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dilftaroooo · 5 months

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Being perverted strikes naturally within Gojo, so when the idea of being a step brother comes to mind during sex he can’t help but act upon the roleplay. You think he’s gross for it, but his questionable passion for it keeps you engaged (oddly enough).

☆word count: 6.3k+

★tags/tw(18+): dark content + stepc*st roleplay + foot f*tish + toe sucking (f!recieving) + dubcon (because reader is unsure at first) + reader is college-aged/gojo is 28 + squirting + age gap + vanilla sex + pubic hairs + scent kink + implied ass eating + hesitancy + reader is afab using she/her pronouns + mentioned latex kink + use of 'satoru-nii' + established relationship + gojo is a lil' mean + and sassy + lots of kissing + nipple play + creampie + getting caught having s*x + exploring kinks + praise kink + pet names + skull fucking + gag reflex + snot + we're talkin' 'big beefy whore with black compression shirt' gojo here + reader is a bit inexperienced + questions of certain kinks.

☆a/n: hey alexa, play 'poundtown by sexyy red' ayyye come suck a bitch's toooes. enjoy y'all, this shit nasty af.

You’re not a kink shamer.

You understand the sexual thrills of getting off to something that turns one on to the point of fulfilled ecstasy–weighted breaths and skin coated with a sheen of sweat from the unorthodox fantasies that provoke the human mind and manipulate the human body, keeping them bound to the shackles of pleasure as their perversion engulfs them whole. It feels beautiful–ethereal, dare you say, and you get that. Who wouldn’t want to feel blissfully satisfied just by mere thought alone?

Now, exclusive of the deranged fetishes involving children, scat, or whatever fucked up shit out there that's befitting for a lowlife, you would say that you're a pretty open-minded individual. Always tolerating the naughty anecdotes told by your friends’ concerning their past hookups, distinctively remembering the giggles you all shared when reciting one of the stories from a particular friend that had them clad in a latex suit, lips decorated with ruby red, and three-inched heels coming into contact with the cheek of their previous partner as they squirmed in shameless arousal.

‘It was pathetic to see, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t get me going…’ And that mutuality between both parties is what makes it even more fun. They both get a kick out of something they enjoyed, so what’s to hate about it?

You’re not a kink shamer–not at all.

You and your boyfriend of a year and four months, Satoru Gojo, always carried the qualities of a couple depicted in unrealistic romance movies: the nuzzle of the nose that tickled your cheek before delving in for a peck, the surprise hugs he’d startle you with as you prepared an early morning breakfast, as well as the intertwined fingers while you both make your way to his favorite bakery (his kisses are even more sugared after scarfing down the kikufuku he’d order no more than a minute ago).

You always felt like the princess to his prince, stumbling over your gown to keep up with his hurried footsteps as you both venture through the gracious evergreen of a mythical forest. You have no time to remove the pastel violet and pink petals slotting themselves in your locks since your hand remains occupied with Satoru’s, moving exquisitely to the melodic song of the nightingales. It was a dream from a childhood storybook.

Moreover, what was revealed in public was, undoubtedly, the same in the comfort of your bedroom, living at your university’s on-campus apartment that you shared with two indifferent roommates. He would frequently stop by after work to spoil you with his affection. Always asking how your day was and whether or not you finished your assignments.

He was a tad bit older than you–twenty-eight and going, but you didn’t mind the age gap, it gives you all the more reason to tease him for his ‘old’ age, to which he responds with a pout and furrowed eyebrows, ‘Oh, how mean! Who would’ve ever thought that my darling angel could be such a devil…?!’ He’d say with faux anguish. He knows you’re only playing around–such the jokester.

Though, he couldn’t say the same for you in bed. Protected by the warmth of your sheets, you relished at how accustomed your body and soul were to his heartfelt transactions, vanilla-flavored sex, so sweet and tasteful on your tongue as he kissed you with want. Tongues twirling a sensual dance as your lips combine in rhythmic harmony. You also loved it when he coos in your ear, reminding you of how you’re so good to him before wrapping his lips around puffy areolas in a way that makes you writhe.

He’s so gentle with you. Handling a fine china cabinet with the utmost care, he makes sure he touches you in ways that wouldn’t break your fragile body. And when your nude skin presses against his as a result of his thrusts to your core, he reminds himself to get you moaning in his ear and get your hands gripping against the muscular curvature of his back.

It feels good. It always feels good. So, why does a part of you feel…bored?

The love is there, you won’t question that. When you come, you feel as though you’re one with the stars. And above all, he praises you. It’s nothing new, but in this context, you like to be his ‘pretty girl’ whenever the tip of his nose pushes against your wet clit. So, why do you feel like something is missing? You don’t know.

You haven’t been in many relationships. The last one you remember was in high school, dating a boy who only loved you out of teenage fever, and you shamefully admit that you reciprocated his confession. You were both young and unknowing of what the aspects of ‘love’ really meant. You never went past the boundary of hand-holding and cheek-kissing, so it remained stagnant until the moment you both broke up.

None of it was mutual, however. You can recall how distraught you were as you bawled in your mother’s arms, asking her what you did wrong while she soothed you with maternal pets to the crown of your head. That being said, it’s safe to say that you really don’t know what’s missing from you and your boyfriend’s intercourse–like, really.

But, thankfully, Satoru makes up for what you lack, telling you not to fret since he knows a lot and letting you know how much he’s been wanting to get to this point of intimacy with you–wanting to whisk his girlfriend away from the comfort zone that you’ve grown so attached to.

Satoru is without exception, enthusiastic to portray more during times of intercourse, yearning to teach you more than just the fluffy, domestic sex you both indulge in. It’s lovely and all, bleh bleh, whatever, Satoru gets it, but, man, what he wouldn’t do to see you on your knees, between his sinewy thighs parted for your form as he hovers above you, your head tilted upwards to take in his thick shaft through wet lips.

He’d make sure his red, throbbing tip hits the back of your throat so he can hear that sickening gag scurry out your mouth paired with the sloppy froth of your saliva slapping against his heavy balls with each quick thrust. He’d be too occupied to find the snot dribbling from your nose revolting because you’d be taking him in so deep.

That’s forever been his little fantasy–that amongst the vast amount of others. And to try each and every one of them with you would be a delight.

After you confessed to Satoru, you couldn’t help but notice how peculiar his ministrations started to get. It was gradual–starting with spanks on your ass to eating said ass. You’ll even bring up the time he used your feet to get off. It caught you off guard, you’d admit.

That day he had you pliable–on your knees with the left apple of your cheek flushed in the pillow beneath you and arms resting idly on your sides as you allowed your enthralled boyfriend to take the lead.

You assumed he was just gonna spit on your already-soaked pussy before massaging your puffy clit in the teasing, clockwise motions he likes to test you with, cock oozing with leakage before languidly gliding upwards to push in-between your cunt lips, but what you didn’t assume he’d do was trace his slimy precum against the soft skin of your toes to then rub his tip across your soles.

You tried to retract your feet away from him (toes wiggling in the process which had them accidentally graze across his balls. You could’ve sworn you heard him hiss) and protest his weird behavior but Satoru was already three steps ahead, firmly gripping both feet and nearly squishing them together if it wasn’t for the thick base of his cock preventing them from touching.

Each thrust he made ached with raw fervor and fuck him from being incapable of suppressing his passion because he couldn’t help but look down and see your cute pussy pucker and asshole twitch. What a sight for sore, cerulean eyes. Just as sore as your ass after he slapped it with an ever-so-firm hand, silently thanking his calluses for the rough impact.

He found it adorable how your shimmering entrance craved for insertion, winking rhythmically at him as though it’s saying, ‘Please fill me up, ‘toru! ‘M so lonely without you…’ (he chuckles to himself at the personification when done in a high-pitched tone).

But your pussy always gets his attention. You have another hole too, ya’ know–one that sits right above it, unused and virginal. Just imagine his excitement as he leans forward, cock still buried at the innermost part of your feet, to take a closer look. He’d smile at your coyness when you felt his hot breath blow on your skin, unsure of his next move.

In this new position, he can trace the faint smell of sweat emerging from you, and God, does that turn him on. More than it already does. So of course he had to steal a taste, trailing a fat strip of saliva against the rim, you squeal at the warm and wet feel of his tongue touching a place it had never been before,

“S-Satoru…what the fuck!” You jolted before moving from your position, migrating to any spot as long as it's far from your lover. You’ll never forget the sleazy look on Satoru’s face as both corners of his rosy lips tilt upwards for a cocky grin–yuck.

It grossed you the fuck out.

Not in a way that antagonizes your boyfriend, you love him too dearly to feel as such, but in a way that questions his morals. Why on earth would someone like Satoru want to be minimized to using the bottom of your soles for pleasure or savor the briny taste of sweat that builds up around the tight ring of your ass? I-I mean, you excrete from there, for God’s sake! That’s gross, especially in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

You understand that he likes doing it, but why? How could something so perverse and dirty get him hard so quickly? Where’s his shame? His humiliation? His guilt? Were they not present whenever he sneaks a lick at your toes?

Perhaps you are trying to understand–who wouldn’t want to indulge in their lover’s feet, to caress the tough surface of their heels, and lead up their toes, to draw soft lines against them with plush lips as their medium before dipping them inside the wet cavern of their mouth and sucking the small digits before swirling their tongue and–ugh!–no! No, no, no, that’s sick! How can one do such a thing with ease? You can’t possibly imagine that.

But you’re not a kink shamer…right?

Your question remains unanswered, though, as you’re interrupted by Satoru’s moistened kisses trailing down the curve of your neck. You must’ve been in your daze for quite some time considering that the camisole top and loose shorts you lounge in took their positions on your bedroom floor.

“Come back to me, baby.” You hear your boyfriend murmur and you deliberately oblige by running your digits through the white sea of his mane, wild and free as your fingers feather against his roots. He hums with love before leaving a kiss that's sloppier than the previous one. It starts with your usual routine, with soft and tenderhearted sex.

He pecks at your clavicle and you whimper in return as silvery lashes tickle the most sensitive areas of your skin. The passionate atmosphere continues to flow within the four walls of your room–containing your moans and your kisses and your touches, reverberating them in your heated figures while filling you both with distinct pleasure. It was good so far.

“Have any ideas in mind for tonight, sweetheart?” His voice is muffled as he joyfully sucks at the skin between the valley of your breasts, teeth clasping over the hot flesh to induce a mark darker than what your skin tone provides. You hold onto the fabric of his black shirt, soundlessly wondering why he is still garbed in unbreathable polyester while you remain bare save from your panties.

Lolling your head to the side in thought, you dwell on his question. Should you have something in mind? This isn’t the same as getting asked where to eat for dinner, per se. And owning to your inexperience with sex and fetishes, you’re incapable of bringing anything to the table in this sense.

