your face. “Can I kiss you there?” he muttered, referencing your tits as he gave another squeeze. He pressed another kiss, lower, against your throat.

“Mhm,” was all you managed with a voice that was long gone, lost somewhere in the opened-mouth kisses he left along the dip between your chest.

It tickled a bit when he flicked over your nipple with his tongue—even more when he latched onto it with his mouth. You were wiggly beneath him, driving him wild, and you didn’t even know it. It was sweet how sensitive you were, his mouth being the first to kiss you there, to learn the taste of your skin. So soft. And warm, too, heating up the longer he sucked at your tits, anywhere he pleased.

Eren kept his hand at your waist, palming over your stomach but never risking any lower than that. His touch was heated, urgent, yet he only showed restraint.

He pulled back from you, letting his face hover inches above yours when he asked, “Have you ever touched yourself before?”

He was strangely calm for asking such a personal question, setting your face ablaze. Too rushed, you replied, “Of course I have.”

What did he think? That because you were a virgin, you hadn’t thought about sex before? Hadn’t ever watched porn? Yes, you hadn’t actually done it, but it wasn’t as though you were heading into the situation blind.

“Then—” You, the sight of you wriggling out of your sleep shorts, interrupted him. You caught the bob of his throat when he swallowed, but you weren’t sure he was trying that hard to hide it. “Show me how you do it.”

Eren sat back on his knees, just shy of sitting between your legs as you rested against the pillows. The only thing separating him from you was a thin pair of panties. You hoped he didn’t notice your jittery fingers as you slipped them beneath the band.

You started, “This is—”

“It’s not embarrassing,” he interrupted. It only made you more anxious, like he could read your mind or something. But he was genuine as he said it, assuring you even while struggling to maintain eye contact, his attention flitting from your face to between your legs. “Show me how I can make you come.”

How could he possibly be so open about this? There wasn’t even a shred of hesitation or shame in his voice. You wondered how many people he’d been with—how many times he’d rehearsed before he could speak with such confidence? Enough confidence to have you listening loyally and plunging your hand beneath your underwear.

You pressed the pads of your fingers against your clit and started to rub. Slowly at first, but already, just that smidgen of relief was enough to pull a flimsy sound from you. You were sensitive, throbbing, and so incredibly turned on that you didn’t hide even as he unabashedly stared at you with pure infatuation.

Eren rested a hand on your leg, sliding higher and reaching for your panties. “Can I take these off?”

You stopped only to help him work them down your leg, shimmying until he had them thrown to the foot of the bed. You were hesitant to spread your legs again, but he did it for you, placing one at each of his sides. He took your hand and returned it between your thighs, eager for you to continue. So you did just that.

There wasn’t any doubt he could see everything now—how wet you were, how it coated your fingers the longer you rubbed, the tighter your little circles became. But you were too wrapped up in it to care, playing with yourself just as indecently as you would if you were alone. You couldn’t even be bothered to stifle the chant of gasps spilling from you.

“Can you put a finger inside for me?” Eren requested.

You nodded and pushed one inside, felt how you pulsed around it. You moved it in and out, the same way you had done many times before.

“Yeah, like that,” he murmured. You heard the ‘fuck’ he cursed under his breath. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

“Try a little faster.”

You did just that and bit back a whimper.

“Add another.”

He needed you stretched. He needed you ready for him.

You took your second finger well; you had done that before, too.

“You’re doing so good,” he told you. He leaned into you, closing in. “Can I help you now?”

“Please,” you breathed. You slipped your fingers from you, giving Eren access to do with you as he wished.

But he didn’t reach for you. Not there, at least. He held his fingers before your mouth.

“Open up.”

You weren’t sure what he was after, but you obeyed, lusty enough that you found you were trusting him implicitly. He placed his middle and index fingers against your tongue, telling you, “Get them nice and wet for me.”

You sucked on them lightly. Saliva pooled on the back of your tongue as he pressed down. He pulled them from your mouth with a lewd sound and smiled at you. It made your chest swell a bit.

Eren returned to your side. His presence was engulfing as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. It surprised you, the intimacy of it, but you didn’t have any time for second-guessing before he urged, “Keep going.”

You returned to circling your clit as his hand met yours. He traced his pointer finger through you, and every muscle in your body tensed.

“Can I?”

“Yes,” you said, practically a moan.

He slipped it inside you, taking his time with it. His finger was much larger than your own, thicker, reaching deeper than yours had ever gone. Your stomach tightened at the intrusion, trying to adjust.

“That okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” It was better than okay. “More. Please.”

Eren chuckled warmly. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curving it just right to have you squirming in his arms. You were beginning to understand why he was holding you now. He wanted to keep you still so that, once he figured out what you liked, he could maintain his pace through your needy bucking.

He had a hand on your head, petting over you as he asked, “You close?” You couldn’t respond because he added a second finger. A hiss left you, but it melted into a satisfied whine. “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you whispered against him, his body dizzyingly hot even through his T-shirt.

It was becoming quite the task to keep your fingers moving, what with Eren’s fingers hitting a spot that you didn’t even know existed, over and over again. It had you—fuck—it had you coming. So hard that you thoughtlessly rode his hand, eyes screwing shut as you fucked yourself deeper on his fingers, prolonging the bliss however you could until you turned to goo in his arms.

You were panting against his chest, your body still twitchy, when he started to ask, “Did you—”

“Yes,” you said on a drawn-out exhale.

He pecked your forehead. You still felt the stamp of it as he moved to get back on top. He held himself above you with hands planted on either side of you, kissing you full on the mouth. Still hazy, you didn’t move much, letting him make out with you all he wanted until his lips traveled down to the dip behind your ear, then the delicate crook of your neck.

He bunched your tank higher up your chest until you both tore it over your head. With it out of his way, Eren continued kissing lower—even lower than before. His breath tickled over your nipples, leaving you a needy, rutting mess—for what exactly, you didn’t know, just more.

“Too much?” Eren asked, looking up at you with his big, green eyes.

“No,” you assured, your mouth agape and in awe of him. “I like it.”

He pressed his smile against your skin, kissing and licking his way down your sternum.

When he reached your navel, you asked, “What are you—”

“Making sure you’re ready.” He kissed your hipbone.

“It’s really okay,” you said, slightly wary. “We should just get this over with, right?”

“What if I don’t want to get this over with?” Eren kissed just above your slit. “What if I want to take my time?”

Eren wanted you as comfortable—as relaxed—as possible. And since he was already about to fuck his friend’s younger sister, with one of his condoms nonetheless, he certainly wasn’t going to dig around for his friend’s lube next. Luckily, there was another, more fun, way that he could ensure you were properly lubricated so as to avoid any pain that may arise from him splitting you on his—

Focus.

“I need you to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t,” Eren said, a reminder more to himself than for you.

You gasped, almost choked, when he kissed the top of your thigh, then the inner part of it.

“Can you do that for me?”

“Eren, I—”

“Please.” He licked a broad stripe up the crease of your thigh. That alone had your head thrown back against your pillow, a tiny ‘oh’ escaping you. “Let me. I want to.”

“You do?” you timidly asked.

“So badly,” he replied, but it sounded more like an admission. A white flag of surrender, like he was letting himself fully give in to his desires because, yes, he had thought about this before. There was no use in lying about it now.

“O-okay.”

On that, he returned to teasing his way between your legs, kissing from the delicate flesh of your inner thighs to—

“Wait!” you interjected. Eren immediately looked to you like he had done something wrong, but you quelled his worry with, “Can you get undressed, too? Like, at least your shirt.”

Your request didn’t sound nearly as self-assured as his, but he listened to you nonetheless. He sat back to peel off his shirt. He smiled at you softly. “Better?”

You scanned over his toned torso, sun-kissed and tanned from summer. Definitely better. “Thanks.”

He leaned over you, his mouth inches from your pussy as he murmured, “It’ll feel good.” Then he kissed your entrance, and the sensation of it jolted through your body like lightning. “Promise.”

Eren parted you with his fingers before licking through you, letting the newfound feeling sink in deep. His tongue was warm, wet, and exceedingly gentle—nothing like his fingers or even your own. You couldn’t begin to describe it, but that might be because, after a second lap of his tongue, you were already losing any and all coherency.

You made a few strained sounds, flowery and pathetic, but supported yourself on trembling elbows to watch. When you met Eren’s eyes, he only stopped licking at you to say, “Tell me what feels good.”

“Everything.” The word tumbled out of your mouth desperately. “Everything feels good.”

You felt his laugh just before he closed his mouth back over you. He continued having his way with you, sucking and licking at you, saliva and slick making a mess of his pretty face as he staggered kisses between his laps. Whenever his lips brushed against your clit, your legs would flex tight. He hooked his arms around them, laying them over his strong shoulders. You felt the way his fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, locking them in place while he circled his lips around your clit with more pressure than before.

“Ah—oh,” you moaned, your back leaving the bed to press your pussy further into his face, as if you could have him any closer—you know, until you’d have him inside you. But that would come soon enough.

Eren didn’t ask this time; he knew exactly how he was making you feel. And you were thankful for it because you couldn’t dream of him stopping. You needed more, lacing a hand through his locks and pulling lightly, encouraging him. He groaned against you, clearly liking it, so you did it again.

He was sloppy with it while still… thoughtful? That didn’t feel like the correct word for it, but even as he made out with the most intimate part of you, he did it with intention, doing that thing again, whatever it was, with his tongue pointed, because he had quickly learned you liked it. No, he showed you that you liked it. Loved it, actually; it was excruciatingly evident by the breathless sounds you made.

And when Eren paired his tongue with his sucking lips, swirling it against your clit, you came with your own hand clamped over your mouth. Your entire body gained a pulse of its own. It was much stronger than your first orgasm and longer-lasting, too. The muscles of your stomach wound and released while you rode out your high, Eren groaning against you just as pleasedly.

Only once you were no longer propped on your elbows but flopped against the bed did Eren let up. Your thighs were still trembling as he kissed a pathway back to your side. You both sat with heaving chests, though yours much heavier than his, and you were beginning to question how you were supposed to go for another round. You hadn’t even reached the—for lack of a better word—main event yet. Truthfully, you expected Eren to throw you to your bed, pop your metaphorical cherry, and be done with it. But now you had already orgasmed twice and he still had his sweatpants on.

You should probably do something about that, shouldn’t you?

“I wanna touch you, too.”

While innocent, it was the most you had communicated with him this far, so he didn’t stop you when you reached for him. He was more than ready for it.

You explored him a bit, tracing over his length and discovering what touches made him twitch beneath your touch, still as chaste as ever.

“Show me,” you purred.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to do—a hand job was far from rocket science. It was more like if you had to show him yours, then you wanted to see his. You wanted to watch.

Eren tugged his sweatpants and boxers down his legs. His cock sprung out, nearly slapping against the low part of his abs. Already, his tip was wetted, needy for anything after going untouched this long, even if it was his own hand.

He wrapped his fingers around his shaft, working his fist over his cock, faster, until he was jerking himself off for you. His breath, fanning just above your head, went from steady to ragged, his chest tight.

You watched him for a moment, already needing to touch him. You pushed yourself upright, perched so that your knees brushed against his thigh, ready to take him with both hands.

“Hold on.”

You glanced at him. He fidgeted, like he was about to say something but retracted it immediately. He sounded hesitant, looked even more hesitant, when he asked, “Can you—can you spit in your hand first?”

“Oh, um.” You looked at your open palm and tried your best to collect some saliva in your mouth. It was a little daunting, knowing he was watching as you did it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

No, he definitely didn’t mind. Not in the slightest. But he wouldn’t admit that to you right now.

You took him in your hand, mimicking how he did it, with a loose wrist and your grasp slightly firm. When you squeezed over his tip, you heard the sharp inhale it pulled from him, noted how his pelvis flexed. Eren’s hand closed over yours. He was going to show you exactly how he liked it.

Eren moved your hand for you, gripping it whenever you reached the head of his cock. His pinched breaths turned into groans, his brows hanging low over his keen eyes. That was when he started thrusting, fucking your hand, and nearly forgot where he was—forgot whose hand he was using like his own personal toy.

“Spit on it,” he grunted, that temperate side of him growing unrestrained.

He didn’t mean to come off so crass, not in front of you, not this soon. It was just that Eren couldn’t remember the last time he came from a handjob, but he was nearly there, with your hands so dainty and velvety around him. Not to mention the spit dribbling from your pretty lips before you spread it down his cock—he was about to lose his last smidgen of composure.

Thankfully, he remembered the reason why he was here. He had a much bigger agenda than fucking your hand. How could he have forgotten already that he was here for you?

“That’s—ah, shit.” Selfishly, Eren waited for another second before releasing your hand. You continued stroking him eagerly, and it felt wrong to stop you, but he did just that with his hand around your forearm. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep going.”

“Sorry,” you said, your hands now politely to yourself and folded on your lap.

With a short, huffing laugh, he told you, “You do not have to apologize for that. Believe me.”

His chuckle had you smiling again. That closed-mouth, coy smile that he was quickly learning might become the death of him. He straightened out, taking your chin between his fingers to kiss you again.

“Lay back for me,” he whispered.

You fell into the mess of pillows and tangled sheets, making yourself comfortable while Eren fetched the condom. You didn’t know what the feeling was—trepidation, anticipation, excitement, perhaps all three—but it bubbled in your stomach as you watched him rip the wrapper before rolling on the latex.

He pumped himself a few times as he reminded, “We can stop at any time if you need.”

Eyes wide and fixed onto him—specifically on his cock, which he’d soon gape you on—you asked, “Do we need a safe word?”

He laughed again, through his nose like earlier, but only because you were so agonizingly cute about it. “I think ‘stop’ will work just fine.”

You did that smile again, winding the knot in his stomach more than he even thought possible. Eren was so close to snapping—not like that! Not hurting you, never. More like coming undone, turning into a puddle of himself, finishing humiliatingly early—that sort of snapping. He didn’t know what had him feeling this way, but something about you made him feel like the virgin here.