You open your jaw, mouth filled with saliva due to the raunchy actions performed by your boyfriend onto your supple body, ready to speak your retort as you lick your chapped lips in preparation, but, Satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” It’s like he was born to study you. Your eyes travel to his person again, orbs resting upon Satoru’s scalp as you wait for him to finish. “Nothing in that gorgeous head of yours. It’s okay, though. I don’t blame you. I know an amateur like you wouldn’t have anything planned.”

As might be expected, your brow raises at his comments slightly glazed with a patronizing drip, it’s gotten your attention, all right, as you turn your head to glare down at him. He’s sucking on your nipples this time and you forge a jerk but don’t falter, perked up by this newfound attitude from your loving partner.

“Oh?” You start and it carries the same uppity weight as his tone. “And I suppose you have it all figured out?”

He nods right after gazing up at you with arctic globes saturated with a heavy rush of sincerity and you can already feel the dreamy sigh materializing in your throat but never emerging. Satoru immediately sniffed out the indignance behind your words like a trained bloodhound. He rises from his spot upon your heaving chest to travel his way to the swoll of your chin, apologizing with a quaint kiss.

“I do,” His smile is affectionate. “You know I always do, sunshine.” You gasp once something hard nudges against your squishy thighs before poking the outermost part of your panties.

“-Always think of something for that little cunt.” It isn’t long before it's cast to the side for clear access to your glimmering slit, doused in slick because your boyfriend had a remarkable way of handling you. He didn’t miss the embarrassed mewl of his name when he used filthy words.

He also didn’t miss the pull of air you took in as his thick finger swept up your bodily remnants, coating the fingertips of his middle and ring finger. You voluntarily buck your feeble hips in desire for him to push through your entrance but you know he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “You know, it gets me going when we do stuff like this when others aren’t around–when we do something so forbidden.”

What–?

“Forbidden…?” Each syllable muddles your tongue as you ponder on its meaning: something that typically isn’t allowed or accepted–you’re not unaware, it’s a simple word, but is that the word he meant to say? “Why would it be forbidden? You’re my boyfriend, are you not?” Unless there’s something you’re unknowing of.

Perhaps he has a wife that he kept hidden in the shadows of his past. What if one wife turned into several wives? Maybe he’s a bloodthirsty murderer, ready to indulge in his next killing after getting you to trust his charming blue eyes and pink-liped smile. You don’t exactly know what the forbidden aspect of it all that he’s keeping from telling you-

You hear him ‘tsk’ and you assume it was meant to be taken seriously but it seems covered in mockery.

“Hah, Boyfriend? Have you no shame?” And he chuckles deep and grimy. “Don’t act like don’t know, dear.” You honestly don’t. “What would our parents think if they saw you, my sweet, little sister, grinding her greedy pussy against her older brother’s fingers?”

Oh.

Oh God.

Gritting your teeth for an evident cringe, you hurriedly toss your head to the side to break eye contact (how did he even manage to hold it for that long despite what he just said?!). There’s no way he’s doing this. Out of all kinks…

“For the love- Satoru. Stop, that’s fucking-” A sharp whine halts your sentence, stressed to the point of exaggeration. You don’t bother looking back up at him, already imagining his brows creasing with complaint at your disgusted remark.

“Ehh, what happened to ‘Satoru-nii’?” You almost would’ve forgotten the fingers sketching light circles on your sensitive button, going in for a pinch before tapping it aimlessly due to its slippery surface.

You clench your thighs together but Satoru’s heaping form prevents you from doing so. He’s a big mass of muscle reminiscent of a bull–broad shoulders along with thickened veins peeking through tough skin in the forms of streams, carrying the pulsing blood flow of adrenaline and transporting through each significant section of the body to energize his raging carnality.

“Are my fingers dwindling your vocabulary already? I just started using this pussy, sugar plum.”

A part of you wanted to believe he was joking–trolling like he usually does on literally every occasion. He knows how acquiescent you were in situations like these. So easily obedient to follow his golden rule when clinging to his hip, taking full advantage of your attributes to get you to do the perverted shit that spoiled his brain to corruption.

Of course, there’d be times when you’d retaliate, shouting out a brief ‘no’ before leaving the conversation unfinished, but it’s okay because he can butter you up to your good side. Use his words and his hands to do the convincing. Satoru has attributes of his own too.

But gazing into his eyes and seeing how aquatic blue dissolves into crimson red, only driven by lust, tells you he’s serious.

You look off to the side once more because staring at your nightstand is more soothing than staring at your deviant boyfriend. Out of all kinks, why this one?

“I don’t,” You close your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself free from his piercing glare. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You weren’t about to do this. You weren’t about to play into his wicked fantasies of being a relative of any sort. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.

“Don’t be like that, babe.” He mutters softly as if other people were in the room, prying with open ears to catch whatever dialogue is being transmitted between the two of you. A fingertip taunts at your sloppy entrance, just barely shoving past its tight grip. Sexual anticipation surged through your core at his ministration (his giggles at your hopelessness didn’t help you any). “You won’t know unless you try. Come on, do it for me?”

He’s too cute to refuse when your peripherals pick up his bottom lip raising upwards for a pout and feather-like lashes fluttering over glossy, blue orbs. Practically, begging you to follow through with this look alone–if only he wasn’t so handsome and used his charm against you in every way possible. God damn it-

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Then you’re my antidote.”

You exhale in defeat since you unfortunately realize there’s no way out of this. Satoru’s too adamant to get you to play along with him, it’s insane. Turning your head to fully face him, which feels like the one-millionth time you’ve done so, you look him in the eye before aiming at the button of his nose, upturned and perky. Mentally getting ready to produce the God-forsaken words you are about to utter.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You start and the way Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas irks you.

You still feel mortification swirl in your skull like second nature. Your cheeks feel hot and it hurts–were you really about to do this?

Satoru was still teasing you to no end. Teasing that doubtlessly wet pussy with expertise. He was killing you by not giving you what you craved, only remaining on the surface as he waited for your verdict. Just one more push, one more shove and you’ll get there.

“And why is that?” He inquires.

Your bottom lip quivers with hesitation before an erotic groan escapes you. He’s so close to putting them inside. “Because you’re-” You pause to wait for a sliver of courage to finish your sentence. You’re not sure if you can-

“...I’m?” He continues.

You both catch on to the shaky breaths you’re letting out, two separate bodies feeling two separate emotions, one agitated and the other electrified.

“You’re my,” You tense but Satoru loosens. “-my b-brother.” He’s the Cheshire cat as of now. You wail once two fingers invade your thirsty hole, entering with a mushy squelch.

“And what is it that we’re doing, huh? What is it that we’re doing that would be so revolting to the public eye, hm? Tell me.” Can he stop pushing you already, for crying out loud?

“You fingering my, my,”

“You got it, keep going.”

“...fingering my p-pussy.”

Satoru cherishes your hesitance and rewards you, his obedient puppy.

Digits curl upwards in search of that sensitive g-spot resting amongst your gushy insides. If applied enough pleasure, he’d be able to see how your back arches off your cotton sheets. Your mouth opens for a silent scream as the force of his fingers supports the buildup of liquid passion, pounding the area in addition to his palm rubbing your stiff clit the deeper he goes.

“There you go, my sweet girl, my gorgeous, little sister.” He fingers you harder and sucks at your erect nipples–when did they get so hard? As a matter of fact, when did your body feel so hot and needy? As though you’re deprived of something.

Your boyfriend sucks at your tit before biting the small nub, grazing his teeth along sensitive skin for a chomp, causing your hands to fly to his head and grip the fur of his undercut, all while wincing in pain. He retracts his head with your nipple still in his mouth, giving it a stern tug like an elastic rubber band. You would have cursed him out if it wasn’t for the fingers still beating at your nether regions.

“Ah, S-Satoru!” He bites harder and you remember his request from earlier. “Satoru-nii.”

As if you hear a winner's buzzer, he hums in approval and releases before gorging his lips around the other one, gently guzzling it this time, skillfully whirling his wet appendage around the nub in combination with hungry sucks. He unloosens with an obnoxious, wet pop!

“M’so glad your mom married my dad. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little sister’s pussy like how I’m doing now. Wouldn’t that be so sad?!” He inquires gleefully. “I’d be so miserable–jerking myself off to meaningless porn when I could be stuffing my big dick deep inside your aching cunt. Hearing you moan out how much you love your older brother for making you squirt your sticky juices all over me. You even got your hairs trimmed in the way you know I love.”

The sound of fabric grinding against fabric fills your ears as he maneuvers his head to reach down to your pelvis, stuffing his nose on top of the shortened pubes, his mouth hangs dangerously over your clitoris.

He takes in a deep breath like he’s smelling the fresh air of healthy trees and freshly cut grass, basking in your heady scent while feeling his cock go rigid in the plush of your mattress.

Too aroused to feel embarrassed, you buck your hips so you can finally get his mouth on your itching button and he finally compels, switching between sucking in your clitoral hood and tonguing your labia. Satoru moves his fingers faster in hopes of provoking your climax. He knows your proximity by noting the way your thighs tremble and toes spread across your sheets.

You finally get to the stage you’ve been craving since the beginning of this session. Releasing your fluids onto your awaiting boyfriend, the grip at the nape of his neck more powerful than before, you squeal a brief ‘Satoru-nii!’ as he proceeds to lap at your overstimulated pussy. He’s now sparkling with your juices. Satoru sits up on his knees after wrapping his buff arm around the width of your shoulders to hoist you up and get you closer to his thighs, your figure remains seated as you process what he wants you to do–he wants you to suck him off.

So you lean your sweat-stained face over his clothed member and unwrap it like a Christmas present you’d save for last because it's so big. His cock springs up rudely and smacks at his now naked abdomen (when did he take off his shirt?) with a loud clap. His abs are so detailed and his pecks puff out in pride while he looks down on you, like his little servant.

He controls the length of his cock with a stern hand and traces ivory white lipstick over the plump of your mouth, a hazy web of precum connecting to your upper lip.

“Wrap those beautiful lips over my cock, darling angel. You know it makes me happy to see you stuffed full with my dick, no matter the hole.” He cheeses when he hears a quick scoff come out of you.

You listen anyhow, swallowing the tip of your big brother’s rod, hallowing your cheeks like a skeleton to circling your tongue around its rosy circumference. You feel your remaining cum dribble onto your bed when you hear him make a guttural moan from above. Clenching his ass cheeks as fingers place themselves on top of your head like an armrest, laying idly as of now.

“Oh shit, baby, yeah, just like that. Keep sucking me off juuust like that.” He bucks his hips impatiently once you decide to devour him up to the mid-base, continuing the actions of sucking in your cheeks to tighten around his cock. “Fuck!” He mewls before chuckling humorlessly.

He stares down and you look up. Your eyelids roll back til they’re just below your brow ridge to catch sight of azure undertones. You were just about to wonder why he was tittering until pressure made its way to both sides of your head. When his pearly white smirk twinkled under dim lighting, that's when you knew-

“Hmphh,” The noise was pitiful when subdued by the heavy weight of Satoru’s cock.

“Hold still, pretty girl.” He coos before pushing his hips back and applying the same manner to your head as he controlled you effortlessly and then thrusting forward and forcing your head to do the same. His balls slap on impact with your chin when he buries himself deep into the hot cavern of your throat, you have your nostrils planted on the silvery wisps of his pubes, reeking of potent masculinity. He leaves you in that position, powerless as he ignores the smacks to his meaty thighs.

“Hold it,” He warns. His voice is pitched below the Earth’s surface. “Gotta teach you how to please big bro properly.” You fight hard as his tip keeps irritating the thing that hangs at the back of your throat, trying to oppose your body from naturally activating your gag reflex but it ends up being fruitless. Your throat convulses as it bulges with his cock print and you cough out an ugly sound. Your vision blurs once you feel your eyes start to water up. You want him to move back already!

“Good.” It’s like he heard your thoughts because he finally retracts from his perfect spot lodged in your gullet. His swollen tip tickles the surface of your lips as you gasp several breaths of air. Just what was he thinking? You could’ve puked!

“What the hell was- mmph!” Halted by another intrusion of his cock burying itself in the pits of your throat, you muffle out a sound of surprise. You couldn’t believe it.

Satoru starts, “Less talking from you, sunshine. I wanna hear you slobber on my dick. Think you can do that for me?” He quickens up the pace of his thrust, going at the speed of someone walking. You gag disgustingly at each thrust and you can feel snot starting to leisurely slip from your nose (just what he wanted to see).

“That’s a messy girl, my messy sister. Got you, hah, so worked up you even got snot dripping from your nose and your spit running down my balls. Oh, you don’t know how much I longed for this.” He resumes his praises and tips back his head for a howl, feeling himself approaching his end as he hears you glurg, glurg, glurg on his veiny member.

“Oh shit, shiiit…!” Suddenly, you’re abruptly pushed off of him, freeing your esophagus from the restraint. Your back lands on the bed with a thud, your landing protected by your doughy comforter. Satoru stands motionless as he recovers from edging himself to oblivion. Biting his lip, his cock twitches up and down before it gradually remains unmoving.

You don’t even remember it happening, but you’re already restricted underneath Satoru’s panting body, thighs folded backward for a mating press, squeezing your squishy tits together, and feet perched on top of his shoulders. He takes his infamous spot between your legs, his overworked hands, decorated in calluses and scars, cuff around the underside of your knees.

He gifts you a heated kiss on your lips. “‘Toru-nii-” You say while struggling to keep up with his tongue. He breaks away from you and the string of saliva snaps into two.

“I hear you, baby, want me inside you already, I know, hear you loud ‘n’ clear.” His tip finds your entrance and it's sopping wet tenfold. He’s never seen you so needy in his life. He pushes in slowly and smoothly. Relishing your moans as he delves within you inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. You squirm in lascivious desire each time he enters you.

“I know, sugar, I know…” He soothes you upon hearing your sobs go up an octave. His head rests at the empty spot next to your neck and his hair tickles the crevice. “Almost there.”

As soon as he sinks deep in your warm cunt, he pecks your cheek with a softness that resembles duck feathers in a pillow before plummeting into you. A pornographic squelch resounds through your room.

“Hnn, T-Toru-nii is, so deep, ah, in my pussy!” You yelp. He’s so glad you’re still following his gross footsteps. So dazed by his cock hitting every ridge nestled within you.

“Yes, that’s right, little sis. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, right?”

You give a nod, “Yes, I will. I always will. Just f-for you.”

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s what I like to hear.”

He inclines his torso backward, finding his attention on the feet placed at each side of his shoulders, more specifically, the one to his left as he grabs your ankle with ease, stroking the bone and putting your pedicured toe between wanting lips, your french tips hitting the roof of his mouth while lapping at your salty skin.

His pelvis hammers into you at a steady rate in combination with the gushes emerging from both sexes, it's so damn loud, you’re quite sure your Resident Assistant will come banging at your door frantically, telling you to lower it down because of the noise complaints that lead to your room.

You giggle, not just at the thought but at how much it tickles to feel Satoru’s tongue swirl around each toe.

“Satoru, that tickles.” You quip and the aforementioned man stares at you with knowing lids, purposely tasting your soles which have you trying to take your foot away, but the position you’re in makes it impossible.

You feel as though hours go by as your older brother pushes on with fucking you silly and having a makeout session with your foot. His v-line collides with your poor pussy on every steady beat and you can’t help but let your earlier accusations fall from your mind like slippery soap.

The revulsion, the distaste, the discomfort–all of which were confined in a silk-woven case, trapped and compacted hitherto its evolution of approval. Although tentativeness plagues its cycle, the result remains beauteous as a cherry red butterfly protrudes through the rotten surface of the cocoon. The successful escapee finally swarms the sky with a setting sun.

It feels good. You feel good. Your pussy feels good as your step brother pounds it with intent–with purpose. You wiggle like a fearful worm ready to be eaten once the need to release creeps up slowly.

“My little sister always manages to feel so good. This pussy is just gripping me so fucking tightly and-” He stops abruptly and so do your moans as you hear your front door creak open.

The sound of jiggling keys and the chaotic trembling of plastic bags alert both your ears as you hear the door slam shut accompanied by a relieved sigh. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand–‘10:35 PM’. One of your roommates is back from work. Coming home to rest easy from their enervating shift, she wants nothing more than to take a scalding hot shower, laze in her bed, and listen to nothing but silence as she drifts off to sleep.

But before those temptations come into play, she first wants to check up on you to see if you’re still in your room. Walking up sluggishly to your door, she raises a hand to prepare a few knocks while you and Satoru both stare wide-eyed at the shadow that occupies the crevice beneath your bedroom door–still like Michelangelo's statues.

“Hey, (Name), you in there?” The pause is long as you look up to Satoru and see his gaping mouth transform into a smirk before turning your attention to the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You ask, slightly hoping that your answer will satisfy her queries on your safety before retreating to her room.

“After work, I took a quick trip to the store for some wings and frozen pizza if you’d like some. Even got honey-barbeque-” You smile at her gentle antics. She remembered your favorite flavor.

“Oh, thanks, I really appreciate th-oh!” You’re stopped once Satoru resumes pounding your sloppy pussy. You cover your mouth in an attempt to conceal your yap but a strong hand grabs both wrists to cuff them above your head.

“Keep talkin', sis. Can’t leave mom pondering, now can we?” He whispered with precaution. That devious little-

“H-Hey? Are you okay?” The squishy slaps of both Satoru’s precum and your wet fluids compose a cacophonic symphony. Shit, if he keeps going, you’ll-

“Yeah, m-mhm. I-I’m, fuuuck, fine.” Satoru grins maniacally above you his hot breath pasts your cheek and into your ear. The tip of his cock abuses your cervix as he compacts you tightly under giant muscle, arms littered with bulging purple and blue veins as he keeps you steady. His pubes tickle your clit whenever his hips kissed yours. Both breaths were getting heavy.

“Are you sure, you sound…sick.” Her words were laced with worry as she stood there, unmoving. “Do you need for me to come in?”

Satoru finds her naivety hilarious but decides it's time to break the barrier. He does so by raising his hips to an exaggerated extent before hammering back into you, the sound much louder than before as clapping fills the atmosphere. He guarantees your roommate will pick it up. Which she does.

“Wait, are you-” She gasps when she hears your sobbing moans echo in her ears. “Oh my God.” You’re too fucked stupid to give a reply when she blurts out an embarrassed ‘sorry!’ before taking hurried footsteps away from your door.

“Guess we scared her off, huh?” Knowing damn well he was the one who only made the effort to let your roommate know you were being pounded to oblivion. “Think she’s gonna tell everyone about this? Tell everyone how her son and daughter ruin the family name because we were caught fucking each other in your room?” He’s quick to pick up in your roleplay.

“Hnngh, I don’t know, ‘Toru.”

“I’m quite sure she will. What do you say, sweet girl, how about we both give a real reason to soil the family name and let me come in this pussy?” His thrusts start to stutter with each filthy word–cream drips from your cunt and down to the tight rim of your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you groan quietly.

“Answer me now, sweetheart, or Satoru-nii is gonna-”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck. Please come inside me, please, ‘don’t care about anyone in this family but you! Come inside me, Satoru-nii!”

With that being said, he fulfills your wish by giving you one, big thrust and stilling his cock deep in his little sister’s pussy to pump his hot seed in increments. Whimpering loudly as he does so. His face contorts in the cutest grimace that you wish you could smooch. You heavily breathe in unison until he pulls out of you (fingering his remaining cum back into your fluttering hole).

He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and lastly your lips before saying, “You did so well for me.”

And it’s after this session that have you thinking–‘perhaps you do get it’.

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk smut #jjk x reader #tw:stepcest #tw:foot/fetish #tw:dubcon

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weasleyreidstyles · 5 months

Text

Serendipity Masterlist

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

series status: ongoing

“serendipity is the phenomenon of discovering something interesting or valuable by chance”

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18. and bellatrix isn't mattheo's mother in this fic (just fyi)

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

general warning(s): 18+ content, angst, fluff, some canon compliance, some canon divergence, typical wizarding world violence, war, torture, drugging, hospitals, familial problems, mean!harry, mean!ron....

** indicates smut warning

~∞~ chapter one

chapter summary: on the trainride to your sixth year, your friends give you a proposition that you can't refuse.

~∞~ chapter two

chapter summary: it's your first day back as a sixth year student. Classes are more intense and your first lesson with Mattheo ensues.

~∞~ chapter three

chapter summary: the first Hogsmeade trip of the year has a rather unpleasant ending.

~∞~ chapter four

chapter summary: after you end up confined to the Hospital Wing, you're surprised when Professor Dumbledore pays you a visit.

~∞~ chapter five

chapter summary: Mattheo has been avoiding you. You find and confront him after a frustrating week.

~∞~ chapter six **

chapter summary: the growing tension between you and Mattheo snaps. He reveals something about yourself that you has scarcely any prior knowledge of.

~∞~ chapter seven

chapter summary: joyful dinner parties and a switch in point of view. Two juxtaposing starts to the christmas holidays.

~∞~ chapter eight **

chapter summary: you're given plenty of revelations: all equally as daunting as the other.

~∞~ chapter nine

chapter summary: Ginny ambushes you in the library and Ron's birthday is off to a delirious start.

~∞~ chapter ten

chapter summary: in the aftermath of Ron's poisoning, Harry learns a thing or two about where your loyalties lie when he overhears your private conversation with the headmaster.

~∞~ chapter eleven

chapter summary: intent on avoiding him, you underestimate just how desperate Mattheo is to be around you.