He didn’t dare push inside yet, not only for your sake but for his. His eyes, now brazen and alert, scanned over you, staring you straight in the face like a silent check-in. And when you gave him the go-ahead, nothing more than a bobble of your head, slowly, he tilted his hips into yours.

With you unbelievably tight around him, he stilled with only his tip inside you. Even so, his breath had already hitched in his throat. He couldn’t hold back, he simply couldn’t. And when he gave you a little more, between his eyes flittering shut, he caught the scrunch of your nose.

There was a stretch, a certain fullness. It didn’t necessarily hurt, but it didn’t exactly feel like he belonged in there, either. It was considerate of him to take his time with you, prep you with his fingers and tongue. But even so, with his cock only halfway inside, you had your nails dug deep into his biceps.

“How’re you doing?” Eren asked.

“I’m—” You glanced at where your bodies were connecting. There was still more of him to take. “Okay.”

It didn’t appear like he believed you, which was fair because it was a shaky statement at best. “It’s too much?”

“A little,” you sheepishly admitted.

He pulled out of you, and even that made you wince. Your shoulders dropped back to the mattress, every muscle in your body easing up now that he wasn’t bullying inside you.

"Here.” Eren rolled onto his back. He guided you on top of him, set you so your knees straddled his waist, his cock resting between your legs. Somehow, it looked even longer like that, laid upon his abs. “Let’s try it like this.”

Like this? It felt incredibly vulnerable from up here, where he could see you—in all your glory—bouncy above him. Plus, you hardly knew what you were doing; you had just given your first handjob! If you were being honest, you thought you’d just sort of lay there and take it from him, and now he was expecting you to ride him? It was intimidating, to say the least, even if Eren tried to assure you it wasn’t.

“You have total control this way.”

That was the exact thing you feared. You didn’t want any control. What if you did something wrong?

Apparently, you didn’t do a great job at masking your worry because Eren immediately placed his hands on your hips, not taking them in his grasp but rubbing his thumbs encouragingly against your skin.

The entire point of this was to trust him. That was why you were doing this—losing it to Eren, someone who wouldn’t make fun of you. That way, when it really mattered, you wouldn’t royally fuck up. And after getting this far, there was no chance in hell you would end the night a virgin. Well, half-virgin.

Ready to try again, you drew a deep breath, lifting yourself to your knees. Before you reached for him, like the new sexpert that you were, you spat in the palm of your hand, not minding Eren’s eyes this time. You stroked over the condom, mixing its lube with your saliva, then lined his cock up with you.

Carefully, you sat down. He only reached as deep as before, but the pressure was nowhere near what it once was. You rolled your hips, testing different angles to see what worked best—how you could get more of him, all of him, inside you.

Eren curved a hand around the nape of your neck, cooing, “Come here.”

He brought you in for a kiss—more than a kiss—his tongue immediately licking into your mouth the second your lips crashed into his, tasting every one of your contented, little hums.

He snaked a hand between your legs, lazily thumbing over your clit until your lips were unable to match his fervency. It was more like you were moaning against his mouth, right into it, sharing each of his breaths until your cheeks sweltered. He melted you from the inside out, softening you up like butter until you were flush against his pelvis—as easy as that. Cautiously, you started rocking your hips.

“That’s it,” Eren whispered into the corner of your mouth.

With quivering arms, you held yourself up with your palms pressed into his chest. Perched proudly atop him, the tip of his cock reached deeper, filling you deeper than anything else had before. It stole your breath, almost like you felt him in your throat.

Eren admired how your mouth fell into an adorable ‘o’ before you started moving. As though a switch had flipped, you were suddenly rolling your hips against him—slowly, of course—repeatedly having him hit that delicious spot again as you indulgently chased after your third orgasm.

“You’re doing so good, taking me well for—for your first time.”

Shit. Eren remembered he was taking your virginity.

He inhaled sharply, hoping you wouldn’t notice how his voice gave way, or how his cock jolted inside you when he realized he was the first to have you like this. His cock was the first to fill you, stretch you, mold you to accommodate him. Only him.

“Do what feels good for you, baby.”

The pet name slipped past him before he could wrangle it back, but you didn’t seem to catch it. Or, at least, you didn’t mind.

No, you were too busy to hear him, more occupied with getting a feel for what you liked best. Eren let you use his cock freely because—what, was he supposed to stop you? Fuck no. He would let you continue forever if you desired it, so long as you’d continue gifting him with such lovely and lewd expressions—the sweet curl of your lip, the knit of your determined brows as your thighs had surely started to burn.

But, boy, it was quite the challenge, letting you have your way with him. You could only keep your pace for a moment or two before you’d take a break. Such a fucking tease, and you didn’t even know it. It was endearing how worn out you were from everything that came before this, and all Eren wanted was to dig his heels into your bed, pound away at that tight pussy of yours, and show you just how wonderful he could make you feel.

It was a test of strength for him, whether he could hold back or not, because finally, you looked like you were enjoying yourself on his cock. You took him with short strokes, a simple tilt of your hips back and forth once you realized you could grind your clit into his pelvis.

He could tell you were close, from the way you fluttered around him to the gasps getting caught in your throat from the added, and absolutely euphoric, pressure.

“Just like that. Keep going. Make yourself come for me.”

The gravel in Eren’s voice pushed you closer to the edge. There was a growl to it, and you could feel it vibrate through you. You tossed your head back with a cry loud enough to wake a neighbor as you shoved a hand between your legs, desperate to come.

Eren shushed you dotingly, but there was a grin on his face as he placed his sticky palm against your mouth. “Can’t let them hear us now, can we?”

He felt your heady breath as you panted, trying to reach your peak. When you couldn’t ride him any longer, your hips an erratic sputter, he beamed up at you, slack-jawed smile and all, and said, “Feel good? Need some help?”

Too overwhelmed, you couldn’t even nod your head. You babbled uselessly.

“Want me to fuck you, just a little? Get you coming on my cock?”

“Yes, please—oh, God, Eren.”

When he started to move, thrusting into you ever so slightly, you were already scratching your nails down his chest. It was no bother to him, though. He only wanted you to do it again.

When you came, you squeezed him so perfectly that he thought he might explode. It was taking his last bit of self-control to fuck you at such a steady and slow pace when, in reality, he only wanted to hammer into you. Eren felt like he was moments away from boiling over. His face was burning, and he could feel the sweat beading in his hairline from this aching, pent-up desire within him. After fingering you, going down on you—no, after days of fantasizing about you—he needed release.

Even you could see it—the unmistakable flush of his face now spreading to the base of his neck and spanning his chest. As blissed out as you were, limply collapsed on top of him, you mumbled against his skin, “Eren, I want you to come, too.”

And how could he turn that down? Now that you had come three times, he figured he could finally have his turn.

“I’m gonna go a bit faster now. You tell me if that’s okay or not.”

Before he could even flinch, you assured him, “It’s okay. I want you to.”

The soft laziness of your voice, the dreaminess seeping through it like syrup—it was too much.

Eren took you by the hips first, holding your body pliant for him to thrust into. He started with long drags of his cock, letting his tip kiss your entrance before stuffing himself back inside you. Each time he bottomed out, he bit back every vulgar curse he wanted to hiss into your ear.

Then, he flattened his hands against your back, folding you into him with his palms seared into your shoulder blades. Your face was smothered in the crook of his neck as he fucked up into you. The bed began to squeak, like a mockery of your tiny bleats.

“You all right?” Eren asked, his voice hoarse.

You only made an affirmative sound that got muffled as you burrowed against him. With your chest warm, like a tingling between your lungs, and your head stuck somewhere in the clouds, you took him in a speechless, almost surreal, bliss. How fiercely he needed you, if only for a blip in time, was intoxicating.

And in that fleeting moment, the sin of it, the forbiddenness surrounding you, had vanished. Eren was sure it would rear itself again, that was for certain. He could predict the ripple of guilt that’d course through him once he inevitably faced what he’d done. But even if it meant betraying his best friend, he couldn’t find it within himself to regret it.

Especially when he realized how fucking good it felt to come inside you. With his arms locked around your waist, your entire body smushed against his, he snapped his hips into you, as if he could possibly fuck you any deeper. He emptied himself into the condom as a groan tore through his throat, the hum of it against the shell of your ear like a final shudder down your spine.

He pulled out of you, faintly cursing as he did. You flopped at his side, entirely spent, and stared at the ceiling with fuzzy, unfocused vision. The rush of adrenaline was on a steep comedown, and you were already starting to feel it. Sore, but extremely satisfied.

“You should probably go to the bathroom—to pee and stuff,” Eren said, that familiar, boyish side already returning in full force.

Pee. Got it.

You only muttered a ‘yeah’ before you redressed and tip-toed off to the bathroom down the hallway. There, you wiped yourself clean, forced yourself to pee, and gave yourself a good long look in the mirror.

In just one night, you had hit every base. By definition, a home run, in your book—and with your brother’s ‘cute friend,’ at that.

You were shocked to see Eren was still there when you returned to your bedroom. He had on his boxers and tee already, stepping into his sweatpants as you opened the door. He gave you a soft smile as you hopped into your bed.

Then, even more surprisingly, he asked, “Do you want me to stay?”

Eren knew he should leave unless he hoped to get caught. Still, he thought it was the right thing to say.

You giggled, “I think my brother would kill you if he found you in here.”

He laughed along with you, but when it settled, he crawled beneath your sheets anyway.

Though you felt uncertain about it, he consoled it away with, “Don’t worry. I’ll just hang here until you fall asleep.” You at least deserved that.

He turned the light off and let you rest your head against his chest, your arm looped around his waist. You didn't know where the urge to cuddle came from, and neither did he, but he didn't question it. It was comfortable, even as he waited for that pang of guilt to hit.

But it never did. And once he heard your breathing taper to a peaceful drone, he slipped out of your bed and snuck back down to the basement. That stupid air mattress felt a whole lot more comfortable now.

Finally, Eren had scratched the itch he couldn't kick, just to get it out of his system. Now, there was absolutely no way he'd think of you again—not that kittenish little smile nor how you curled against him in your sleep—and definitely not while you were three hours away at school…

Right?

✧ continue to part two ✧

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut

2K notes · View notes

simydym · 3 months

Text

THE START OF THE END

THE BLUNT SOUND

OF THE FALLEN HEAD

ONCE KNOWN LAMB

Hello folks ! Long time on see. I've been quite busy for a year or so, already lost the count haha. Many things happened after all this time and i'm already at the second semester of second course in medical university (hooray)

However, the update of COTL really got my attention (since i played this game first time on release) as my addiction (and love) to Narinder came back (I'm addicted to him just like Sozo to mushrooms)

Played through the whole game again and got inspired once again. I got some quite good ideas in mind so wait for future updates !

Hope i wasn't forgotten and maybe someone waited for my return...In any case hello to old people and hello to new folks !

#cult of the lamb #the one who waits #cotl #cotl narinder #narinder supremacy #i swear i am really happy to be back #why narinder is so hot in here

773 notes · View notes

poetrysmackdown · 8 months

Text

THE FINAL SMACKDOWN.

Big congratulations to "The Two-Headed Calf" for a solid win over "How to Be a Dog" (and to our Third Place competitor, "Wild Geese")!

Thank you to all who participated. I had a lot of fun with this and I hope you guys did as well! I've said it before but I had no idea this would get as big as it did, and it's been truly heartening to see this many people engaging with poetry and getting excited about it. I'm personally grateful to all the folks I got the chance to discuss poems with, and everyone who challenged me to see these poems in a new light. Whether you were introduced to new poems or reunited with old ones, whether you voted with the majority or against it, I hope you got something out of this as well.

As promised, here is the grand stats spreadsheet. The smackdown with the highest turnout was the semifinal matchup "The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin vs. "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver with 17,449 votes! In second place, Round 1: "Poem" by Langston Hughes vs. "A Meeting" by Wendell Berry with 16,690 votes.

Unfortunately my real-life responsibilities have hit me like a truck and I don't have time to do a whole post dedicated to reviewing more of it, but I hope y'all might share any insights you have below! I also included the word count stats on the "summary" page, as suggested in this ask by @puddinginthemix. Nevertheless, they don't seem to demonstrate a concrete trend in one direction or the other—the mean word count difference technically gives a slight edge to longer poems in competition, but with such an insane standard deviation as to render the whole thing silly.

On the topic of a sequel.

After some deliberation, I've decided I would love to do another one of these focusing on poems that are lesser-known on Tumblr! In a perfect world I would just jump right in again, but it's quickly becoming clear to me that I will not have time to sort through/pair submissions and then run the thing while balancing work and school in the upcoming semester. With that in mind, my plan is to run it over the winter holidays so I'm able to give it more of my attention. That said, I've already made the submission form, and I'm tempted to release that ASAP so that I can use any downtime in the fall to read, review, and structure things thoughtfully. I also just figure it'll get a higher volume of submissions if I release it now. I know it's probably not ideal, but would people be cool with me opening submissions earlier, even if it means there'll be a significant time gap between submission and competition? If so, I'll get that out no later than Tuesday, and likely keep it open for a few weeks (unless it gets, like, seriously swamped lol).

Lastly, I've still got some asks I need to get through.....they're still on my mind. I'll do my best to respond to everyone within the next week!

Thank you again to everyone who participated, it's been such a joy!

#poetry smackdown #stats

365 notes · View notes

burntheedges · 2 months

Text

Maintenance Request: Chapter 9

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 3.4k

a/n: so Joel finally asked you out. now what? thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕 chapter tags/warnings: fluff, banter, flirting, angst, mention of past (bad) relationship, misunderstandings

Chapter 9

Tuesday, October 15 Eighth week of the semester

You saw Joel twice the day after you had lunch. On your way to class in the morning your eyes caught on the angle of his hip from across the quad, and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. You’d just recognized the shape of him from all the way over here without even trying. When you looked back over, you saw that Joel had noticed you, as well. He smiled and waved from his spot next to a crew of landscapers, and you waved back, grinning.

Later that afternoon, you answered a knock at your office door to once again find Joel dropping by with his tool kit. “Heard your window’s stuck, darlin’. You didn’t have to submit a maintenance request, you could’ve just told me.” He winked at you as he walked over to your window.

“I thought we had to go through the system?” You swiveled your chair to watch him as he worked, chin propped in your hand. You’d only put the request in this morning, he got here pretty quick.

“Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

You laughed — nothing about that statement aligned with your experience of university bureaucracy. “I was with my boss when I noticed and she told me to put in the request. But maybe next time I’ll just call my Hot Maintenance Guy instead.” He turned to study you when you said it, taking in your poorly hidden smile and fidgeting fingers. He raised his eyebrows and looked a bit smug.

“Yeah darlin’. Next time just call your guy.” He put a slight emphasis on “your” and winked and it sent heat spiraling down your spine. You sucked in a sharp breath.

Joel couldn’t stick around after he fixed your window, but he did brush his fingertips over your shoulder as he walked by on his way out. Right at the neckline of your top. You shivered and felt the ghost of his fingertips for hours afterwards.

You didn’t realize until much later that you still hadn’t exchanged numbers.

...

Thursday, October 17 Eighth week of the semester

On Thursday, one day before your date, you were walking to your afternoon class when Joel appeared out of nowhere and fell into step beside you. You smiled and greeted him, but he looked worried. “What is it, Joel?”

“I hate to do this, darlin’, but could we reschedule for next week? This is the last thing I want to do, believe me, but we had to move Sarah’s sleepover to next Friday, she’s got a thing at school, some kind of show. Now she’ll be home, and I’ve got to take her to the school on Friday night, and well, I don’t want to miss it.”

You were already nodding. “Joel, of course. Sarah comes first.” You were a little disappointed to have to wait a whole week for your date, but that didn’t mean you didn’t want to go. For Joel, you could wait.

He sighed, clearly relieved. “Thank you. She was feeling pretty guilty too, no matter how much I told her not to.”

You elbowed him. “Tell her it’s ok, from me, alright?”

“I will. You know, next week I know the band that’s playin’, anyway. They’re always a good time.” He held open the door to your building for your class. “Comin’ in, too, darlin’?” You nodded and walked in. As you passed him, he reached out and ever so lightly brushed his fingers against your lower back, turning to go inside with you. You shivered.

“I’ve got class, what are you here for?” you asked, curious. You hadn’t seen him around at this time before.

“Got a new meeting with the graduation folks, we’ll be meeting here every week. Guess I’ll be seein’ you around now on Thursdays.” He smiled and winked at you, and you smiled back.

“Maybe we can have lunch a couple of times next week, since we moved our date.” As the words left your mouth you realized neither of you had actually called it a date, yet. But Joel was already nodding before you could even get nervous.

“Darlin’, I would love nothin’ more.”

You arrived at your classroom, and Joel stopped next to you before you stepped inside. “What time is your meeting over?”

He shifted his weight. “s’just an hour. Probably before you’re done.” You nodded. “Maybe I’ll stick my head in, see what your class is about.” You could tell he was teasing, but he also seemed… interested?

You shrugged. “It’s a big room, I wouldn’t mind.” He gave you the half smile you were pretty sure was already your favorite in response.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you later, gorgeous.” He said that last part lowly in deference to the presence of students passing you — you saw some of your students glance at the two of you as they went into the classroom. He reached out to squeeze your upper arm once before saying goodbye and turning to continue down the corridor, and you smiled.

…

Joel wasn’t prepared to see you teach.

He thought he was — thought he’d started getting more accustomed to your brilliance, to the way you could blow him away with a casual observation about music or by quoting a freaking poem to him over lunch. He knew you were smart. He knew you could charm people (you’d charmed him, after all, without even saying anything), he knew that students liked you and so did your colleagues (Trevor notwithstanding, and no one liked him, anyway). He could imagine you, up in front of a room, holding everyone’s attention.

But watching you actually teach was something else entirely.

You had a poem up on the projector screen, but it was clearly just for reference. You’d written some ideas up on the board, but at the moment he slipped in the door you were listening intently to a student’s comments. He tucked himself into the last row.

Right as he sat down, you started to reply to the student, and Joel wasn’t sure he breathed for the next 15 minutes. Wasn’t sure of much of anything, in fact, except for the way you commanded the room. You were on fire — clearly passionate about the subject, clearly wanting the students to find some way to connect with it, too. Almost dancing around the room as you moved from the board to the podium to standing among the students. Something about the way you read lines of poetry as examples made him feel like he was floating through a poem himself.

It was like listening to music, watching you teach the class. He was fucking mesmerized.

…

It was only as you dismissed everyone that you looked up and found Joel hiding in the back row. You caught his eye and immediately felt your cheeks warm — he was staring you down and the look on his face was intent. There was warmth in his gaze and something that made you squirm in place.

As the final student left the room, Joel stood, and slowly made his way up to the front to stand next to you. Close.

“Well, um, what did you think?” You were nervous — he hadn’t said anything yet, and you knew 20th Century American poetry wasn’t everyone’s thing. Finally, his expression changed.

“Darlin’, you were breathtaking.” Joel’s eyes widened as he reached out to lightly brush his fingertips down your arm, nudging his hand against your own before finally hooking your index fingers together. He stepped closer. “You’re an amazing teacher.”

You felt like you were going to vibrate right out of your shoes, or maybe melt into a puddle on the floor. Maybe both at the same time. “Well, you only saw a few minutes—”

He interrupted you, scoffing. “I saw enough. You’re as brilliant at this as you are at everything else.”

You tightened your finger around his without meaning to. “I— um. Thank you.” You looked up at him, eyes wide and out of breath.

You don’t know what might have happened next — you were standing close, so close to him — because the students started to enter for the next class, slamming the door open as they arrived. You startled and jumped away from Joel, accidentally letting go of his hand in the process.

“Um. Walk me back to my office?” He nodded. As you left the building you realized you were breathing like you’d run a marathon, and couldn’t stop stealing glances at him as you walked.

“Hey, darlin’, before I forget, let me give you my number.” You grinned, glad one of you finally remembered, and handed him your phone. “I realized this morning I didn’t actually have it.”

When you arrived at your building, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. He lingered before pulling away, and the look in his eye as he said goodbye stole your breath away. Again.

…

you (5:07 PM): he snuck into my class (5:08 PM): he said I’m BREATHTAKING

bestie (5:10 PM): jesus (5:11 PM): I mean, he’s right and he should say it, but when are you letting this guy get in your pants (5:11 PM): put you out of your misery already

you (5:12 PM): 🙄 (5:12 PM): our date is postponed until next week

bestie (5:13 PM): noooo

you (5:14 PM): it’s a scheduling thing with his daughter so it’s fine, but ugh

bestie (5:16 PM): at this rate you’re going to jump him in the car before you can even go anywhere

you (5:17 PM): I can control myself

bestie (5:18 PM): sure (5:18 PM): I’ll believe it when I see it

...

Friday, October 18 Eighth week of the semester

On Friday, the original day of your date, you hoped you would run into Joel even though you hadn’t made any official plans with him. You were in a good mood; it was hard not to be, these days. You’d been so wrong about Joel, and thinking back through all of your interactions, it was easy to see he was flirting. Especially since you’d gotten to know him better.

You were heading back to your office from your morning class when you did see Joel, after all — across the quad, standing next to a woman you didn’t recognize. You started to turn to head towards him when she lifted up on the balls of her feet and seemed to press a kiss to his cheek before whispering in his ear. He laughed, hugged her, and then started to walk away.

You were frozen for a minute before a passing student jostled your arm and then you erupted into motion, turning and almost jogging to your office.

Who was that? Did she actually kiss him? They were pretty far away, though.

You didn’t think Joel would ask you out if he was seeing someone else… but you didn’t know him that well. Or did you?

Shit. Who was that?

At that moment you realized Joel had turned down one of the paths heading in your direction and had caught sight of you. But you were passing the head of the path and suddenly you knew you couldn’t see him right then. You needed to think. You started walking even faster and pretended you didn’t notice him coming towards you.

…

By the time you reached the door of your building, Joel had reached the end of the path, and stopped to watch you go. He didn’t know why, but something felt off. He shook his head and decided to text you later.

He did, but you didn’t respond.

…

Some part of you knew, in the moment, that you were maybe overreacting. You texted Beth before you could spiral too far, hoping for a gut check.

bestie (11:17 AM): wait, so she kissed him?

you (11:18 AM): no, just on the cheek. I mean that’s what it looked like anyway

(11:18 AM): I was pretty far away (11:19 AM): it seemed friendly. they hugged

bestie (11:20 AM): but not on the lips

you (11:22 AM): no

bestie (11:24 AM): I mean, friends do that, babe

you (11:25 AM): I know. I know (11:26 AM): I know that (11:26 AM): it’s just (11:27 AM): ugh

bestie (11:29 AM): it’s just Matt

you (11:30 AM): UGH

bestie (11:31 AM): I know you know this, but I’m going to say it anyway (11:32 AM): every guy isn’t like Matt

you(11:33 AM): I know

bestie (11:35 AM): and from what you’ve told me, Joel isn’t anything like Matt at all

you (11:36 AM): no he isn’t

bestie (11:38 AM): he’s already shown you more of his interest and feelings for you than Matt did in 2 years

you (11:38 AM): I know

bestie (11:38 AM): and he’s made it obvious how much he likes you, babe (11:39 AM): I can’t say for sure but it doesn’t seem like he’s the kind of guy who’d flirt with you and ask you out if he had a girlfriend (11:39 AM): and he did introduce you to his daughter. who I assume would know about a girlfriend

(11:40 AM): it doesn’t really go with what we know of him so far

you (11:40 AM): I know that in my mind (11:40 AM): but I don’t feel it

bestie (11:41 AM): well I’ll keep saying it if it helps (11:41 AM): but you should probably talk to Joel

you (11:42 AM): ugh (11:42 AM): I’m afraid if I talk to him now I’m going to react like I’m talking to Matt (11:43 AM): not him

bestie (11:43 AM): well that’s fair. take some time then

you (11:44 AM): yeah (11:52 AM): I’m just going to go home

bestie (11:55 AM): do NOT wallow (11:55 AM): I’ll come after you

you (11:57 AM): I’ll see you in the morning for brunch

bestie (11:59 AM): no wallowing (11:59 AM): or else (11:59 AM): 🔪

you (12:03 PM): you’ve been talking to Ellie too much

…

Joel (1:37 PM): Everything alright darlin? I saw you walking in a real hurry this morning, you looked upset. (1:37 PM): I’m sorry again about our date.

(5:42 PM): Hope you’re having a good start to your weekend.

(6:21 PM): I don’t want to overstep, darlin, but let me know you’re alright.

…

Saturday, October 19 Eighth week of the semester

You spent Friday night distracting yourself — it was difficult, since it was the original night of your date, and you kept wondering who that woman was. You didn’t want to ask, no matter what Beth said, and you didn’t want to seem like a creepy stalker. And what if she was his girlfriend? You knew that was unlikely, but you still didn’t trust yourself to have the conversation with Joel and not the ghost of your ex looming over you. Neither of you deserved that.

On Saturday morning Ellie joined you again for brunch. You were pretty sure Beth told her to come because you were a mess, since last you’d heard she was hanging out with Riley this weekend.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Ellie held her hand out in front of your face like a stop sign and you sighed. Beth was nodding along with her.

“You saw him with some woman across the quad. It was far away, but you think she kissed his cheek and hugged him. And right after that he saw you and his face lit up like an excited puppy like it always does, but you ran away from him like a weirdo. Is that correct?” You buried your face in your hands.

“Look, I don’t like boys, but even I know that’s dumb. She could just be his friend. He wasn’t, like, trying to hide it. And you know I’d fucking fight him if he was.” Ellie punctuated her statement with a long draw on her straw from her almost-empty soda. It was loud.

“I know! I know, ok. I should just ask him and not hide from his texts.” You pressed your hands even harder into your face. “I just… I was so afraid the answer would be the bad one. I just ran away.”

Beth hummed. “Look, we know why you might think that way.” There was a pause, and you knew without looking that Ellie and Beth were making eye contact and making a face about your ex at the same time. Predictable. “But based on what we know there’s no reason to think Joel is like that. Like I told you yesterday, he’s basically a huge nerd for you. Like, a cheesy, head over heels nerd. Can’t get enough of you.”

“How can you even tell?” You sounded miserable, and you knew this was a weak effort at arguing against her point.

Ellie scoffed and started ticking off items on her fingers. “He’s going out of his way to see you. He told you you’re gorgeous. He told his brother about you.” She paused and delivered her next point like it was proof all on its own. “He introduced you to his daughter. Like, you haven’t even introduced him to me. It’s the same thing. It’s a big deal. You wouldn’t introduce some random person to me, and it sounds like he’s not that kind of asshole.” You finally looked up, and Beth was nodding while Ellie gave you the most unimpressed look she’d ever mustered in your presence. It was really something. You both knew she was familiar with “that kind of asshole,” as she put it, so you sighed and nodded.

Her comparison of herself with Sarah, but for you, tugged at your heart and made you want to smother her in a hug. You knew that wouldn’t be welcome in public so you poked her with your spoon instead. She rolled her eyes and tried to hide a smile.

“He said you were breathtaking,” Beth added, and Ellie snorted into her food. “Babe, unless we’re missing something huge, the man is embarrassingly into you, and he wasn’t trying to hide you. You need to talk to him. It’s the only way to be sure.”

“Ok! Ok.” You reached out for your mimosa and took a long swig. “But I think I want to do it in person.”

“Well, if you don’t answer his text I bet you’ll see him first thing Monday morning because he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll probably be camped outside your office door with coffee and a sad face.” Beth gestured at your phone. You sighed. Joel’s last unanswered text was waiting for you.

Joel (6:21 PM): I don’t want to overstep, darlin, but let me know you’re alright.

He’d sent it Friday evening, after his first texts about your almost run-in on the quad. You hadn’t been able to respond to any of them.