~∞~ chapter twelve

chapter summary: new friendships are formed and you finally learn to control your abilities. Mattheo comes to a life altering realisation.

~∞~ chapter thirteen **

chapter summary: idk how to summarise this but i will say it's pure smut...enjoy

~∞~ chapter fourteen

chapter summary: friendships are rekindled and you save Draco from certain death in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, igniting your powers in the process.

~∞~ chapter fifteen

chapter summary: now fully recovered, Draco has a task to complete. The fate of the Wizarding World hangs in the precipice of his actions.

~∞~ chapter sixteen

chapter summary: after a startling and gutting discovery. secrets are revealed and alliances are questioned as Voldemort's tyranny begins to fester into the beginnings of another war.

~∞~ chapter seventeen

chapter summary: Dumbledore's funeral reveals new allies as you navigate a world without its protector.

~∞~ chapter eighteen (coming soon!!)

series oneshots/headcannons:

~∞~ tulips & starlight – valentines day drabble

~∞~ serendipity hcs (mattheo) – a glimpse at his life pre sixth year

~∞~ invisible string – bonus scene from chapter 16 **

series taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag, reblogs of the individual posts have an extended taglist)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @hiireadstuff @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23 @y0urm0m12 @sbrn0905 @leona-hawthorne @whatsupb18 @moni-cah @taylorann2013 @unstablereader @gisellesprettylies @nat1221

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hier--soir · 9 months

Text

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

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

Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ignores you after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His office is sort of beautiful.

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

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

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

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

“Did you know?”

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a moment, he speaks again.

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

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

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

“Joel—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A light knock sounds against his office door.

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

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

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

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

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.

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

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

“Joel—” you start softly.

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

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

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

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

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me,” you murmur.

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

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

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

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

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

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

“But do you want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A firm rap against the door of his office.

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

“You in there Joel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Open,” he orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

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

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

thank you for reading! x

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

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eggyrocks · 2 months

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SYRUP-T. OIKAWA SMAU

….he has a thing for the barista at his favorite coffee shop. & he’s pretty sure she feels the same. the only thing in the way is her annoying boyfriend.

main masterlist

status: completed

tags: oikawa x f!reader, friends to lovers, unrequited feelings, university au (i love a university au)

warnings: language, alcohol use, messy relationships, cheating, adult themes, everyone will probably suck really hard at one point, angst at points, grammatical mistakes probably, everyone probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

minors dni

taglist: closed

introductions: yn’s roommates | oikawa’s roommates

part one: 120% tip part two: sisyphus part three: yarg part four: alpha female part five: womp womp part six: silly string part seven: special latte part eight: toxic space part nine: stab him part ten: strange (bad) part eleven: pity ramen part twelve: messy part thirteen: hive mind part fourteen: cardinal sins part fifteen: moral compass part sixteen: robarazzi part seventeen: maybe: piece of shit miya part eighteen: crisis manager part nineteen: end

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hippiegoth97 · 2 months

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Into The Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Masterlist

moodboard by the lovely @rafescurtainbangz

divider by @strangergraphics

Story Description: The year is 1989, and you’re Dustin Henderson’s older sister. The story begins with your younger brother begging to host the latest Hellfire Club campaign at your house. With express permission from your mother, the game is set in motion. Which means the one and only Eddie Munson will be staying in your home for three whole days. You’ve been attracted to him for quite some time, though your proximity to one another has shrunken since you both graduated in ‘86, not that you were all that close to begin with. But this particular weekend, and a surprise accident, brings you two closer than either of you could have ever anticipated. What comes after is a relationship which fulfills you both like no other, with ups and downs to last you multiple lifetimes.

18+ WARNING, MINORS DNI: This story will contain smut, swearing, blood/violence, mentions of sexual assault/child abuse/similar subjects, parental death, kinks of various kinds, anxiety, use of drugs/tobacco/alcohol. I will post warnings on each individual part’s post so no one is taken by surprise, but you read at your own risk!

Other things to note: Eddie is 23 and still dealing drugs, Reader (Use of Y/N) is 20 and attends Hawkins Community College (yes, I’m pretty sure I made that up). The upside-down is never mentioned, though its existence isn’t denied. Essentially, the events of season four (and Hopper’s fake death at the end of season three) never take place, except for the boys joining Hellfire, and The Byers/Hopper clan living in California. Everything else is plausible, but explained as something non-supernatural if the subject comes up, i.e. Billy’s death, Mews being eaten, etc.

Story Parts: Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8

Tag List: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @mediocredreams @slowandsteddie @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust @bimbobaggins69 @purplehazed-h @morning-rituals @eddie-van-munson @msgexymunson @munsoneightysixx @impmunson @mysticalstar30 @jenniquinn @oneforthemunny @succubusmunson @ddeadly-succubus @prettyboyeddiemunson @sanctumdemunson @stalactitekilla @s6raphic (Please let me know if you want to join/be removed from the tag list! I've just started with every mutual/person I know is in the fandom, but I totally understand if anyone wants to be taken off the list.)

#eddie munson #stranger things #hawkins #smut #1980s #fanfiction #writers of tumblr #hellfire club #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #romance #y/n henderson #eddie munson x henderson!reader

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sataniquepanique · 1 month

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Book Dragon

Summary: What I imagine is a common occurrence at camp with my Tav. She is a hoarder and frequently dumps inventory into the camp supplies and forgets which important objects she needs for quests. (This is dumb but I just needed to get it out of my head)

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (use of she/her)

Tags: fluff, established relationship.

The frantic crunching of gravel was the first indication that someone had arrived to their camp. Immediately upon hearing the rustling coming through the underbrush, Shadowheart rose from her kneeling meditation, hand braced on the dagger at her hip. From across the slowly-dimming fire pit, Lae’zel mirrored the cleric; double blades resting in her palms as her ochre eyes scanned the tree-line for the incoming threat.

The second indication came from the muffled voices beginning to carry through the forrest. There were at least two, neither of which were decipherable at this distance (Halsin’s snores emanating from his tent didn’t help the matter).

The third indication was the sight of four familiar individuals bursting through the trees, the first two seemingly in a heated argument. Tav was strides ahead of Astarion, making a beeline to her tent next to Shadowheart.

“All I’m saying is that—“

“—I know I have it somewhere, Astarion!” She threw open the tent flap and slammed both knees onto the shabby rug that lined the floor. Dumping out bag after bag of books, random stones, empty potion bottles, and a few stolen pieces of jewelry, she began to frantically tear through the contents in search of something.

“Darling,” Astarion leaned against the frame of her tent, voice tense with the clear restraint he was exerting, “I’m sure if you had it, it would be in your pack. Maybe, if you didn’t hoard tomes and scrolls like some sort of…book dragon,” he flourished a hand for emphasis, “then you’d be able to keep track of your belongings more easily.”

“Maybe, if you helped me look and stopped running your pointy mouth for a moment, we’d be able to find it faster.”

Astarion’s face was expressionless and unreadable as he stared at her digging through a large chest, “Oh darling, please don’t be mean to me,” he drawled sarcastically, “you know how it turns me on.”

Tav’s head whipped around, eyes blazing as she stared at her lover (the thought of which still confused the rest of the party). She continued her ravenous search through the tent, tossing weapons and pillows all over the small area rugs as the other party members watched on, half in confusion and the other in exasperation.

“What’s going on?” Shadowheart glanced uncertainly over at the scouting party, hand finally leaving the hilt of her dagger.

Karlach shrugged, swaying to an imaginary beat that seemingly played on a constant loop in her head, “Tav needs a book—“

“—More like Tav trekked us through the wilderness for hours to find the Mystic’s tomb, only to double back through treacherous territory just to look for a bloody book, that she may or may not even have, based on a hunch!” Astarion threw out his hands in exclamation, dirt and blood shimmering along his face in the firelight.

“—She needs the journal we found a few days ago in the temple. We think it may have the key to figuring out where the Mystic’s amulet is. If we get the amulet, we can end him for good,” Gale added valiantly.

“You two think it’s the key,” Astarion drawled, motioning between the wizard and Tav, “I for one think we can just—“

“AH-HA!” Tav leapt up with a yell, holding a decrepit leather book in her upheld hand. “I knew I had picked it up, I guess I had stashed it in the communal trunk to make more room in my pack.”

Astarion rolled his garnet eyes, “Please enlighten us all on the vast wisdom scrawled haphazardly by this half-dead freak.”

Tav’s eyes sparkled in challenge as she held out the ancient book to him.

“What do you want me to do with it?” He scoffed, eyes darting between her and the yellowed pages.

Tav smiled sweetly, a terrifying gesture that caused Karlach to cringe slightly from a few feet away, “I just figured that if this was written by some ‘half-dead freak’, then it could only be deciphered by another ‘half-dead freak”.”

Astarion blinked in surprise, his aloof mask slipping momentarily by her remark. He narrowed his eyes as she smirked and clutched the book to her chest.

“I think we should take the night to re-group and rest before setting out again tomorrow at first light. I’ll comb through the journal tonight and see what I can find,” She nodded confidently.

Gale stepped closer to her side, “If you’d like company, I’d love to assist.”

Astarion stiffened, ceasing his casual leaning to stand upright. Before he could get a word out, Tav gave a soft smile and shook her head.

“I appreciate the offer Gale, but I’ll be able to focus better if I’m alone. Once I figure anything out I’ll let you know though.”

Astarion loosed a breath, watching as the wizard nodded and strode off to his own tent, hiding his defeat behind a cool mask. As the rest of the camp began to disperse, Astarion lingered at Tav’s tent, feigning interest in a loose thread hanging from his sleeve.

“Goodnight, Star,” she shuffled in the dirt towards her bedroll, the events of the day finally catching up with her. Limbs feeling like a million pounds and eyelids full of sand, she reached to push the tent flap aside when she felt a cold grip on her other wrist.

Astarion pulled her gently backwards, “Where are you going?” His voice was soft and filled with a lingering apprehension that tugged at Tav’s heartstrings.

“To my tent? I have to dig through this book before we leave tomorrow…”

Astarion noticed how bloodshot her eyes were; she was exhausted.

“Let me,” he gingerly pried the book from her fingers. Tav looked at him in confusion.

“I’ll read through it tonight, you should sleep.”

“Star, you don’t have to,” she shook her head, “Let yourself rest—”

“Darling,” Astarion brought a hand up to cradle her cheek, “It’s not up for debate.”

Tav turned and kissed his palm. Breaking into a slow smile, Astarion tucked her into his side and began to lead over towards his tent.

“Does this mean you’re not actually mad at me about dragging you back here prematurely?” She smirked.

Astarion scoffed. “Oh love, I’m incredibly annoyed,” he squeezed her tighter, “but unfortunately, I’m also quite fond of you and will follow anywhere you ask.”