“What do I say that won’t open the whole can of worms over text?” You shrugged.

Beth sighed. “Just tell him you had a long day and you want to see him on Monday. Or leave him hanging, but like, you actually like this guy, right?” You nodded.

Ellie nudged you, interjecting, “then yeah, text him back.”

You picked up your phone and clicked on your messaging app. Frowning at the screen, you slowly typed out a response and sent it before you could think about it too hard.

you (11:17 AM): Sorry, I didn’t see this yesterday. I’m fine! I’ll see you Monday

It felt short, off from your normal conversations, but maybe that was ok. You felt off kilter, and weren’t sure how to hide it without lying. And you really didn’t want to explain your whole overreaction and the reason for it over text.

You put your phone down and tried to put it out of your mind. “Let’s talk about something else. I promise to talk to him on Monday, ok? Now I just have to get to Monday without going insane.” Beth nodded and helpfully changed the subject to an update on Tuna Melt Mark, her coworker in the library that consistently brought the worst possible lunch to heat in a microwave and still did it, even when everyone got mad at him, every single time. Ellie was already laughing before she’d even gotten halfway through the story and you finally smiled.

…

a/n: don’t hate me! if you’re like me and the idea of sitting with even a little bit of angst is a lot, feel free to message me about it to ask what happens. happy to hint. but also remember the tags for the whole story are on the main post. :) prev | next

taglist: @jupiter-soups @ilovepedro @auteurdelabre @anoverwhelmingdin @myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123 @joelalorian

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #x reader #joel miller fic #maintenance request fic #JHCGBDM

158 notes · View notes

nerdytyrantphantom · 11 months

Text

the contractor | part one (pre-breakout!joel x f!reader)

summary: a summer of house-sitting for your parents turns into a scorching affair as you find yourself irresistibly drawn to the charismatic contractor, joel miller, amidst the chaos of home renovations. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader word count: 3k rating: 18+ explicit a/n: i’ll continue this story based on how well part one does! i have a LOT of ideas for things contractor!joel and reader get into >:)

When your parents asked you to house-sit for them over the summer, they warned you of one caveat: the home would be undergoing renovations. However, that seemingly small detail slipped your mind at the time of their request. The only thing you were thinking about when you heard the word “house-sit” was the Texas sunshine baking your skin while you laid out poolside, and the freedom of having an empty two-story house all to yourself for two months.

It wasn’t until you were lying on your childhood bed, feet kicking in the air as you idly scrolled your phone, that you remembered the refurbishment that would be going on in the master bedroom and bathroom. A text bubble from your mother appeared at the top of your screen: “Contractor’s on the way.” You groaned to yourself, dreading that you’d inevitably have to talk to strangers. Then, just seconds after replying with a thumbs up emoji, the doorbell rang.

You quietly padded down the stairs in your socked feet. Making your way through the foyer, you stole a quick glance in the mirror. Could be worse, you thought, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and lazily tightening the knot of your thin linen shorts.

“Hey, I gotta go. At a client’s,” you overheard the man saying as the door swung open. He turned around to face you as he tucked his phone into his back pocket. While his expression was at first dull – hardened and irritable, eyebrows furrowed in exhaustion – his grimace immediately melted into a smile upon seeing you.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he introduced himself, his voice tinged with that southern twang you loved coming home to. His brown eyes sparkled with warmth as he extended his hand towards you.

You shook his hand and introduced yourself, feeling a pleasant tingle run through your fingers. “Nice to meet you,” you said, offering a shy smile.

Joel's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than expected, and a faint blush crept up your cheeks. "Likewise," he said, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. "Your parents mentioned you'd be house-sitting. I'll do my best to keep the disruption to a minimum."

As you led Joel through the house, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of your eye. His presence filled the air with a captivating energy that stirred something new inside of you. With most strangers, you would’ve remained nonchalant, going through the necessary motions of conversation until you could retire to your bedroom in peace. But with Joel, you found yourself not wanting to leave him.

He glanced around the living room, his eyes taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the backyard. Outside, the pool’s aquamarine surface sparkled invitingly, while a vibrant red cardinal fluttered next to the birdfeeder. His eyes met yours again. “Your folks have a beautiful home,” he complimented sincerely, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You smiled bashfully. “Thank you,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Well, I mean – it’s my parents’ house. But they’d appreciate you saying that,” you clarified. Joel appeared to be suppressing a bigger smile than the one he was showing and nodded.

“So, what about you then?” he asked, turning his attention towards you. “You live here as well or visiting from out of town?” His tone was gentle and curious, something you weren’t used to hearing in the voices of most men your age.

You giggled nervously from the attention. “Sorta,” you said, scratching the back of your neck. “I just finished my spring semester of school,” you explained. You finally let yourself resume eye contact with him and tried not to squirm under his penetrating gaze. “So, I’m just house-sitting for the summer. Then it’s back off to the dorms.”

Joel chuckled. “Ah, a smart college girl, huh?” he said, like he’d uncovered a secret about you. Your stomach fluttered and for a moment you felt like you were floating. Shy yet appreciative of his comment, you mumbled: “Something like that.”

Once you showed Joel the rooms he’d be remodeling, you tried your best to listen as he explained the scope of the renovations and the timeline for completion. As he spoke, you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting to his lips or drinking in the sight of his biceps rippling underneath his t-shirt.

Maybe it was all in your head, but part of you wanted to believe that there was a subtle tension between you. It was as if the air itself crackled with unspoken words and wants for something more. You ached to believe that the attraction between you was undeniable and intensifying with each passing moment, but that bubble burst quickly when Joel’s cell phone interrupted your conversation – and spiraling fantasies.

He apologized and scanned the caller ID. Holding a finger up to indicate that he’d only be a minute, the two of you exited the bedroom. You watched him idly wander into the foyer and stop in front of the mirror. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, adjusting his appearance with a casual confidence, before tossing his head back in annoyance.

“Yes, Tommy, I’ll take care of it,” you heard him say exasperated, before he was sliding his phone back into his pocket and returning to the living room.

He quickly shook his head, as though he were shooing away the conversation he just had. "So, where were we?" he asked, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of playfulness.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. "We were discussing the renovations," you replied, feeling a mixture of relief and anticipation that the interruption was over. "You were explaining the timeline and what needs to be done."

Joel nodded, his gaze locked with yours. "Right, right," he said, his voice filled with a touch of enthusiasm. "Well, it's going to be a bit of work, but I'll make sure to keep things as smooth as possible. I want you to enjoy your time here without too much disruption."

“Oh, please,” you assured him, quickly brushing away his concerns. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. I’ll be set.” You nervously placed your hands on your hips, and then at your sides, before putting them on your hips again.

Joel began to head towards the door. “Well, I got just one more question for you and then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said over his shoulder. You walked closely behind him, hanging on to his every word. “Besides house-sitting, any other plans for the college girl this summer?” he asked.

You felt your face warm. “Oh, you know,” you said, bouncing on your heels. “Just hanging out here at home, laying out by the pool…” as your voice trailed, your gaze absentmindedly wandered over his arms one last time, committing the sight to memory.

Joel smiled. “Sounds like we’ll be seeing each other a lot then,” he said, opening the door.

You stood behind him, watching him walk towards his truck. “Looking forward to it,” you blurted, immediately cursing yourself.

But Joel just laughed and threw a wave over his shoulder. “Me too.”

So, that’s how your summer began. Joel and his crew would arrive in the mornings, retiring to their trucks for their lunch break, and then continue to work late into the afternoon. You’d be sprawled out on your bed, texting a boy you were only half-interested in, when you’d hear knuckles rapping against your door just before five. “Just letting you know we’re heading out for the night,” Joel would say. “Be back around the same time tomorrow.”

He was considerate like that – always communicating, always setting your expectations, always making sure you were comfortable and at ease despite sharing a roof with a bunch of men you didn’t know for the majority of the day. Part of you wanted to be annoyed and have something to complain about, like the house full of strangers or the noise from the drills. But then you’d be sitting at the kitchen table, eyes concentrated on your bowl of cereal, and you’d look up to catch Joel using the bottom of his shirt to wipe away sweat from his forehead. You’d ache at the sight of his tanned stomach and black happy trail snaking into his pants, and everything would be okay. You wouldn’t’ve changed a thing.

Over time, though, Joel’s presence under your roof began to feel natural. You slowly became more relaxed around him, finally able to maintain your composure most of the time without being a babbling, blushing, giggling mess. You gave up on trying to look picture-perfect everyday, and with that, started prioritizing getting attention from boys your own age. You and Joel even developed a repertoire, him frequently teasing you about the stupid smile you had while staring at your phone. But your giddiness with men who weren’t Joel was short-lived.

After one particularly bad day when you decided fuck all men, you changed into your swimsuit and aggressively lathered yourself in coconut oil. After greasing your skin, you dried your hands enough to pour a steep cocktail – aka vodka with a splash of orange juice – and marched outside on a mission to do nothing but work on your tan and ruminate on your hatred for the opposite sex.

Sure, in the back of your head, you knew Joel was an exception – but Joel was also out of your league. There was no way you were going to have a chance with the contractor your parents hired to renovate their bedroom, the same way there was no chance you were ever going to find a guy your age in Texas who was worth a damn.

After chugging your drink on the comfort of your lounge chair, you rolled over to tan your back. The afternoon sun rays mingled with the booze in your blood, and before you knew it, you had dozed off into a tipsy slumber. It wasn’t until you heard your name being called from somewhere in the distance that you began to stir from your stupor. Suddenly, a shadow cast over you; you squinted up at the silhouette beside you.

“Joel?” you blinked, your voice groggy and thick. Everything felt disoriented. As the haze of sleep lifted, a sharp stinging sensation spread across your skin, accompanied by the realization that you had fallen asleep under the scorching Texas sun without any sunscreen.

“Hey,” Joel cooed, crouching on the ground beside you. His deep, dark eyes swam with gentle concern. “You need to get inside, darlin’,” he said softly, and for a moment you wondered if you were dreaming. “Sun’s done burnt you to a crisp.”

You winced, feeling the heat radiating from your reddened skin. "Oh, shit," you muttered, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. The pain intensified, making you wince again. "I didn't realize how long I was out here."

Joel picked up your empty cup and waited for you to stand beside him. As you got to your feet, the world immediately felt lopsided. You were woozy, disoriented, and utterly confused. Without enough time to realize what was happening, you began to lose your balance before clinging to Joel’s arm for stability.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, smoothly wrapping his arm around you to prevent you from falling. Through the perplexed state you were in, you managed to make out an amused smile on Joel’s face. “Jesus, girl,” he said, gradually guiding you back towards the house. “Sunburnt, drunk, and dehydrated. What am I gonna do with you?”

Before you could think, you heard yourself blurt out: “Whatever you want.” As soon as the words slipped from your lips, you felt a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and a strange thrill coursing through your body. The air around you seemed to hold its breath for a moment, as if waiting for Joel's response. You tried to steal a quick glance at him, but the movement just made you feel dizzier.

Joel's steps momentarily faltered, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. Uncertainty crept in, and you worried that your impulsive confession had crossed a line, jeopardizing the comfortable dynamic you had developed over the past weeks. But then, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, diffusing the tension and bringing relief to your body.

"Well, darlin', I appreciate the offer," he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and a hint of something more. "But I think our first priority is getting you inside and taking care of that sunburn. We can talk about the 'whatever I want' part later."

Blushing with the realization of what you had said, you nodded gratefully, relieved that Joel had taken it in stride. Supported by him, you made your way back to the house, a whirlwind of embarrassment and excitement swirling within you.

Once inside, Joel gently guided you to the kitchen and motioned you to the table. "Sit," he instructed before heading to his truck. Upon his return, he carried a jar of aloe vera and a small packet that resembled powdered flavoring for a drink.

Curiosity piqued, you watched as Joel rummaged through the cabinets for glasses, finally locating them and proceeding to fill one with water from the refrigerator dispenser. As he approached, he placed the glass on the table before biting the tip off the packet, pouring its contents into the glass. With a swirl, he set the concoction in front of you. "Drink up," he urged.

Feeling a hint of childlike reprimand, you took a sip of the orange-infused mixture, finding it surprisingly palatable. Tilting your head back, you finished the glass, momentarily forgetting your discomfort. Meanwhile, Joel stood behind you, bottle of aloe in hand.

"Why do you have all this stuff?" you asked, feeling a sudden chill as Joel gently collected your hair over your shoulder to better expose your back. You listened to him open the tub and dip his fingers into the ointment. "I keep it in my truck for the days we’re outside," he explained. "Can't afford to take any chances with the heat."

Nodding your head, the pieces fell into place—Joel's preparedness as a contractor, contrasting with your impulsive decisions as a college student. A sense of defeat began to weigh upon you, your head hanging low, as the consequences of your actions caught up with you. Then, a sudden icy glide across your shoulders made you gasp, intensifying the burn.

"F-uck!" you exclaimed, jumping in your seat as the pain flared.

Joel paused, his touch retreating. "I know it hurts," he said gently, his hand no longer on your skin. "But it's going to hurt a lot more if you don't do this. Do you want me to stop?"

Shaking your head, you squeezed the chair underneath you. "No, keep going," you meekly replied, hoping for relief from the discomfort.

Joel resumed applying the aloe vera to your sunburned shoulders, his touch remaining gentle yet purposeful. As his cool fingertips glided over your heated skin, a soothing sensation gradually replaced the intense stinging. You couldn't help but relax under his ministrations, feeling a growing sense of trust and safety in his presence.

The room fell into a momentary silence, the only sound filling the air being the rhythm of your breath. You took the last sip from the liquid IV, feeling its replenishing effects coursing through your body. With an embarrassed sigh, you mustered the courage to address the weight of your current state.

"Sorry, I'm such a mess," you confessed, feeling shame flood your body, now exposed in both physical and emotional ways.

Joel's touch paused momentarily, his warm hand stilling on your shoulder. His voice held a genuine reassurance as he spoke, "Hey, we all have our moments, darlin'. Don't be too hard on yourself.” You heard a smile in his voice. “And hell, if this is the worst thing you’re doing at your age, you’re doing pretty good in my book.”

“That’s true,” you agreed, a faint, crooked smile gracing your lips as you contemplated the choices you hadn't made, the ones that had spared you from further disappointment. But amidst that reflection, the memory of your recent mistake pierced through, reminding you of the sting of being let down by yet another guy. A bitter sigh escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but voice your frustration to Joel.

"Boys just suck, Joel," you declared, your words tinged with a mix of resignation and exasperation.

Joel's laughter resonated behind you, a sound that held both amusement and understanding. "Well, I won't argue with you there," he replied, his voice a blend of sympathy and camaraderie. "Can't say I have any immediate consolation for you on that front." His hands descended lower, settling on the backs of your arms, a gesture that surprised you but also felt strangely comforting. You allowed yourself to lean into his touch, savoring the soothing strokes of his fingers as they skillfully massaged the aloe vera into your skin. It was more than a mere application of ointment; it was a gesture of care and tenderness.

As Joel's fingers worked their magic, a wave of sensations washed over you, and you found yourself sinking into the moment. His voice, low and intimate, drifted close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. The warmth of his breath caressed your skin, and his words reverberated with an intense sincerity.

"There's someone out there for you, darlin'," he murmured, his voice filled with a deep conviction. "You just gotta give it some time."

The blissful overload of Joel's proximity, his voice, and his touch engulfed you, and your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the sheer sensory experience. But just as you were fully surrendering to the moment, he withdrew, sealing the lid on the jar of aloe vera, as if closing a chapter.

"There," Joel said, breaking the spell and placing the jar of aloe vera on the table. He took your glass and walked to the sink, his movements carrying a sense of completion. "All set."

Your eyes reluctantly opened, adjusting to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The intensity of the moment slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a lingering warmth and a tinge of longing. You sat there, momentarily lost in your thoughts, grateful for Joel's presence and the temporary respite he had provided.

"Thank you," you expressed, your voice carrying a mix of appreciation and longing. You observed Joel as he unclipped his keys from his belt loop, a subtle indication that his departure was imminent. Part of you yearned for him to stay, to continue soothing your aching body and reassuring your troubled heart. You wished for his presence to fill the void and offer solace.

However, all you could do was watch as he flashed a warm smile and playfully winked at you. "Anytime," he replied, before making his way toward the door. Just before stepping out, his voice reached your ears once more, a final parting remark. "Be good."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic

726 notes · View notes

lesinquietes · 6 months

Text

I once wrote this longfic about Yandere!Professor!Levi who works out of a university and agrees to take you on as his teaching assistant in the first year of your grad degree…… and guys, the brainrot is back 🥺

Tw; coercion, degradation, dominant levi, dubcon (just a sprinkle), oral sex (levi receiving), slut-shaming, spanking

He remembers how much completing a master’s degree sucks. Rewarding? A little. But mostly just a waste of time keeping to the institution’s expectations of excellence. Originally, he only applied to see if he would get one of the scholarships they offered to the poor folk. He didn’t anticipate gaining entry to the program.

Fast forward to eight years later, and he’s cozy in his teaching position. The headmaster is his best friend, Erwin Smith. Life is good. He doesn’t have to teach much with the team of graduate assistants he has each semester. He lets them conduct seminars on course material to get “teaching experience”. As if that’ll help them find a job afterwards.

Although everything seems to have fallen into place for him, there’s still something missing. A void. A yearning. For what, he doesn’t know; that is, until you came along. You make him realize that life isn’t meant to be easy.

For every class he teaches, he receives at least one teaching assistant. Oftentimes, the flock he gets are new graduate students who don’t know their hand from their foot. They’re so nervous in their new role, that they cause more havoc than they’re worth. As such, he’s learned to be a hard ass. It turns out tough love works better than coddling.

But you.

You don’t respond well to either.

And it pisses him off how you’re not predictable. Growing up in the slums made his ability to read situations damn near immaculately. To some degree, he should be able to predict most common behaviours. He’s utterly confused when you don’t respond to reward or punishment. What kind of person are you? The fascination takes him faster than the alcohol did after Farlan and Isabel died in that car accident. Unlike the liquor, he lets his attraction for you bloom.

He treats you like an academic study. He writes down his hypotheses and then conducts an experiment to record data. He documents every method he tries, hoping to make a breakthrough, all while skirting under your radar; the subject can’t know her role in his field research.

Initially, he’s hard on you. He discovered a marking error on one of his students’ returned papers. Usually he doesn’t bother to check his teaching assistant’s work. With you, he’s been putting in overtime.

“The fuck is this?” He growled, tossing the paper onto your desk.

“What?”

You took the sheet onto your hands and scanned the lines with careful orbs. When you reached the bottom, you locked eyes with him. He doesn’t utter a word. You’re bright enough to understand the implicit message.

“I made a mistake,” you state. “I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful.”

You always act so diplomatic with him. He wishes you would let your guard down. You speak to your colleagues with less of an edge to your tone.

“I thought a master’s student would be able to handle bachelor’s level shit.” He antagonized you. “If you fuck up again I’ll scrap your contract for next semester.”

It’s a bluff. He won’t do that. He doesn’t want anyone else getting you as a teaching assistant, least of all that creep Miche. You’re too alluringly odd. Levi wants to lay claim to you.

“It won’t happen again,” you called after him. “Sorry.”

A lightbulb goes off in his head. His vivid memory of your nonchalance gave him a bright idea. You don’t mean your apologies because you don’t care. Truly.

Of course you haven’t been responsive to his rearing techniques; you aren’t interested in what he’s offering. He hasn’t been using the correct rewards and punishments. You’re in this teaching assistant position against your will; you needed to take it on so you could afford to pay your tuition. He bets you’re dying for stimulation.

With this in mind, he sends you an email, requesting your presence in his office tomorrow morning. If you want something to captivate your picky mind, he’s going to give it to you.

He can’t believe his eyes when you actually obey his request to bend over his desk. Your skirt hikes up, revealing your cute panties. They’re white. The way they don’t fit around the cheeks of your ass makes his cock twitch in his pants. The notion that you planned this crosses his mind. He dismisses it in favour of indulging.

Levi smacks his ruler against your ass, revelling in how your holes twitch each time he strikes. You respond well to this punishment. You moan and gasp when he goes harder, panting breathily like a desperate whore. He’s never seen so much life in your face. He only stops hitting your plump globes when the skin feels tender and worn beneath his palm; even then, he gives them one more clap before standing up to tug down his trousers.

You suck his cock next. Who knew you were such a champ at giving head? He helps you along with a firm hand glued to the back of your skull. You choke and slobber when his rip slams into the back of your throat. He doesn’t let up. Tears are streaming down your face until he decides it’s time you worship his balls. He shoves your nose and mouth into his sack, shuddering when he feels your tongue lavish each sphere with your love. It’s almost enough to make him cum.

He can’t take much more of your teasing. He forces himself down your throat a second time and shoots his load. You cough and sputter, but he doesn’t let you off. You’ll only have the privilege of air when you swallow. Once you do, he’s happy to permit you to breathe.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and tilts your head up. His steely orbs are filled with wanton lust. Your makeup is smeared and your eyes are glossy. You’re in a daze. This is what you wanted all along; to be used by your professor.

Well, if that’s what it’ll take for you to maintain an interest in grading for his class, he’s happy to do it; the next time you need some proctoring, he’ll be sure to claim that wet pussy of yours.

#minors dni #yandere levi x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere aot #professor levi #levi x reader #levi smut #aot smut #afab reader

186 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 2 months

Text

phase three ─ say so

The words, 'Suguru and I are dating,' echoed through Satoru's mind, each syllable carrying a profound weight that seemed to press down on him with increasing intensity. His best friend, who had harbored unrequited feelings since childhood — Satoru could remember their college days, how Suguru would harp about that girl who smiled at him so tenderly every day and how he loved her. The love that persisted through countless failed relationships—all because they couldn’t warm him as his childhood love did. The friend who had openly shared his pining for her, the girl he grew up with and longed to see again. The one he had always been in love with. It finally happened, and the realization hit Gojo Satoru with a force that left him grappling with the enormity of the situation.

Genre: No Curses AU, University Professors AU!

Warning/s: Fluff, Romance, Pinning, Co-Workers, One Sided Romance, Mild Angst Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Co-Workers to Lovers, They're Figuring It Out, Folks!;

note: i kept changing the title and song for this one but i think it fits. also, shoko will appear in the next chapter. she's pre-occupied enjoying peace with her girlfriend right now <3333

masterlist

logic ≠ love masterlist

HE THINKS THAT HIS HEAD HURT WHEN HE LIFTED IT. But it was not uncommon for Suguru to feel this way in the mornings, peculiarly when other historians called him up for help on their own studies. It seemed that they often sought his input on the findings they had on the scope of his work.

This happens too often, he seems to think — even when he is busy with his own research work and his teaching job, he finds himself unable to turn away anyone that needed his help. He’d lost count of all the times his friends told him to learn how to not let himself drown in his own kindness. Yet it was hard to say no, it was easy to want the need to feel needed. And just as much, Suguru couldn’t help but admit to himself that he is in fact in need of distractions.

Stretching his arms as he yawned along with the sunrise, Geto Suguru couldn't help but notice the state of disarray around him. His long sleeved work shirt was wrinkled, and his long raven hair was entrenched in a mess. He looked down at his papers scattered across the desk, the words blending together from his long rest upon them. At the very least it was all that had ended up happening. If it had been Satoru sleeping on that, there would be endless drool and ripped papers. Satoru was, after all, the worst sleeper to be around.

With a heavy sigh, Suguru glanced out the window pane, his gaze drifting up to the sky. It had been a while since he had spoken to her, a few days to be exact. Her – the woman he now called his girlfriend, the person he was currently dating. And yet, somehow, it still didn't feel real.

The label of "girlfriend" hung in the air, a weighty reminder of the unspoken understanding that existed between them. Despite the passage of time and the shared moments they had experienced together, Suguru couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that lingered in his heart.

He longed to bridge the gap that had formed between them, to have an open and honest conversation about the nature of their relationship. But the fear of rejection and the uncertainty of her feelings held him back, leaving him in a state of limbo as he grappled with his own emotions.

As Suguru stared out into the expanse of the sky, a heavy weight settled on his shoulders, his mind consumed by thoughts of you and the undefined nature of your relationship. When you both agreed to start dating, the conversation ended there, leaving Suguru with a lingering sense of uncertainty.

In the days that followed, life seemed to spiral into a whirlwind of busy schedules and mounting responsibilities. You became increasingly occupied with planning your work for the semester and your teaching duties, while Suguru found himself buried under a growing pile of tasks and projects. Despite their shared commitment to each other, the distance between them seemed to widen with each passing day.

Suguru couldn't help but wonder if your busy schedule was intentional, a deliberate effort to avoid confronting the complexities of your relationship. Or perhaps it was simply a coincidence, a result of the demands of your respective lives pulling you in different directions.

As he pondered these questions, Suguru felt a knot tighten in his stomach, the uncertainty gnawing at him from within. Did you long for clarity and definition, or were you content with the unspoken understanding that existed between you? Or perhaps, like him, you found it easier to avoid addressing the issue altogether, choosing instead to bury yourselves in work and responsibilities.

As Suguru stood in his kitchen, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily upon him, he knew that dwelling on them any longer would only lead to further frustration and confusion. With a resigned sigh, he made a conscious effort to push aside his thoughts, recognizing that overthinking the situation would only drive him to the brink of insanity.

Turning his attention to the task at hand, Suguru mechanically began preparing breakfast for himself, his movements devoid of their usual fluidity as he robotically went through the motions. His gaze fell upon the empty storage of coffee, a stark reminder of the absence of his usual morning ritual. He sighed, it seems Nanami drank the last of the coffee when he and Satoru slept over. He ought to go to the grocery later too.

He turned to the other drawer, where he kept his tea. He takes a tall glass of water and poured it into his electric kettle, absentmindedly plugging it in and pressing the button. The familiar routine had always provided him with a sense of comfort and normalcy, but now, its absence only served to highlight the emptiness that lingered in his heart.

As he mechanically went about his morning routine, Suguru couldn't shake the feeling of unrest that gnawed at him from within. The unresolved tension between him and you hung heavily in the air, casting a shadow over everything he did. Despite his best efforts to push aside his doubts and uncertainties, they continued to haunt him, a constant reminder of the fragile state of what your relationship now meant. How can he stop being overwhelmed by this? How can he get you to open your heart to him?

With a heavy heart and a troubled mind, Geto Suguru resigned himself to the fact that some questions may never have clear answers right now. He had to be patient. He had to wait. As he always has. Patience is the virtue he was most good at. For now, all he could do was focus on the present moment and hope that, in time, clarity would come and the uncertainty that plagued their relationship would be resolved.

He heard the kettle whistle and growl.

He took his favorite mug and added the tea.

The water eased itself into the ceramic floor.

He sighed and let the tea mingle into the water.

Geto Suguru thinks about her as he waits.

SHE WAS SURE SHE LOOKED AT HER PHONE ALL DAY. Biting her lips in frustration, she couldn't help but groan as she buried her face in her hands, grappling with the overwhelming weight of her emotions. It felt utterly foolish that she hadn't been able to muster the courage to reach out to Suguru, to simply type a message or give him a call to explain her feelings and the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her mind.

For days, she had been locked in a battle with herself, torn between the desire to connect with Suguru and the fear of what that connection might entail. The mere thought of contacting him filled her with a dizzying array of emotions, each one more tumultuous than the last. After all, he was now her boyfriend – a title that still felt foreign and surreal when associated with her longtime best friend.

The sudden shift in their relationship had caught her off guard, leaving her heart racing with uncertainty and apprehension. She had never envisioned herself in a romantic relationship with Suguru, never even dared to entertain the idea in her wildest dreams. And yet, here they were, standing at the precipice of uncharted territory, unsure of where their newfound connection would lead them.