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #astarion blurb #astarion fanfiction #astarion fluff #astarion x female reader

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punkshort · 6 months

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18+ account - minors do not interact warnings/tags included on each individual work.

No use of Y/N in anything.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Series

The Way We Were [complete] : You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. When the outbreak happens, you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Look What We've Become [sequel to TWWW - complete] : You are tasked with taking a young girl back to her family while trying to salvage your relationship with Joel after certain events cause the biggest strain either of you have ever had to face.

I'll Be Home For Christmas [complete, but on-going updates] Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

Somewhere to Run [complete] : You move to a small town in the middle of Texas to escape your past and start over. You don't expect to fall for the town's handsome sheriff.

I Know Who You Are [complete]: A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

Roommates [in progress]: Your roommate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, lines get blurred.

Evergreen [coming soon]: Two unlikely strangers meet and bond over a shared trauma. But what happens when the lines unexpectedly blur and they're both overcome with guilt? Will they allow themselves to love again, or will they choose to drown in their grief?

One-Shots/Requests

I hate when you're right : After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him to leave Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Have A Good Night: Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

Night Shift [coming soon]: It was a relatively quiet night in the emergency room until a handsome contractor gets admitted and adds some excitement to your life.

One-Shots/Requests/Collections

Hitman [on-going]: Fresh on the heels of a breakup, you move into a new apartment in a shady part of town. When a mysterious man breaks in, insisting he knew the prior tenant and needs to recover something left behind, you get caught up in a whirlwind of danger and attraction.

credit to @saradika-graphics for the dividers

Headers were made on canva by myself

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like-a-diamondinthesky · 8 months

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the first i love you | series masterlist

pairing... skz x gn!reader (separately) tags.. series, fluff, individual tags in each work

that special moment when he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you

a/n... this was originally supposed to be just one post of drabbles BUT i got a bit carried away so they got quite long 😭 hope u like these <3

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

☆ CHAN

☆ MINHO : used to this

the soft voices, the late-night cuddling, the sweet and fluttering affections you showed each other; man, minho could get used to this.

☆ CHANGBIN : curly fries

you don’t know what he’s about to do, but if the devious glint in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s going to be something loud for sure.

☆ HYUNJIN : my love

hyunjin calls you a new pet name. a heartwarming confession ensues.

☆ JISUNG : idiots in love

it’s been a grand four months into the relationship, and neither you nor jisung have said those three words that mean oh so much to the both of you. why? because you’re idiots.

☆ FELIX

☆ SEUNGMIN

☆ JEONGIN : only you

jeongin doesn’t like affection. except when it comes from you, and only you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

taglist... @jinnixxn

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #han x reader #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #i.n x reader

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kokomos · 10 months

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𝗠𝗬 𝗙𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗬 𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘

au! no apocalypse abby anderson relationship headcanons

tags: no outbreak, college student abby, fluff

+ The beginning of Abby's life started out like one from the movies. For a while, life for the Andersons was perfect, until her mother tragically passed away. It was a shock to the whole family, but Abby barely remembered the woman by the time she had turned four and those few memories were now lost for good.

+ Since Jerry raised her by himself, practically since birth, Abby evidently lacked a mother figure. There were the other kids' moms but not one she could call her own. The fact that she had no mother hadn't bothered her much before, actually she rarely ever thought about that part of her life. Until middle school when she hit puberty and Jerry realized that no amount of effort he put in could match that of a woman, someone who knew exactly what Abby was going through. Consequently, Marlene started coming around more to help out; Jerry regarded her as his closest friend and believed she would be a good role model for his daughter.

+ Abby went on to pursue medicine, more specifically surgery but she's still wondering which branch. It's leaning towards neurological surgery, the same as her father.

+ Aside from her medical studies, she plays for the college's lacrosse team. Needless to say, she's the best on the team. Teammates love her, coaches, student fans... Hell even the other team can't help but practically swoon over her. She's just so naturally charismatic and considerate, it doesn't matter if she's on the field. You can catch her checking up on the other players to ask how they're feeling or to give them borderline unwarranted praise. It's just a game at the end of the day, and although she wants to win, enjoying the sport with everyone is more important.

+ You and Abby literally run into each other when meeting for the first time. She's rushing to class because for the one time ever she's late; when suddenly she turns a corner and bumps right into you. For some reason, she disregards all previous efforts in favor of asking you out.

+ She lives at home with her dad, opting to commute rather than dorm. Given that it's been just the two of them for so long, leaving Jerry behind would fill her with too much guilt. Abby doesn't care about living away from campus, especially since Jerry respects her and every part of her life, even the parts he may disapprove of.

+ Don't let Jerry catch you with Abby when she's skipping class. Once or twice is a lapse in judgement, but any more is a pattern and it'll make him think you're a bad influence. He'll scold her in front of you, no shame.

+ Jerry secretly enjoys your presence in the house, noticing how it seems more full of life when you're over. Try to study with Abby, medical terminology is the easiest to help with being that it requires nothing but a term and definition to teach. A couple flashcards later and Jerry will practically give you his blessing.

+ Speaking of, she can't wait to get married. It's something she's dreamed of since she was a little girl; to be so in love with someone that you decide you'll be together for the rest of your joint lives... It was a cute belief until she learned about divorce. Still, she remains overly optimistic in terms of love, believing that whoever she's meant to be with will find her.

+ And you, you really make her happy. She's always been a joyful individual but you've taken that tendency to new extremes.

+ Abby uses old-fashioned dating moves like the ones she's observed from all the classics her dad made her watch in order to 'educate' her. Out of the blue, she'll show up on your doorstep with flowers and chocolate; it's a timeless gift. Takes you on surprise dates when you let her. One time she took it too far and surprised you with dinner to some high-end restaurant you've been wanting to try. Thoughtful idea with an awful execution since you didn't dress for the occasion at all. She didn't even notice until you pointed it out, she was too busy looking at your pretty face to care about anything else.

+ Does not let you pay for stuff! Jerry gave her a card under his name when she turned 18 because he wanted Abby to have total focus on her education and extracurriculars (alongside an active social life). He trusts her completely and knows she's not the type to abuse his kindness by making useless and/or expensive purchases.

+ Dates with you are a necessity, though; it's a weekly thing the two of you committed to within the first month of getting together. Abby thinks it's crucial to set aside one night to eat together face-to-face, she finds the whole ordeal intimate and domestic in an unexpected way.

+ It's probably a month or two in the relationship that she asks if you want to spend the night. In the morning she's almost begging you to sleep over again that night, telling you she'll order in your favorite food and the two of you can watch a movie before a fuck cuddle sesh.

+ The smartest gf ever, she likes keeping you informed on the subjects she's learning about in class. It actually helps increase some of your medical knowledge just by being around her, she's a natural teacher after all.

+ She tries to see you as much as she can around her busy schedule. If she can't see you that day she calls and texts when she's got a second to be on her phone; And she always makes up for lost time. After a quick reunion, she'll lock the two of you in her room for hours, letting you know exactly just how much she missed you.

+ Abby has a bright future ahead of her in this world, one she plans on sharing with you.

— ♡☆

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson x you #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #the last of us fluff #the last of us headcanons

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elliespassagerprincess · 7 months

Note

ultraviolence by Lana del Rey with toxic/mean/abusive!ellie who hurts reader x painslut reader who kinda loves it

Ultraviolence - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! I'm sorry this took so long, its been a while since I've written something like this, so it took me a while to get into that mindset. I hope you enjoy<3

This story is based off the song, Ultraviolence by the queen Lana Del Ray, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are always open, feel free to leave one:)

Warnings: toxic relationships, manipulation, cheating, reader is toxic

Summary: In which she became the person, you've always wanted

Authors note: wheeeew its been a while since I've written a fic that wasn't hcs, but I'm glad to be back!

He used to call me DN

That stood for deadly nightshade

'Cause I was filled with poison

But blessed with beauty and rage

Jim told me that

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

Jim brought me back

Reminded me of when we were kids

there was always something about Ellie.

You weren't sure if it was her dorky personality, or how she would apologize to table if she accidentally walked into it.

There was something about this girl.

And ever since you were a little girl, you knew you knw she was special. You felt like she was holding back. There was another side, you wanted to see.

You were both 7. You remembered watching Ellie, better known as four eyes because she wore massive glasses, sit alone once again. You remembered walking up to her, and asking her to play tag with you.

You still remembered the smile that spread across her face, because finally someone wanted to play with her. And since then Ellie has just always been there.

The two of you became friends. You aren't sure how, but she was always there.

You were Ellie's everything, because you were there for her during her loneliest years.

You knew how much you meant to her. You knew how much she loved you, and you took advantage of that.

Ellie's innocence and purity was something that intrigued you. You truly thought she was odd. No matter how old the two of you were, you always saw her as four eyes.

Nothing more than that. There was no romantic feelings from your side.

Ellie was everything you weren't.

She was sweet, kind, loveable.

But you were sick. A sick twisted individual who took advantage, of someone like Ellie.

But who could blame you?

Ellie was attractive, strong, financially stable, and well you were someone who saw the opportunity.

So it was actually Ellies fault.

She should've not trusted you so easily. She should've not let you in. Ellie brought this upon herself.

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

you didn't know when it all started.

You weren't sure when you developed this "kink".

Was this a disease? Or were you just fucking weird?

In 11th grade you remember your teaching yelling at you for failing a another test. You were called "pathetic", a "failure".

Most people would cry due to humiliation, but you couldn't help but feel your thighs clench together.

You thought you were weird. This was fucking sick honestly.

You went out of your way to make people mad, so that they would yell at you. To degrade you to an extent.

god you loved it.

Ellie had asked you to be her girlfriend when the two of you were 18. You took pity on her.

She was so soft. So naïve.

Ellie had no place being with someone like you. Someone who craves to be hurt. You were a painslut and Ellie, poor Ellie wasn't. She wouldn't be able to do that to you.

You were trapped in a relationship, where it was healthy. It felt safe. You enjoyed it sometimes, but there was one thing your heart craved. And maybe the thing Ellie was holding back was it.

You wanted to leave Ellie, until that one night.

The two of you were at a party, and Ellie was drunk out of her mind. You don't even know what she saw, or who said what but she was really fucking mad.

"You're fucking cheating on me bitch" Ellie slurred as she pointed her finger at you. You licked your lips at the insult, at the aggression, she spoke.

Focus.

"Ellie you're drunk, i didn't do anything"

"give me your phone"

"Ellie-"

"I'm not asking again" she yelled.

Fuck yes. This is what you want.

You handed her the phone, and you watched as she searched and she found nothing. She threw your phone across the room, you flinched slightly.

god she's so hot.

Ellie got up and grabbed your arm, bringing you close to her face, you smelt the alcohol in her breath.

She looked at you with dark eyes, before uttering "Don't ever think of cheating on me" she let go of your arm.

She grabbed you and it felt like a kiss.

When Ellie woke up the next morning, she couldn't remember a thing.