His confession had sent her heart into a frenzy, the warmth of his words lingering in her mind long after they had been spoken. He had always been a steadfast presence in her life, a pillar of support and friendship through every twist and turn. The idea of crossing the boundary from friendship to something more left her feeling simultaneously exhilarated and terrified, unsure of how to navigate the uncharted waters of their evolving relationship.

As she grappled with her conflicting emotions, she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for not being more proactive in addressing the situation. The longer she hesitated, the more daunting the prospect of reaching out to Suguru became, leaving her feeling trapped in a whirlwind of indecision and uncertainty.

The days had passed in a haze of internal conflict, each moment fraught with indecision as she grappled with the reality of her newfound relationship status with Suguru. Despite the warmth of his confession and the undeniable connection between them, she couldn't shake the nagging fear that reaching out to him would irrevocably change the dynamic of their friendship, casting a shadow over everything they had built together.

Frightened and overwhelmed by the weight of her emotions, she found herself unable to articulate the turmoil raging within her. The thought of confronting Suguru with her innermost thoughts and feelings filled her with a paralyzing sense of dread, leaving her trapped in a suffocating cycle of guilt and uncertainty.

She knew deep down that Suguru didn't deserve to be met with silence and avoidance. He was too kind, too compassionate, too pure of heart to deserve anything less than her honesty and transparency. Yet despite this knowledge, she found herself unable to bridge the divide between them, her words caught in the grip of her own fear and insecurity.

Guilt gnawed at her relentlessly, a constant reminder of her failure to communicate with Suguru and the toll it was taking on their relationship. Each time she saw him in the hallways or felt the urge to reach out to him, she was consumed by a sense of helplessness and frustration about all of this. Her inadequacy was horrid. She wished she could do better than this. She had just gotten Suguru back and had gotten him in a way that she didn’t even deserve and now she knew she was causing him more pain in isolation.

Sitting alone in the outer corner of the teacher's lounge during a coffee break, she felt the weight of her emotions come crashing down upon her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to contain the overwhelming surge of frustration and self-doubt that threatened to engulf her.

In that moment of vulnerability, she longed for nothing more than the courage to break free from the confines of her own fears and insecurities, to open up to Suguru and lay bare the depths of her heart. But for now, all she could do was cry out in anguish, the silent sob echoing in the empty room as she grappled with all these newfound feelings—ones that she never thought she would ever face before.

Amidst her turmoil, the sight of Gojo Satoru's concerned gaze as her tears fell silently caught her off guard. His white lashes blinked tenderly as his eyes settled on her, and without hesitation, he swiftly took a seat beside her. With genuine concern etched on his face, he bombarded her with questions, each one probing deeper into the source of her distress.

Satoru's genuine concern persisted, evident in the furrow of his brows and the earnestness in his gaze. Despite her attempts to brush off his inquiries, he refused to relent, leaning in closer as he sought to uncover the truth behind her tears.

"It's nothing," she insisted, her voice trembling slightly as she wiped away her tears in a feeble attempt to mask her distress. But Satoru's penetrating gaze left her feeling exposed, his unwavering scrutiny betraying his disbelief in her words.

"I-I'm being serious, I'm not lying," she stammered, her voice faltering as she struggled to maintain her composure under Satoru's intense scrutiny.

Satoru's lips quivered in a mischievous grin as he observed her carefully. "Uhuh, and when I look at your nose, it wrinkles so much, you can tell that they're hiding lies."

Her cheeks flushed with warmth as his playful observation sank in, a blend of embarrassment and indignation bubbling within her. The rosy hue that spread across her cheeks betrayed the flurry of emotions swirling inside her, a delicate dance between feeling self-conscious and mildly irritated by his teasing remark. Despite her attempts to maintain composure, the subtle heat radiating from her skin betrayed the effect of his words, leaving her caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"S-shut up! That's so rude!" she protested, swatting playfully at Satoru as she attempted to deflect his teasing remarks.

Despite her efforts to maintain a facade of nonchalance, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Satoru saw right through her defenses, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence. Suguru did tell her that he was good at that, his best friend. She sighed, lowering her head and looking at Satoru, who leaned back into the chair.

“I don’t know what happened, but well, I hope you know it’s not a bad thing to tell people why you’re upset.” Satoru exclaimed in reply, his arms crossed in front of him. “But you don’t have to feel pressured to tell me anything right now. Just know that I’m your friend, and you can trust me, hm? I, the great Gojo Satoru, will be your friend and shoulder too! So chin up, girl. Don’t cry!”

She didn’t know what happened.

Perhaps she was overwhelmed.

Or she just didn’t know what to do.

But she started shaking her head.

She lifts her head and looks at him.

“Suguru and I are dating!” She cried, almost as though relieved that she doesn’t have to carry it alone.

In the aftermath of her revelation, the atmosphere hung heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Satoru's reaction was immediate and palpable; his eyes widened, jaw slackened, and the disbelief etched across his features was unmistakable. It was as if time itself had halted, freezing the moment into a suspended reality where the unexpected revelation reverberated in the air.

The love that persisted through countless failed relationships—all because they couldn’t warm him as his childhood love did. The friend who had openly shared his pining for her, the girl he grew up with and longed to see again. The one he had always been in love with. It finally happened, and the realization hit Gojo Satoru with a force that left him grappling with the enormity of the situation.

For a moment, Gojo Satoru found himself suspended in a state of disbelief, unable to comprehend the magnitude of what she had just disclosed.Suguru finally achieved his dream. He got the girl. He finally did it. Satoru’s thoughts churned in a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty, and excitement. As reality seeped back in, Satoru stood there, at a loss for words. His mouth moved soundlessly, attempting to convey the myriad of emotions swirling within him.

Satoru's exclamation reverberated through the room, his voice cracking with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. The overwhelming flood of emotions threatened to consume him, leaving him teetering on the edge of a reality he had never anticipated. He could feel happiness flood him. His friend finally got the girl!

"YOU’RE DATING SUGURU?" he blurted out, unable to contain his shock.

“SHHHHH NOT SO LOUD!” she hissed in response, her cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. The intensity of Satoru's reaction took her by surprise, and she hastily gestured for him to lower his voice.

“HOW LONG?” Satoru pressed on, his curiosity getting the better of him as he leaned in closer, eager for answers.

As she snapped at him, her voice tinged with frustration and flustered embarrassment, she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, the telltale sign of her own embarrassment.

"SHUT UP!" she exclaimed, her words sharper than intended as she shot him a pleading look, hoping to convey the urgency of her request. Her hand covered his mouth again. The scarlet hue of her cheeks betrayed her discomfort as she struggled to gather her thoughts amidst the chaos of emotions swirling within her. “Just, calm down first!”

As their voices rose in a heated exchange, the tension between them reached a boiling point. She was worried someone might have heard them, that someone might have ended up coming in. Gojo Satoru was too loud for his own good. She felt a surge of frustration bubbling within her, her hands gesturing emphatically in an attempt to convey the urgency of her request. Yet, despite her efforts, the atmosphere remained charged with an undercurrent of unease.

“The hand has got to go, you can’t keep—” Satoru's voice carried a note of exasperation as he gestured towards her, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“Just calm down first and I’ll tell you!” She interjected, her tone tinged with urgency as she attempted to quell the rising tension.

“I am calm!” Satoru retorted, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Be calmer!” She shot back, her own agitation bubbling to the surface as she struggled to maintain her composure.

The air crackled with tension as they exchanged heated words, each struggling to maintain their composure amidst the escalating argument.

“Fine!” Satoru mumbled against her palm, his glare piercing as he met her defiant gaze. She returned the glare, her expression equally resolute as she held her ground.

"God, your hands are so sweaty," Satoru remarked, a hint of annoyance seeping into his tone as he pulled away from her touch.

"This is not the time!" she snapped, her frustration evident in the sharpness of her voice. Despite their efforts to diffuse the tension, the underlying strain between them lingered, casting a shadow over their interaction.

Satoru let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he tried to reign in his frustration. "I know, I know," he muttered, his tone softer now, tinged with a hint of remorse. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scream like that. It’s just….”

‘Suguru loved you for a long time.’ He thinks but he doesn’t want to say it. Only Suguru can say that.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly at his apology, the tension in the air easing just a fraction as she took a deep breath to steady herself. "It's okay," she replied, her voice softer now, her anger dissipating as she met his gaze with a hint of understanding.

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them. Then sat down after a while, tension already gone. He sighed, looking at her. She must have been concerned about the relationship then, if she was crying. He thinks about what Suguru must have done to find his childhood love cry like this.

“You’re crying about Suguru, huh?”

“T-that’s….” She looked at him, the glint of guilt in her eyes. “I just….it’s been awkward, trying to adjust to all this. And I just, he’s my best friend. I don’t know how to…”

“Navigate it all?” He supplies, with a grin on his face. She looks at him, embarrassed. She still nods. “But isn’t that normal in relationships? Figuring it all out.”

“I know that.” She replies back to him, looking down on the floor. “But I just….this is all new and different. I think I made him sad already by not replying to him or reaching out to him.”

“Oh, definitely. He may even think you hate him.” He nods at her words, making her look at him in a snap. “But well, that only gets cleared up if you talk to him right. Your relationship isn’t just you. It’s both of you. So, go on. Talk to him. Just say so.”

She lets out a small nod. “Thank you, Satoru. I just….I needed that.”

“No problem!” He grins at her, leaning forward with a thumbs up. “Just make sure I get something to enjoy in your latest volume. I don’t think I can handle more of the tragic angst.”

“I don’t think I can promise anything, but I’ll try!” She smiles at him and gets up from her seat, before he could reply.

She ran out before any other words could be exchanged. Gojo Satoru leaned back against his seat, letting out a deep satisfied sigh, the weight of the recent events settling heavily on his shoulders. Playing Cupid is a hard task, he thinks. The science to a happy life is after all, being able to produce chemicals to happiness.

“What did you do now?” A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts, and Satoru couldn't help but smile as he turned to see Nanami Kento standing before him, hands tucked neatly into his suit pockets.

“What didn’t I do?” Satoru replied with a playful grin, his tone laced with mischief.

Kento sighed wearily, taking a seat beside him. “You should have let them figure it out.”

“Oh, so now you reveal you heard everything,” Satoru quipped, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“You scream too loudly,” Kento retorted, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Satoru grinned mischievously, leaning closer to Kento's side. “How hard do you want me to scream?”

“Not here, you idiot!” Kento's cheeks flushed scarlet, embarrassment evident in his tone as he scolded his friend. Satoru couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's reaction.

“You’re too easy to tease,” Satoru teased, resting his head on Kento’s arm and snuggling against it. He glanced up at Kento with a playful twinkle in his eyes. “I thought you said not here.”

Kento averted his gaze, his reddened ears betraying his embarrassment. “...You haven’t slept much because of your work, right?” he asked softly, concern now lacing his words. “Just take a nap before your next class. It’s still two hours from now.”

Satoru felt his cheeks flush at Kento's caring gesture, his smile widening at the unexpected tenderness. Closing his eyes, he leaned into Kento's comforting presence.

“You're too cute,” he murmured softly.

Nanami Kento hesitated for a moment before replying, his voice equally soft. His cheeks flushed in scarlet.

“.........Yeah, yeah."

“You’re always so loving to me, Kento~”

“Just get some sleep before I get up and leave you.”

"Alright, alright~"

HE THINKS HE’S ABOUT TO HAVE A HEADACHE OF READING THROUGH PAPER AFTER PAPER. In the dimly lit cubicle office, Geto Suguru sat surrounded by a mountain of papers, each one representing a student's attempt at deciphering historical events. His brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously graded each test paper, his pen moving in a steady rhythm across the pages. The scratching sound echoed through the quiet room, a stark contrast to the occasional sigh of frustration that escaped his lips.

It started out well, with Fushiguro Megumi's paper showing promise with its depth and insight. However, as Suguru worked his way through the stack, the quality of the submissions seemed to deteriorate. He couldn't help but shake his head at the chaotic mess that some of his students had produced.

Among the sea of mediocrity, one paper stood out to him—the six pages of storytelling by Itadori Yuji. While not entirely historically accurate, Suguru couldn't deny the creativity and entertainment value of Itadori's work. It was a refreshing change from the dry and uninspired essays he had been grading all day.

As he continued to work, Suguru found himself sinking deeper into the task at hand. The quiet solitude of the office provided him with a sense of focus and determination, allowing him to plow through the remaining papers with efficiency.

Despite the monotony of the task, Suguru found solace in the routine of grading papers. It was a familiar ritual that helped him clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. And as he neared the end of the stack, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment wash over him.

With the last paper graded, Suguru leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh of relief. The room was silent now, save for the sound of his own breathing. He glanced at the clock and realized that he had been working for hours.

But even as fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, Suguru couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that he would soon have completed his remaining task for today. He can have a good end with some gyoza and a beer. With a tired smile, he gathered up the papers and prepared to leave the office, eager to finally rest and recharge before the next day's challenges.

The sudden sound of the door swinging open broke the silence of the dimly lit office, causing Suguru to look up from his papers with a start. His eyes widened in surprise as she stumbled into the room, her breaths labored and her movements unsteady. Her disheveled appearance and heavy footsteps against the tiled floor immediately caught his attention, prompting him to rise from his chair in concern.

Without uttering a single word, she marched up to Suguru's desk with determination etched on her face. With a swift motion, she reached out and spun his office chair around to face her, the movement abrupt and unexpected. Suguru found himself facing her, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity as he studied her tired eyes and tense posture.

The room fell silent as they stood facing each other, the weight of her unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Suguru waited patiently, sensing that something was amiss and allowing her the space to speak her mind. He watched intently as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with each labored exhale, before finally finding the strength to voice her thoughts.

With a voice trembling with emotion, she began, "Hey," meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and vulnerability.

“Hey,” Suguru replied softly, his expression reflecting his concern as he watched her closely.