She was back to being herself. You wanted her back. You needed her again.

You realized, she was drunk. You couldn't keep her under the influence forever, just because you liked that version of her.

After that night you knew she was hiding a part of herself from you.

Drunk words are sober thoughts they say.

So maybe deep down she was actually toxic. Maybe she was the person you craved.

All you had to do was to figure out, how to get through to her.

He used to call me poison

Like I was poison ivy

I could've died right then

'Cause he was right beside me

Jim raised me up

He hurt me but it felt like true love

Jim taught me that

Loving him was never enough

you were like poison.

Destroying anything in your path. Infecting those with your poison.

After that night you realized Ellie's biggest insecurity was that you would leave her. And you used it to your advantage.

Of course you had to, how else would've you got what you wanted?

You would flirt with other people in front of her. You would talk to other girls, send them pictures. You did whatever it took. You were practically cheating on her.

You knew she would never leave you.

And you watched as Ellie slowly disintegrate into madness.

There was no more happy, go lucky Ellie. There was no more smiles. No more care free days.

Ellie lived in fear. You were out of her league. She knew she was going to lose you.

If you were by her side and Ellie could die peacefully. You taught her how to love and how to be a better person.

If you left what would become of her?

Everything went down hill. Ellie started taking your phone. She became more aggressive with her words.

The lovely girl you once knew was gone. You killed the old her. And the person she was becoming was someone you've always dreamed of.

You had a curfew, and when you came home late it would end in her insulting you.

"Who else are you fucking huh? You're practically showing the world your whole body"

you lived a life of fights, make up sex, and jealousy.

You loved every fucking second of it.

She was hurting you and it felt like true love.

I love you the first time

I love you the last time

Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines

'Cause I'm your jazz singer

And you're my cult leader

I love you forever

Ellie loved you, and you loved her.

You love her today, tomorrow and for the rest of your lives.

Ellie became the women you would choose in every lifetime.

Ellie was your leader. The person you would finally follow.

You love Ellie. You'd love her for eternity.

It was truly a sickining thing, you were doing to the poor girl, but God you were selfish. You wanted it all. All the insults, pain, negativity. You craved it.

For the sake of this relationship, you hoped Ellie stayed as toxic as she did.

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syrena-del-mar · 3 months

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Selfish Desires and the Class War: Dead Friend Forever

Ever since @nyxelestia's great additions to my tags about how Phee has been able to process his grief in comparison to Tan, and succinctly stated how class theorists regard poverty as a type of violence, I can't help but take a bit of a socio-economic look at the DFF's group of friends. Particularly, episode 10 really served to solidify my theory on the underlying commentary DFF is making regarding selfishness and the different abilities to skirt punishment dependent on class.

For this one, I'm going to break this down in a couple of categories: first, I'm going to explain Hobbes' theory on human nature and Marx's theory on class wars. Then I will be listing out the 'class types' each one of the DFF boys are in (sans White). Finally I will be analyzing the THC gang with Non, then Phee and New.

Keep in mind that here I will be defining 'selfish desires' as to the innate human inclination to prioritize one's own needs, wants, and interests over that of others. Meanwhile class war/conflict will be in reference to the societal divide into different classes dependant on their relationship to their means of production and value.

Human Nature According to Hobbes

In Hobbes' 'Leviathan', he delves into understanding human nature. His conclusion is probably best summarized by his most known phrase, "'the state of nature." In this state of nature, where Hobbes hypothesized about a life where there is no government, no laws, or state of order, just simply individuals that are able to live without constraints. Hobbes found that life would be "solitary, poor, nasty, short, and brutish."

Hobbes' comes to the conclusion, that absence of societal constraints, humans are driven by desire to secure their own survival and fulfill their desires. Hobbes states that there is an universal, fundamental drive for self-preservation that leads to a state of equality among humans. Yey, instead of being able to live in harmony, the equality, particularly in vulnerability to harm and death, breeds competition since it is human nature to scrounge, secure, and vie for resources— even when it means taking advantage of one another.

Central to Hobbes' theory of human nature is fear—fear of others, fear of harm and fear of uncertainty. Without structure, humans are trapped in a perpetual state of insecurity, creating a 'war of all against all'. Hobbes acknowledges that individuals have natural rights, particularly the right to self-preservation but with a lack of governing authority, the enforcement to this right is essentially meaningless.

Tldr; there are four main components to human nature: self-preservation, fear and insecurity, equality and competition, and natural rights.

Theory of Class Wars

Now, enter Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels and we have the theory that a society is divided into two classes: the bourgeoisie and the proletariats. The bourgeoisie, own the means of production and are able to explore the labor of the proletariat for profit, which ends up leading to human alienation and inequality.

When it comes to the relationship of selfish desires and class war, at its core, the idea instills that a capitalist system incentivizes and rewards the selfish pursuits among the bourgeoisie. The accumulation of wealth and exploitation of labor and the quest for profit are the driving forces between constructing and maintaining class inequalities.

Dead Friends Forever: The Intersection of Social Class Divide and Selfish Desires

The thing about Dead Friend Forever is that there is a visible class division between Por and Non, which drowns out the undercurrent class differences between the rest of the DFF gang.

Por: He is born into power and higher class. His mother ever states "Do you think I'll be in trouble for kind of thing?" He is born into awareness of his status and the privilege.

Jin: Just from the house that he lives, you can tell that he is relatively well off. The finishes in the house both interior and the exterior show that his family, while not as rich as Por, are likely more than financially stable.

Phee: His dad is a police inspector, which likely provides decent money, as he is able to send his son to a private school on a single household income.

Fluke: We're given enough information that we know he wants to be a doctor and make his mom proud, he's attending tutoring classes and there's no mention of money issues.

Top: No mention of struggling for money, can safely assume that he lives comfortably.

Tee: Struggling, has a lot of debts to Uncle Joe in order to keep his dad alive.

New/Non: Their whole family is struggling even before Non went missing. What little money they had was sent over to New, even taking on debts to be able to provide for him abroad. They were one paycheck away from losing everything, which they eventually did.

Non and the THC Gang

Aside from Tee, the main group are all born into various levels of wealth and privilege, whether it be purely monetary or with the jobs of their parents, so they're able to navigate their life with an air of entitlement. Their desires are all shaped by the comforts and opportunities that their status affords them. Por's family alone was able to get their high school film reported on and with a viewing, merely with the mother's flippant mention of the project. Not to mention that Por's mother explicitly sets the tone of how she would be treated compared to Non's mom. It's a stark contrast, Non stands out as the outsider, not only due to his lack of friends in the school, but also marginalized by his lack of wealth and social standing in comparison to the rest of the gang. And in an odd way, it's likely why he felt a certain degree of kinship with Tee, who is the only other individual visibly struggling to survive, even if he mostly keeps his money troubles away from his group of friends.

The whole reason Non even gets involved with the group is because the group, particularly Por and Fluke, are driven by their hunger for success and recognition. Por likely wanted his parents to find some pride in him and Fluke needs it to round out his resume when applying to medical school. They desperately want to win the sponsorship, so they need and use Non— not as an equal but as a means to an end. They exploit his talent in scriptwriting and they use him as a pawn, not even inviting him to the presentation when its Non's script their using. Hell, they barely could stand being close enough to take a picture with Non. They quite literally use him as a pawn, an easy exploit, reminiscent of Hobbes' notion of self-interest as a driving force.

As the show continues on, the exploitation of Non takes on darker shades, echoing Hobbes bleak depiction of the state of nature. The initial bullying, that is rooted in class-based prejudices, transforms into a calculated campaign of cruelty. While Tee might be struggling financially, he's actually the true leader of the group. Sure, Por may have the money, but the guys only follow what Tee wants. Top and Tee use Non's marginalization against him, almost as if vultures feeding on the weaker. Top doesn't have to pay for the camera and Tee is able to find Uncle Joe's next victim for the horse accounts, a complete parallel of Hobbes' description of the strong dominating the weak in the absence of a social contract. In doing so Non, the 'marginalized' becomes fodder for the selfish desires of Tee and Top, initiating a chain-reaction event to Non's detriment.

While Por, Tee, and Top have the more obvious benefits with how Non is treated, so does Fluke. Fluke, in the hierarchy of status within the group, is at the bottom rung. With Non there he's able to be treated better and he no longer is the scapegoat. He admits it in this episode. He needed Non to be mistreated, because he feared being targeted by the rest of the THC gang, and having Non around kept everyone else's attention off of him. He was no longer the one being harrassed. He's able to sacrifice Non for his own benefit.

The thing about Fluke is that he doesn't overtly try to harm Non, not in the same way that the others do. No, his covert damage that he causes Non is in his silence. He sees Top destroy the camera, Tee come up with the idea to target Non, he sees Jin film Non and Kru Keng, he even questions Jin's intentions to film, but he's spineless. He cares more for himself, he prioritizes his self-preservation. He maintains the status quo and utilizes Non's weakness so that he isn't the next target.

Initially, Jin's treatment of Non seems to defy the expected narrative of class exploitation, since out of the group he's the one that is the most compassionate and understanding. From a Marxist perspective, this initial compassion could be understood as an acknowledgment of the inherent inequalities that exist between the affluent and the marginalized. Jin's actions might suggest a fleeting moment of solidarity, recognizing and acknowledging Non's humanity beyond his status. However, his demeanor shifts dramatically when he realizes that Non doesn't reciprocate his romantic feelings and worsens when he sees him with Kru Keng.

Hobbesian human nature, which is driven by the pursuit of power and self-interest, comes to the forefront as Jin's wounded pride and sense of rejection fuel his actions. In Hobbes' state of nature, individuals are driven by their desires and fears leading to betrayal and conflict. His change in behavior to Non reflects this as he seeks to assert dominance and control in the face of perceived rejection by punishing Non. Jin's betrayal of Non's trust and kindness underscores the harsh realities of class divides, where compassion can quickly give way to exploitation. Hobbes argued that individuals in the state of nature are in constant competition for power and self-preservation, here Jin's realization that Non does not reciprocate his feelings leaves him feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Non's role as a commodity within the framework becomes clear as filming continues. His talent is valued solely for its ability to bring profit and success to the friends. Yet, despite his contributions, Non remains alienated from the fruits of his labor, he's always the worker and never the leader. Continuing this trend of being a pawn in group's quest for recognition. Marx's concept of false consciousness is evident, since Non remains unaware of the true nature of his exploitation until its too late.

The group needs to get rid of Non, because he's become a lose cannon. Tee needs him delivered to his Uncle, so that he can survive and continue to receive the payments he needs to keep his dad alive. The depths of their depravity are laid bare and echoes both Hobbes' and Marx's grim assessments of human nature intertwined with class conflict. Non becomes a victim to their cruelty, to their selfish desires, and the stark reality of coming from a poor family. He disappears into the abyss of the mafia, while the rest of the group continue to live their lives unperturbed, shielded by their wealth and privilege.