“I have so,” she paused, taking a moment to catch her breath and straighten her posture. “Oh my god, I need to exercise more,” she added with a self-deprecating laugh, attempting to lighten the mood despite the weight of the conversation.

Suguru's eyes softened with concern as he observed her, his worry evident in his gaze. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

She waved him off dismissively, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, yeah. I am…..don’t worry. Just need to catch my breath,” she assured him, attempting to reassure him despite the turmoil she was feeling inside.

Suguru nodded understandingly, giving her a moment to compose herself as she caught her breath. As she took a moment to collect her thoughts, he listened attentively, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm sorry... I haven't contacted you," she finally admitted, her voice tinged with regret as she voiced the apology that had been weighing heavily on her mind.

“I–”

Her determination shone through as she shook her head at him, her gaze unwavering and resolute. "No, I need to….I need to make this right," she insisted, her voice tinged with urgency. "I've caused you a lot of pain, and it's not fair to you. I wasn't being fair to you. But I want to. You poured your heart out to me, and I just….I didn’t make good on you. I was so confused about what this would mean. But I should have told you. And since we’re together, we can work it out, right?”

Suguru's heart ached at the sight of her distress, his eyes softening with compassion as he listened to her words. Gently, he reached out and took her hand in his, drawing her closer to him in a comforting embrace.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. "I should be the one apologizing. I should have made it easier on you, too. Everything happened so suddenly, and I should have known it would have overwhelmed you too. I should have asked you and conversed more with you about this. To be fair to you too.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her head, her grip on his hand tightening. "No, Suguru, you don't deserve this. And... and I don't deserve you."

His heart skipped a beat at her words, and he felt a surge of emotion welling up within him. Though he struggled to find the right words, the depth of his feelings for her was unmistakable in his gaze as he looked into her eyes, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

"I... I'm sorry," Suguru stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I shouldn't have... I mean, I haven't even told you how I love you."

In the quiet aftermath of their tender exchange, as they stood enveloped in the soft ambiance of the office lights, a flicker of uncertainty danced across her features. Her brow furrowed in a subtle expression of puzzlement, her eyes searching for him with a hint of apprehension.

‘Wait, he’s never said he loved me, right?’

As Suguru met her gaze, a sudden realization dawned upon him like a bolt of lightning.

‘Wait,' he thought, his mind racing to catch up with the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. 'I never told her I loved her.'

The weight of his unspoken confession hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the words left unsaid between them. In the stillness of the moment, Suguru felt a surge of panic rise within him, his chest constricting with the weight of his own reticence.

'I never told her I loved her,' he repeated to himself, the words catching in his throat like a bitter pill. The truth of his feelings loomed large in his mind, a daunting revelation that left him grappling with a profound sense of regret.

The weight of his words hung in the air, a heavy silence enveloping them as they both grappled with the implications of his confession. Their eyes met in a moment of shared vulnerability, each trying to decipher the emotions reflected in the other's gaze.

Finally, she squeezed his hand gently, batting at him a shy smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I-It's okay," she whispered. "I'm happy….happy that you could tell me your feelings. To….to hear that you love me."

Relief surged through Suguru like a tidal wave, washing away the remnants of doubt and uncertainty that had clouded his mind. In that fleeting moment, as he absorbed her heartfelt words, a profound sense of gratitude enveloped him like a warm embrace.

With a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips, Suguru met her gaze, his eyes alight with a spark of newfound hope. In the depths of his soul, unspoken promises danced like flickering flames, casting a radiant glow upon their shared moment of connection.

"I'll try my best to make it up to you, to reciprocate your warmth too," she continued, her voice filled with determination. "I'll do everything I can to make you happy too, Sugu."

Suguru's heart swelled with emotion at her earnest pledge. He reached out, gently cupping her cheek in his hand as he searched her eyes with tender affection.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. "Knowing that you're willing to make this work means everything to me."

“Me too.” She smiles back at him, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for being willing to make this work too.”

For a moment, he felt like he could breathe again.

The touch of her hand on his own made him warm.

Now, he thinks that everything is right with the world.

Because he thinks that he can work with this now.

He can work with love being his only logic with her.

She just has to smile at him warmly and say so.

extra; going home together

As Geto Suguru and she exited the office together, they held hands as they walked off the past towards the future. All the tension from their earlier conversation began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of ease as they fell into a comfortable rhythm of a warm, tender conversation.

"So, what are you in the mood for dinner?" Suguru inquired, a gentle smile curving his lips as they walked side by side.

"Hmm, maybe some sushi?" she mused, her mind wandering to thoughts of their upcoming meal. The idea of enjoying fresh sushi sounded appealing after a long day of work, and she could almost taste the delicate flavors as she spoke. “Oh, oh! How about going to that okonomiyaki restaurant that you talked about?”

As they rounded the corner, Suguru and she stumbled upon an unexpected sight: Nanami Kento walking away from Gojo Satoru, who had a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he teased Nanami–san about something. The pair didn't seem to notice Suguru and her, engrossed in their own exchange, but she couldn't help but watch them for a moment.

Satoru's laughter rang out, echoing against the backdrop of the bustling Tokyo street. Despite the busy surroundings, there was an undeniable closeness between the two men, evident in the way they interacted with each other. She noticed how Nanami–san moved to the corner of the sidewalk, Satoru staying close beside him as they navigated the crowded street.

There was a sense of harmony in their movements, a silent understanding that spoke volumes about their relationship. She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as she watched them, admiring the ease with which they seemed to complement each other.

"They seem very happy together," she murmured, tearing her gaze away from the pair to glance at Suguru beside her.

He nodded. “Nanami most of all, look. He’s not stiff today. No one probably pissed him off.”

The curiosity bubbling inside her.

Curiosity is too strong to just ignore.

Turning to him, she voiced her thoughts.

"How close are they?" she whispered, her voice tinged with awe and admiration. “They seem so opposite of each other, so I thought they were not as close.”

“Huh?” Suguru looks at her as though she had grown a head on her side. “Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?”

Suguru glanced at her, and then snickers. Suddenly, there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Didn't you know? They're lovers."

She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"WHAT?" she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the corridor.

Suguru continued to walk off, laughing at the depths of his lungs.

The revelation caught her completely off guard, leaving her stunned and speechless.

“Hurry up and stop being frozen, I’m hungry!”

facts about the characters thus far:

satoru, suguru, shoko and nanami all met in high school. only suguru and satoru ended up going to the same university. nanami went to another nearby university and shoko went to study in a nearby medical university.

you've been a BL mangaka since senior year of high school. it started with slice of life stories, which you sold at conventions in freelance. you ended up becoming a pro after a few years after you gave up on finding a job in the mainstream writing industry. you still decided to get a teaching job because you don't know how long the pro-mangaka work will last for you.

you and suguru met at five years old in the playground, where your moms became good friends. he saw you struggling with the swing and helped you on it. you declared him your best friend that day. suguru really likes to think about this memory a lot.

satoru is a big fan of BL and it started because his ex from high school was a fan and really had good reads. he starts going to conventions and personally buying them. he doesn't mind that people stare at him when he buys their books. as he stated, he has bought your books in person too, before you were even a pro-mangaka.

suguru isn't a fan of BL but he likes getting into them when the stories are really really good. satoru has recommended stuff to him before and he's read them. he personally also buys them in print, which is his personal preference. his current favorite is currently 'doukyusei'.

satoru often causes a lot of commotion in the school because of his antics. a lot of people have expressed their annoyance, but over the years, he has become too important to fire. so people just got used to all of his antics and even started joining him.

nanami and satoru got together during satoru's high school graduation. nanami hated gojo in high school because his basketball club hogged the training grounds, where nanami's track club also needed to use. they ended up bonding because of their shared passion for pastries.

79 notes · View notes

midnightfantasiez · 23 days

Text

Twisted Love | 셋 (chp. 3)

SUMMARY: you were certain that you would never find love nor ever lose your virginity throughout university, that is until a man named Lee Sangyeon came into the picture and offered to become your tutor; in exchange for keeping your grades up, and most importantly, teaching you everything you needed to know about sex. it was all just for fun & games, that is until one of you started to develop feelings for the other.

PAIRING: tutor!Sangyeon x afab!reader

GENRE: smut (18+ MDNI!!)

WARNINGS: hakkie is here folks (poor man walks in on reader having sex), mentions about different kinks / positions, fingering (reader receiving), cum tasting (again Sangyeon makes you do it 😃), petnames (baby, princess), kissing, face riding, handjob, mentions of reader losing their virginity, teasing (friendly ones from hakkie and umm....the unholy ones from sangyeon 🤡), reader also starts to get bold 👀, hickeys, Sangyeon gets a nightmare...and he's not having fun.

WORD COUNT: 4,310

A/N: and so Haknyeon comes into the picture 👀

send me an ask/comment to join the series taglist! those in my permanent taglist will automatically be added!

It all felt as if the first day you met Sangyeon was but just a dream. Who would’ve thought that a simple drunk make-out with a random stranger would eventually end up as your very own tutor?

You didn’t really know if you would want to classify this as karma or fate—frankly, you have no idea what exactly you have gotten yourself into.

Even after three whole months.

Ever since you both agreed on this friends-with-benefits situation, you have been on a roller coaster of emotions every day. You won’t deny that Sangyeon is actually good at his job, as a teacher’s assistant. Being your tutor came with another benefit: you always had access to what you were expecting for the upcoming lectures. Sangyeon would often teach you ahead of what you needed to know. Hence, you were always fully prepared whenever you entered your professor’s classes, understanding the content way better than before.

Your grades have slowly been improving too, rising from a whopping 3.1 GPA to a 3.4, and you eventually were awarded as one of the best students who scored for their mid-term exams. In other words, your studies have been improving way better than you expected, if it wasn’t for Sangyeon, you would be fine just staying at a 3.0 GPA till you graduate in a few years.

Spending time with Sangyeon has also made you realise that he was a former senior at your university, and he even won the dean’s award for being the top student during this time. It was no wonder that he was a genius in his field, and he was likeable by all students and professors alike. Not only did he help your professor loads, but he also made sure that the other students were improving in their performance, with most of them being at 3.0 and above.

Though, you had something that the other students did not.

Sangyeon was a friend with benefits, or rather, your sex buddy.

You really didn’t know what to make of it at the start, and you certainly didn’t expect yourself to be filled with having tons of sexual activity with someone throughout your semester. You were certain that you would be single till you were in the workforce, or even not losing your virginity till then.

But then Sangyeon seemingly came into your life, and things just haven’t been the same.

Not only was he teaching you about your course, but he was also guiding you on how to pleasure your significant other in the best way possible. If it wasn’t for his current job, you were convinced that he would be much suited to be a sex guru and coach for a living or even a pornstar.

He had everything—good looks, mannerisms, and god he knew exactly how to treat a woman right.

There are a few times when you both have had rough sex, just like how you both went back to the auditorium when you both first made your agreement. Most of the time, it would be Sangyeon coming up with suggestions that you both could try out—cowgirl, breeding, you name it, you have mostly done them.

However, there was one thing that he had always kept consistently without fail.

Making you feel good. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

You craved Sangyeon’s touch; you absolutely love it when he makes love to you. Sure, it may be all just a treat for your hard work, but yet you have become dependent on them, and Sangyeon was more than happy to give it to you.

So here you were, sitting down at your wooden low table in your living room, where your textbook was opened, with some stationery and a cup of coffee and biscuits at the side. Sangyeon was tutoring you as usual, sitting beside you while giving you some little quizzes to finish today's revision.

With his fingers rubbing your now wet underwear.

“Tell me, Y/N. So what happens when you mix these two substances together?”

“T-They…will not…mix together because…hhhngh…of the different particle sizes…”

As much as you loved Sangyeon touching you, you were also having a mental breakdown trying to recall the things you had learnt for the day. His fingers are the ones to blame.

It was the way how you are always able to get wet for him easily with just a simple touch, your body often tenses up and sends signals all the way throughout your body. Next thing you knew, you would often find yourself wetting your underwear, turning him on as he begins rubbing them with a steady rhythm.

“S-Sangyeon…p-please let me cum…”

“Did you think you got the answers right, baby?”

“I-I’d like to think that I did…aaaahh!”

Immediately, you squirted all over your underwear, and it was now completely wet, your liquids oozing out from the sides that slowly flowed through Sangyeon’s fingers before he placed them in his mouth, sucking them completely.

“Aww, baby. Look at you all being all wet now; it was just a little fingering,” he teased.

Oh, right. You forgot to mention how not only was he good at pleasuring you, but he would also get cocky almost every time whenever he saw you becoming all vulnerable for him.

“S-Sangyeon…” you slowly crawl up to him, resting your palms on his chest as you give him a pleading look. “I…I need you…please.”

He gave you a sly smirk as he looked into your eyes. Then, he immediately snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You both decided to go for a different route than what you were usually used to, as you crawled on top of Sangyeon, and your dripping wet core was facing right up at Sangyeon’s face. You, on the other hand, were bent down where your mouth was right at the tip of Sangyeon’s cock.

Trying your best to focus on his cock, you gently grabbed hold of his cock as you moved up and down and a rhythmic movement. But oftentimes, you would stop in your tracks, for Sangyeon’s tongue just got deeper into your core, eating you out as good as always. A sudden rush of euphoria swept over you, causing your whole body to shiver just from that alone, making you unable to respond by returning the favour to Sangyeon.

You still held onto his cock, gliding your hands up and down as best as you could before you would often let out a whimper every time his tongue hit your g-spot.

“S-Sangyeon…I-I can’t…”

As much as you tried pleading with him, it didn’t seem he was planning to stop anytime soon. Instead, he picks up his pace, causing you to turn your whimpers into moans. At the back of your mind, you knew that you were always receiving from him, and you ought to return the favour. Pushing yourself with all of the energy you have had left, you then slowly took his cock into your mouth, slowly pushing it towards the back of your throat, before trying your best to pleasure your tutor just like he did to you.

In return, you could hear that he began groaning at that move that you made, causing you to quicken the pace to match his.