Interestingly enough, every single one of the guys that come from a better socio-economic status have begged for Non's forgiveness while under the influence of New's hallucinogens. The only one who doesn't is Tee. Yes, he is under the distress of confessing his crimes since Fluke is holding White hostage, but he's the only one that is willing to admit fault and ask for forgiveness without having to hallucinate Non's face or his voice. All this leaves me asking, what depths of betrayal and exploitation were the THC gang willing to sink to in their quest for dominance? Did Tee's penance begin when attempted to help Non escape his Uncle Joe? Was Non actually able to escape or had they sent him to his death?

2. Phee and New/Tan

Even through Phee and New, we can see Hobbesian and Marxist themes in their different versions of grief they experience over Non's disappearance.

New embodies the the essence of Hobbesian human nature, bringing around the idea of 'war of all against all'. His relentless pursuit of revenge becomes a primal instinct for survival, since he has lost everything good in his life. His brother, his childhood home, his education, his mother, and finally his father, in that very order, over the span of three years. New's grief over the disappearance of Non becomes a consuming force that propels him into a world of darkness. In Hobbes' state of nature, individuals are typically driven by self-interest and the pursuit of power, which New's quest of revenge reflects this fundamental aspect. His quest against the friends responsible isn't solely about revenge, but it's a desperate attempt to assert agency and justice in a world that has denied his family both.

Marx argues that in a capitalist society, the bourgeoisie will exploit the proletariat for profit, perpetuating class struggles. Non was exploited for his script, but New represents the proletariat, the oppressed working class fighting back against the forces of oppression. His revenge is a revolt against the oppressive structures of class inequality that have marginalized his whole family. In Marxist terms, his journey is a symbol of the proletariat struggle against exploitation and injustice, which echos the revolutionist spirit of Marxism.

On the other hand, Phee, who is financially well-off and still has his father, represents the privilege and the detachment from the struggles of the proletariat. He never fully understood why Non wasn't receptive to his help, similarly he's not completely understanding New's own thirst for revenge. While Phee is initially driven by a desire to uncover the truth about Non's disappearance, and while he still loves Non, it's mostly driven by guilt and grief within the context of privilege. Phee has things, people, in his life that still matter outside of Non. Yes, he loved Non, but he's able to move on from his grief, reflecting the detachment and apathy that can settle in with privilege. Under Marx's critique of the bourgeoisie, who exploit the proletarian, it's because Phee still has his Dad and other things he loves in life that he is able to move on from the type of anger in grief that New finds himself overwhelmed in.

It's going to be interesting where Phee and New's friendships heads in the last two episodes. Will it New and Phee collide in a violent confrontation that mirrors the clash between the oppressed and the privileged? Is DFF trying to make a comment on the class war where New's relentless pursuit of revenge against the THC gang represents the proletariat's revolt against exploitation, while Phee's detachment echoes the bourgeoisie's indifference to the plight of the marginalized? Or it will show that Phee and New are able to put their social status aside in order to find revenge against the true bourgeoisies, in this case the THC gang, that exploited Non for all his worth until ultimately destroying him.

Final Thoughts

While this episode may feel significantly weaker in comparison to the last five, I think it's providing us with the necessary exposition as we head into our final two episodes. We're seeing the destruction of the 'bourgeoisie' by their own hands with just a little nudge from the sole proletariat. As Hobbes would likely agree, it's a dog eat dog world in that cabin. It always had been with Top, Por, Tee, Fluke and Jin. There was an equality between them, but now with an outside force, their bonds are breaking and they are willing to kill each other just to survive.

Dead Friend Forever is going beyond the standard slasher genre, even beyond horror. I truly think it's making social commentary regarding the classes and human nature. It's going to be interesting to see who comes out the survivor of this party from hell, if there is anyone.

Tagging @slayerkitty for DFF's meta round up.

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igncrxntripley · 1 year

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headcanons - TJD’s secret weapon and damian

synopsis: he may be known as the punisher, but he’s her protector; what does the relationship look like between the secret weapon and damian priest?

tags: brief mention of NSFW 18+ content, fem!reader, poly!judgement day

A/N: the last of these headcanons AHHHHH!!!!! as a damian girl i was a little too excited for this

mentions: @babybatlover @ripleyswhore

he may have been known as ‘the punisher’ in a ring, but when it came to his partners damian is the complete opposite

damian has been training y/n since she joined the judgement day and is the most protective of her

if no one else is able to be at ringside with her, damian will always be there

y/n loves to latch to damian like a koala bear so he can carry her around - and he happily obliges; her face fits perfectly on his shoulder and her legs lock around his waist like a chain

damian is the cuddler of the fivesome, especially when it means holding his girls in bed or on the couch

he’s simply accepted the fact that his clothes now also belong to y/n - but he isn’t complaining because he loves the way she looks in his shirts

if someone talks shit about y/n then damian is the first one to speak up

“i’m going to give you three seconds to repeat what you just said before i rip you into a thousand pieces for talking about her like that”

he’s not afraid to throw a punch to defend her if he needs to

whatever y/n wants, damian will get her - it could be something as small as a snack, or letting her paint his nails, or helping her bake in the kitchen for their other four partners

damian loves speaking and teaching spanish to y/n and has started using spanish pet names with her; hermosa, princesa, and amor are the main three while also incorporating their english meanings

y/n loves to call him papi just to see damian’s reaction - dominik pouts when he hears that though and also asks to be called papi which y/n teases him for

“why don’t you call me that?”

“don’t you have somewhere to be, dom?”

in bed? damian is super gentle and likes to make y/n feel special and pretty...but he can also flip a switch and will absolutely ruin y/n

overall, damian’s main priority besides his career is his partners; while he loves each and every one of them individually, y/n is the princess

each partner feels the same though let’s be real

#wwe x reader #wwe imagine #wwe the judgement day #wwe the judgement day imagine #wwe the judgement day headcanons #damian priest #damian priest x reader #damian preist imagine #damian priest headcanons #{:their secret weapon:}#{:headcanons:}#{:damian priest:}

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eggyrocks · 1 month

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INKED-S. KIYOKO SMAU

yn owns a tattoo shop, one right across the street from the local florist, where sometimes she can see the pretty owner pass by the windows

main m.list

status: on hold

tags: kiyoko x fem!reader, fluff, tattoo shop owner x flower shop owner

warnings: language, alcohol use, previous toxic relationships, angst at points, grammatical mistakes probably, everyone probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

taglist: open, please complete this form to be added

minors dni & other rules

playlist!

introductions: tattooers | florists

teaser!

part one: ur mom part two: cybercigilism part three: hr department part four: coming soon...

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emjayewrites · 8 months

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PASTRY PASSIONS (3.5/?) (Luca x blackfemoc!)

PAIRING: Luca x Symone (black!original character)

SUMMARY: When Symone secures a coveted position as the social media manager at Noma, the renowned Michelin-starred restaurant, she is thrilled to be part of a team that pushes boundaries and captures gastronomic excellence. As Symone immerses herself in the vibrant atmosphere of Noma, she catches the eye of Luca, a talented and career-focused pastry chef within the same establishment. Luca is captivated by her presence, however, with his desire to maintain a clear boundary between work and personal life, he resists the growing attraction he feels toward her. Despite their shared passion for the culinary world, Symone and Luca find themselves entangled in a delicate dance between friendship, ambition, and unspoken desires. As the duo collaborates on various projects, from showcasing exquisite pastries to capturing behind-the-scenes glimpses of culinary artistry, they face numerous challenges that test their resolve. Amidst the intense pressures of Noma’s demanding environment and the weight of their individual aspirations, Symone and Luca must navigate their relationship in a career-driven world, where the line between personal and professional blurs, and decisions made can shape not only one’s heart but also their future in the industry.

WARNINGS: slow burn romance, drama, angst, grueling work conditions/not-so-glamorous life of the culinary world, cursing, slight age gap, sexual content. RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @cinewhore @kdoxkeic @wakandamama @afro-hispwriter @nolita-fairytale @lovebittenbyevans @blowmymbackout @superhoeva @barefoothighlander @ihyperfixateoncharacters @soufcakmistress @celestianstars @vlvtkyssis @fadingbelieverexpert @arctvrvs @scottlangswife @lilyed777 @suckthatskittlebiiitch @write-fromthe-start @pantherxrogers @penny44224 @roxyfan14-blog @aieshawilliams2001 @cillianmirphy @sarcasticmrfox @zeeader @eddiemunsonreader @geekyfer @retrouvailles-film @stargirlfics @mauvecherie-writes @spellbinding10 @blckgrl-sunflower @beahil @stnexus @iamcurlycubana @motivation-idontknowher @shar74nett @blackpearlbutterfly @virgosapphire79 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @creativitybewarebeware @becauseimher @crispysublimecupcake

AUTHOR NOTE: This is my first fic for FX’s The Bear. This contains spoilers from Season 2, so please don’t read it if you haven’t watched it. In “Honeydew”, Luca mentions that he’s been working as a pastry chef/chef for 14 years, so he has to be in his early/mid-30s (32-34-ish?) and there will be a small age gap between him and Symone. Also, Chapters 1-3 are set a month and a half before Marcus’ stage trip in January. Please DM me if you want to be added to the tag list. Enjoy reading!

SN: This is a smaller chapter, around 2,000-2,400 words, and is set after Luca and Symone's night together....plus a surprise at the end.

CHAPTER III.V: Simple Syrup

SIMPLE SYRUP: A solution of sugar in water. Usually made with equal parts sugar and water.

December 2022

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Symone stirred, her body sore beyond measure, and the events of the previous night slowly coming back to her in fragments.

Without missing a beat, Luca's strokes deepened as he spread her legs to accommodate his wide body and powerful movements of his hips. Waves of pure ecstasy rippled through her body, causing her to convulse uncontrollably.

"Atta girl," uttered Luca as he plunged in and out of her moist depths. "God, you're so wet. Give it all to me...fuck Symone..."

"Oh, Luca," hissed Symone as her insides clamped around him. She was unsure of the number of times she'd orgasmed, but this had to be number four or five, which had to be some type of world record. Surely, climaxing repeatedly in such a short span of time was unheard of, yet here she was, in a euphoric high once again.

"That's it, darling, Christ Symone. That's–fuck!" Luca let out a guttural growl as he came, filling her up to the brim with his seed. Panting, he leaned over her, placing kisses on her neck. "You're amazing...Jesus Christ."

They continued until the wee hours of the morning, finding themselves in various positions.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she turned, finding herself nestled against Luca's warm and naked form. His steady breaths and the rise and fall of his chest were a comforting rhythm.

Gently extricating herself from his tight embrace, she pulled the sheet around her and sat up, her mind racing. She replayed the night once more; the raw passion, and the unspoken understanding that hung between them.