If he is going to make me cum loads, then I will do the same for him too.

You pick up your pace faster each minute, not giving each other room to breathe. Suddenly, you felt a tight knot form within your stomach; you knew that it would be anytime now that you were going to cum all over your tutor’s face. At the same time, Sangyeon’s precum was slowly oozing out from this tip, and you tried your best to make him cum just like you did at the same time.

Within a few seconds, you both finally came too, and you couldn’t help yourself as you basically gushed out all over Sangyeon’s face while his cum was dripping down your mouth rapidly. Your eyes suddenly widened at the way Sangyeon looked, and you quickly turned your positions around to apologise to the male frantically.

“Oh my god, I’m so so sorry, Sangyeon! I swear it wasn’t meant to be like this; I could’ve controlled myself better—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Sangyeon immediately rests his hand on your neck, pulling you down rapidly so that he completely shuts you up with his mouth—taking his sweet time swirling his tongue around yours. Eventually, you both immediately broke apart for a gasp of air before he gently laid your head down onto the very same pillow he was lying upon.

“You have done your deed in memorising what we have discussed earlier today; I’d say this is more than enough to repay me, don’t you think?”

Again, he leans close to you, sealing his lips with yours. But this time, it was all slow and sensual. Sangyeon carefully took his sweet time showering you with kisses, sometimes breaking apart to place them on your forehead, down to your cheeks, and neck. Ultimately, his lips will always find them back to yours, as if he hasn’t had enough of them yet.

You have practically lost count of how many times you’ve shared kisses with the man himself; you both have been in this whole friends-with-benefits situation for three months. But it seemed as if his kiss always meant something—it wasn’t all just for show and about having sexual intercourse; it was almost as if there was something there between you both, something indescribable.

Multiple times, you have always wanted to justify what exactly the two of you were, but you knew that deep down he was just a teacher’s assistant. He was here to tutor and help you improve your academic performance as well as your grades. Who would’ve thought that Sangyeon was nice enough to tutor you on other things at the same time, your sex life, to be exact. It was basically like killing two birds with one stone.

Isn’t it?

There are times when you have thought that meeting him back at the frat party was the best and worst mistake you have ever had. The good part about the whole situation was that your grades were improving significantly while you were pretty much having a pretty healthy sex life. However, it came with a cost: you being stuck in this uncertain feeling and constantly dealing with messed up emotions.

Was it a blessing? Or a curse?

Sangyeon doesn’t stop caressing your cheeks as he continues kissing you. Frankly, you both have been going on for at least ten minutes by now, taking some air breaks in between and then reconnecting your lips. It was like an addiction; you couldn’t stop, and neither could he.

All of a sudden, you heard a knock on your bedroom door, and it was too late for you both to recollect yourselves before the individual turned the doorknob and the door swung open.

“Y/N! It’s been a while— HOLY FUCK!!!”

It was total chaos there and then. Both you and the individual at your door screamed at the top of your lungs before the male slammed the door shut, panting and trying his best to get rid of the sight he had just seen before him.

You quickly got up, ran straight towards the bathroom, and slammed the door shut before leaning against it, quickly burying your face into both hands.

I messed up.

“For the hundredth time, it is not what it seems okay,” you reassured the young male, trying your best to rub his back as he took several deep breaths to calm his fast-beating heart down.

“The hell do you expect me to believe what you’ve said after witnessing whatever that was!!” The young male screamed out loud before turning his back to face you as he puckered his lips.

Haknyeon has always been like this. Although you both were the same age, he always felt like a brother to you. You have both been together since middle school and eventually even enrolled in the same university you were in. However, Haknyeon was away for the past year as part of his transfer programme abroad. You knew he was coming back sooner or later, but you weren’t expecting it to be today.

And how your first meetup was him walking in on you and Sangyeon having sex.

As much as you and Haknyeon have been texting one another every single day without fail for the past six months, you have omitted the fact that you met your tutor at a frat party who eventually became your teacher’s assistant for the entire semester and that you both have been in this messed-up friends-with-benefits situation for a good three months now.

And how you actually lost your virginity to this man.

Well, now that Haknyeon has witnessed it firsthand, there was no point hiding it back anymore because your childhood best friend actually reads you like a book—even the slightest shift in your usual demeanour, he would definitely be able to catch you red-handed within seconds.

So you did it, telling him about how you both met and ended up in the current situation, which you then earned a very concerned look from your friend. He slowly grabs your shoulder, squeezing them before looking deep into your eyes.

“Y/N…I don’t want to intrude. Well, I mean, it’s your own sex life. But are you completely certain about what you are doing? Or what you have gotten yourself into?” He asked worriedly; it seemed like he was about to cry for you.

In order to make it up to him, you gave him a little friendly peck on his cheek like how you’ve always done in the past when you both were younger, as it always seemed to calm him down and make things feel like it was all under control.

“Don’t worry, bestie; pinky promise that I’m all okay and great,” you stretched out your pinky towards him, making him sigh aloud before giving in to return the favour.

After the two of you talked things out for a bit, you quickly pulled him up from your couch and dragged him towards your front door, insisting that he put on his shoes and coat before leaving the house.

“Now, where the heck are you bringing me to this time?”

“Well, my best friend is back in Seoul. I think it’s time for a little bonding time together, no?”

“Y/N L/N, give me your bank account number right this second,” Haknyeon mumbled as he kept shoving almost all of the toasted waffles and ice cream right into his mouth, leaving you with little to no portion left to consume.

“Hey! Slow down! I paid for it; I deserve to eat more than you do!”

“Well, too bad you’re still as slow as you were back in kindergarten; that’s why you’re always second to last when it comes to getting the fresh pastries back in the school cafeteria,” he teased.

“You jerk.”

“You love me.”

It was just like the good old times—all of the endless bickering, competition, and taking things easy for a while. It seemed that whenever Haknyeon was around, your daily routine would suddenly go at a much steadier pace, rather than rushing through your unending assignments and university work, as well as the part-time job you often worked during summer breaks.

In fact, it always brings joy to you whenever you witness your best friend chow down on all kinds of food. He wasn’t awarded the best mukbang vlogger in town for no reason. Every time you witness your friend eat with the biggest smile on his face, you feel full, and seeing him eating so happily is more than enough to fill your hunger.

Ultimately, you decided it was best to give up. You propped your arms on the table and rested your chin on the palm of your hands, all while witnessing Haknyeon finish off the final few bites before he took the napkin situated at the corners to wipe off any excess cream on the side of his mouth.

It turns out your friend wasn’t the best at cleaning himself up, so you had to step in and lean forward to use your thumb to wipe it off for him instead, making his ears turn a crimson red almost within seconds.

“Weakling.”

“Shut up. I could’ve cleaned myself up squeaky clean if you’ve given me a couple more seconds,” he spat, clearly refusing to admit that he was terrible at what he did. You chuckled at his response with a pout, and you decided to lick off the cream that was on your fingers right in front of him, purposefully.

“Stop it,” he responded sternly.

“Stop what?” You asked playfully in return.

“Y/N, don’t act all dumb. You know exactly what you’re doing right now.”

“Hmm, yeah. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you continued to piss him off by licking your fingers dry while adding in the pop sound effects.

It wasn’t until Haknyeon finally grabbed hold of your arms that you stopped what you were doing mere seconds ago. “You’ve changed, and I’m not too sure if I like the new you.”

“What do you mean I’ve changed?”

“You tell me, Y/N. Ever since you started this whole “tutoring session” with that teacher assistant of yours, you’re just…not the same anymore.”

You have gotten cocky.

Now, that is something that you definitely did not expect to come right out of your best friend’s mouth; causing you to stare at him blankly while your eyes widened upon that response. At that time, something in you snapped, and you weren’t going to back down that easily from him, not when you both are also rivals for life.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Ju Haknyeon,” you deadpanned.

Just like that, it was more than enough to make Haknyeon yank your arm slightly so that you were merely inches apart, and you could feel his warm breath on you. That once cheerful look on his face was now long gone, replaced with something a lot more sinister and dark, sending chills down your spine.

“Just wait till we get back, Y/N. I’ll make sure you’ll regret what you just said to me.”

Little did either of you know that a familiar figure stood across the street, witnessing the scene unfold before his eyes and clenching his fists together.

Now you knew that you were to never mess with your best friend, for you left campus the following day with a few numb spots all across your body. Upon arriving home, he immediately dragged you into your bedroom, took one of your pillows and landed a powerful wack towards your shoulders, causing you to return the favour before your bedroom became an entire mess.

Turns out that your friend was far from done because you both eventually ended up on the bed brawling against each other, mostly Haknyeon tickling you all over your body and at certain spots where it would intentionally cause pain so that you wouldn’t be able to walk normally for the next 24 hours.

Serves you right, Y/N.

His words would constantly linger in your mind, and you would always furrow your brows whatever that image of his cocky face popped up mentally.

However, it was all fun and games, as this was something that you would often do whenever you were kids; both of you have always been competitive.

Now that Haknyeon was back from his transfer programme, he was finally back on campus, which also meant that you both were able to hangout a lot more often than before. Thankfully, both of your schedules more or less matched one another, and you both would often meet up for lunch and even walk back home together after lectures.

In the blink of an eye, a couple of weeks had passed, and it was now spring break. All the students were off for the entire week, and you decided to head back to Jeju Island with Haknyeon to visit his family. It has always been like a second home to you, and you would often spend your summer holidays there without fail.

While you were busy spending time with your best friend Haknyeon throughout the new season, that also meant that you weren’t seeing your tutor as much as before. In fact, multiple times, you would’ve either cancelled or postponed your tutoring sessions because Haknyeon insisted that he could help you with your assignments.

As a result, you have spent little to no time with Sangyeon ever since that encounter with Haknyeon, witnessing you both having sex at your apartment back then. Sangyeon only managed to spend about a day or two before you completely vanished from his schedule.

Allegedly, now that you weren’t hogging up his schedule any more, Sangyeon should’ve got a lot more time to focus on his actual work and help out the rest of the students in class—which he did since he no longer had to focus solely on you.

But the problem is, it just didn’t sit right with him.

Sangyeon ultimately has no idea why that is so, considering that you both made a pact when you first agreed on this whole contract situation. He knew he would eventually have to leave when his job was done and move on to his next job.

But he wasn’t ready to let that go just yet for some reason.

In fact, he was nowhere to be done with you.

You have no idea how you ended up the way you are right now.

At one moment, you were gaming on your PS5, which you had just gotten not too long ago since you were keen on hopping onto the craze of the latest Spider-Man games. The next thing that happens, you are now sitting on Haknyeon’s lap, your shorts pulled all the way down and eventually thrown towards the other end of the room.

Your legs were spread apart with Haknyeon’s strong muscles, and he was now rubbing your wet underwear in a circular motion, causing you to moan softly and eventually forget about the game that you were preoccupied with minutes ago.

As you have gotten one of your arms wrapped around his neck, Haknyeon takes in the opportunity to also lean closer and begin licking your neck, leaving subtle kisses while sucking on them eventually, intentionally leaving a hickey behind.

“Hmm…Haknyeon…keep it coming, it feels so so good…”

“Yeah? You like it when I kiss you like that?”

“Very much…”

“How about this?” He pauses for a moment before pulling your underwear to the side so that now he was now rubbing your dripping clit, making you raise your volume slightly.

“Aww, look at you, being all so wet for me already when I haven’t even inserted my fingers into you,” he teased, not letting you think straight as he began sucking on another spot, this time closer to your collarbone.

“N-No…Haknyeon…you can’t do it there…Sangyeon is going to find out—”

“And what if he does? What is he going to do, come for my ass? I’ll make sure he knows who he will be messing with.” Just like that, he immediately inserts two fingers into your cunt, pumping them in and out rapidly, causing you to yelp at that sensation.

“N-No Hakkie! I will cum- FUCK!”

“Just like that baby, cum for me,” he groans, quickening the pace as he feels that you’re coming close.

“Ugh! Faster! FASTER!!” You shuddered, all while your grip against his t-shirt tightened, and his fingers finally hit your g-spot.

Within the next few seconds, your moans echoed throughout the whole room as your liquids came gushing out from your body, basically creating an entire puddle on your couch as you came down from your high.

Immediately, Haknyeon forcefully grabbed your chin and turned you to face him before kissing you feverishly, not giving you space even to catch your breath.

“I bet- Sangyeon couldn’t- make you gush out- so much juices like I’ve done-” he muttered between the kisses.

“N-No…It’s just you…you only, Haknyeon-ie-” you answered.

“Now that’s my good princess,” he smirked before pushing you down onto the couch before hovering over you. “You know what will make you feel better?” Haknyeon asked as he yanked down his pants, his erected crotch was now already dripping wet, just like you were beforehand.

Instantly, he brought his tip close to your entrance, rubbing it up it down, making you whine and beg for him to insert it into you right this moment.

“Please…Haknyeon…just give it to me…I need you so badly…”

“Tell me that again, princess. I need to know if you want me more than the other guy.”

“Y-Yes! I just want you, and you only,” you cried, and that was when Haknyeon immediately pushed his member fully into you, not caring if your screams were going to tear down your apartment.

“Fuck- fuck- FUCK!!”

No.

No!

NOOO!!

Sangyeon immediately shot up from bed, sweat dripping down his face as he tried to calm his fast-paced breathing. It was currently only 3 in the morning, and he had about 5 more hours left before he eventually needed to get up to head out for work.

Unlucky for him, he was now wide awake and shocked to the core. That nightmare felt so real, and he couldn’t even believe he had ever had such a dream.

With that, Sangyeon forcefully lies back down on his bed with a loud thump, bringing one of his palms up to cover his eyes before his fist clenches again.

This time, he was fucked.

A/N: team sangyeon / team hakkie? 👀

series masterlist

main masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @flwoie @daisyvisions @momhwa-agenda @snowflakewhispers @mamuljji @synthwxve @j4edo @serinebsblog @strayed-quokka (join my permanent taglist here!)

49 notes · View notes