As she sat in the quiet, contemplative moments of the morning, she couldn't help but wonder about the implications. They had agreed that what happened in Oslo would stay in Oslo, but that didn't erase the fact that it did happen. What did it mean for their friendship, for their working relationship?

Meanwhile, in the bed, Luca stirred, blinking his eyes open. The sight of Symone, bathed in the soft morning light, took his breath away. He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, and his gaze locked with hers. There was a mixture of emotions in his eyes - desire, vulnerability, and something else that he couldn't quite put into words.

"Hey," he said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was a raspy murmur, tinged with the remnants of sleep.

Symone's expression was a mirror of the complex emotions in Luca's eyes. "Hey," she replied, her voice just as soft. They held each other's gaze for a moment, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air.

Finally, Luca reached out, his fingers grazing hers. "Last night... it was..." he began, struggling to find the right words.

"It was," Symone finished for him, a small smile playing on her lips. She understood that some things were better left unsaid, at least for now.

They sat in companionable silence, the morning sun painting their entwined fingers with a warm glow. The world outside moved on, but in that moment, it felt like time had suspended just for them.

They both knew that this was a turning point, a shift in the dynamics of their relationship. What it meant, they couldn't quite say yet. But one thing was certain - they would have to deal with it together.

"How're you doing?" he asked.

"I'm...okay," answered Symone with a small shrug. "A little sore though. It...um...been a while since I, well, y'know, and you're....bigger than I expected."

She sounded embarrassed, and Luca's fingers flitted upwards to her bare shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I understand, love," he said to her. "I was a bit unhinged, unfortunately."

"A bit?" she retorted with a scoff.

Luca rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "Alright, alright, perhaps more than a bit, but it's all your fault anyway."

"How is it ever my fault?" wondered Symone, arching an eyebrow in confusion. "You were going at it like a madman."

"Ha!" laughed Luca, "Says the woman with the greatest pussy known to humanity. Fuck, Symone, you have no idea how long I wanted you and to have you, finally, it was so much better than I could ever imagine."

Symone cocked her head to the side in disbelief. "Really?"

"Fuck yeah."

She had to be dreaming, right? Luca and his sexy voice – hell, sexy everything – desired her this much?

"Interesting," she mused with a harrumph. There was another beat of silence between them and Symone's eyes perused his taut body.

Luca was in better shape than a lot of men she knew, especially those in the culinary industry, and he was tatted up. She only had the pleasure of seeing his arm tattoos, but he had torso tattoos as well: a Socrates quote above his right pectoral and a phoenix on his left hip near his Adonis belt. He was full of surprises, from his impressive tongue skills to that Prince Albert piercing on his penis.

Symone knew, deep down, that one weekend with him would never satisfy her, but she had to accept that this was all it could be. Things would return to normal once they were back in Copenhagen – meaning no more kisses and sex. For the time being, Symone decided to enjoy this little tryst and to reap in all the glory that was Luca Davies.

While she was dazed in her thoughts, Luca took this time to scoot over and wrap an arm around her waist. Placing tender kisses on her lower back and hip, Symone was slowly pulled out of her reverie, and she let out a soft whimper.

“I can kiss you forever,” Luca murmured.

“Yeah?” Symone said, laughing a little, only to stop when Luca eventually straightened himself in bed before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her cheek.

“Yeah,” he responded as his hands made their way upwards to cup her full breasts in his large hands. He squeezed her nipples in between his forefinger and thumb, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. “Yeah, I can. Do you think I’m lying? Come back to bed so I can convince you. I wanna taste you again.”

His assault on her breasts continued as his lips found her throat, kissing and then biting the column of her neck until she was rendered into a whiny mess.

"Luca....we have to eat..."

"Later," he uttered, pulling her down to the bed. "I'm gonna devour you first then we can get something else."

Symone's back hit the mattress with a small plop and Luca immediately hovered above her. His blue eyes were dark again, dark with lust. Tentatively, he made his way down her body, kissing and sucking as much skin as humanly possible before arriving in between her thighs. He exhaled deeply, savoring her womanly scent before going to town, once again feasting on her like a starving madman. He captured her pearl, her bundle of nerves, in his mouth and sucked on feverishly as two of his fingers explored her inner depths, curling and twisting in tandem with the movements of his expert tongue.

Moaning heavenward, Symone's eyes closed as her body contorted as she rode the throes of her passion. Arching her back, she felt the familiar butterflies at the pit of her stomach, informing her that she was on the precipice of a release, which to her amazement, was quite sudden. She's been with a few men in the past – four, excluding Luca – and all of them were rather good in the bedroom, but none of them had her orgasming in under ten minutes, and from cunnilingus no less!

God really did bless this man, huh?

Her body convulsed as ripples of pleasure coursed through her. Sighing in satisfaction, Symone slowly came down from her euphoric high and opened her brown eyes. Luca stared back at her as he sat on his haunches, an unreadable expression on his handsome features.

"Turn around," he demanded.

"What?" responded Symone, confusingly, as she balanced herself up on her elbows. "Luca, what do you—"

"Now," he voiced with a deep timbre. "Arse up, face down. Please don't make me say it again."

Whoa boy, she thought.

Symone quickly did as she was told without question or a smart-ass comment. Usually, she'd give him a piece of her mind, yet hearing him use his "chef voice" turned her on. She shivered with anticipation as she held the position, waiting impatiently for Luca.

In the meantime, Luca reveled in the sight that lay before him. Her round, brown, and shapely buttocks with wide hips to match and a glistening pussy were calling him, beckoning him to dive balls-deep without notice, but he somehow maintained control. He caressed her skin, marveling at the softness and perkiness then proceeded to tease her aching folds. Her responses greeted him delightfully, with moans of pleasure and pleas that went onto deaf ears. His penis was hard and a bead of pre-cum oozed from the tip.

Luca encased a hand around his shaft while the other toyed with Symone's sensitive flesh. He teased them both for a couple of minutes until, finally, he placed the reddened head to her entrance, pushing deep inside her moist folds from behind. His strokes started off sweet and slow with his hands finding their place on her hips, and Symone meeting him thrust-for-thrust. Soon, he became erratic, fucking her in deep and shallow ministrations that made her curse and yell his name.

"Fuck, Symone, you have no....fucking...idea," he groaned as he fucked her mercilessly. The arch in her back deepened into a bow and Luca enjoyed the sounds their connecting bodies made whenever he went in and out of her. The lower part of his shaft was coated in her essence and the sounds of her moans echoed across the bedroom.

If this was Heaven, he never wanted to leave.

"Luca, baby, oooh—fuck!"

Fuckin' hell, if she keeps saying my name like that...

He was going to cum, no doubt about that, but he'll never be sated of her. Suffice it to say, he was very close to risking it all—his career, his legacy, everything.

___________________________________________________________

January 2023

The kitchen was alive with its usual controlled chaos, the clatter of pots and pans, and the hum of focused conversations as the teams prepared for another busy day. Luca, in his element, organized the ingredient delivery, sorting bags of flour on a nearby counter with practiced efficiency.

It had been almost three weeks since their time in Oslo, but Luca couldn't shake the memories. Restless, he moved through the kitchen, acutely aware of how close he was to Symone yet unable to confess the desires that simmered beneath the surface. He hated how they slipped back into their roles, their lives, as if nothing had happened.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luca spotted a young Black man who was an inch or two shorter than him, step into the kitchen.

"Uh, I'm Marcus Brooks. I'm from—"

"I know. I'm Luca, pastry," he said, giving the new stagiaire a curt nod. "We start at 5:00 a.m. Your section's at the end of the bench."

"Yes, Chef," responded Marcus as he made his way over to the sink to wash his hands.

Although he was a few minutes late, Luca gave him props for being dressed to work: a plain blue shirt with black scrub pants and an apron. Luca's gaze traveled to his feet and he smirked at the Air Jordan 1 Chicago high-tops Marcus had on.

Switching focus, Luca finished up with his task then he began to teach Marcus the intricate art of garnishing desserts to meet Noma's exacting standards.

"So that's six o'clock. That's always facing the guest," Luca instructed, demonstrating the delicate process.

"Yes, Chef."

"You try," he encouraged, handing over the tweezers to Marcus. Luca observed intently as Marcus attempted to garnish the dessert.

"Nuzzle that sliver into the pudding just to lock it in," Luca advised.

"Yes, Chef."

Despite Marcus's efforts, he struggled.

"No, clockwise, Chef. Start the same way."

"Oh, yes, Chef." Marcus tried again but fell short.

"No. Again, Chef." Luca let out a patient exhale, making a mental note to inform Carmy that Marcus had a lot to learn and to consider an extension of his training.

"Sorry, I'm—I'm a little nervous," Marcus confessed, swiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

Suddenly, the rhythmic click-clack of heels echoed through the kitchen, drawing both their attention. Luca and Marcus exchanged a quick glance, before recognizing the newcomer's arrival.

And there she was, Symone, looking gorgeous as always in a pair of body-hugging jeans, an off-the-shoulder sweater, and her signature heeled boots.

Luca's gaze lingered on Symone, momentarily at a loss for words. He quickly composed himself by clearing his throat and introduced her to Marcus.

"Marcus, meet Symone. She's the one who keeps us all in line," Luca said with a half-smile. "She's Noma's social media manager."

Marcus couldn't resist a quip. "Good to know I'm not the only Black person here in Copenhagen. It's nice to meet you."

Symone laughed, a warm sound that seemed to capture Luca's attention. "Nice to meet you too, Marcus."

Luca managed to conceal his jealousy behind a polite smile as they exchanged pleasantries.

"You'll learn a lot from Luca", Symone assured Marcus. "He's the best. I have to finish up on a project, but I'll see you around."

"Yeah, I'll definitely love that," Marcus replied, his enthusiasm evident.

Her gaze shifted to Luca. "Luca," nodded Symone, bidding her farewell.

Luca's blue eyes connected with hers and they held for a brief impasse. "Symone," he retorted in a monotone voice.

Once Symone left, Luca and Marcus returned to their work. As Marcus attempted to try once again, which he was somewhat better, and in a moment of candor, he asked Luca about his relationship with Symone.

"Is she your girl?" Marcus inquired as he nuzzled the sliver into the pudding.

Luca let out a scoff, shaking his head. "Nah, it's... complicated."

Marcus leaned back, regarding Luca with a thoughtful expression. "Uncomplicate it, man. Trust me, it's better that way."

"And how do you know this?" wondered Luca, arms crossing over his chest in slight annoyance and pique interest.

Marcus gave him a nonchalant shrug. "I just know, man. Life's too short to be petty and playin' games."

Luca let out a chuckle. "Duly noted."

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#luca the bear #will poulter #emjayewrites #pastry passions #pastry chef luca #luca x black!oc #luca x black!reader #chef luca smut #luca x reader #the bear hulu #marcus the bear #the bear fx

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