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hier--soir · 10 months

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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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smallfrenchstudyblr · 1 year

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"The biggest issue is students using it, me spotting it and having no recourse whatsoever to do anything about it." can you elaborate a bit further

Hello !

So to explain a bit more: we [aka your lecturers, teachers, teaching assistants, etc...] know that some students will use ChatGPT.

And there is a discussion to be had about how to work with this, how to design assessment which allow students to leverage something which may simply become a fixture of writing in a workplace environment, but that is not the discussion we are having here. Because that is not what we are worried about.

The defensible, problematic situation is: a student straight up entering the essay prompt on ChatGPT, and using the grand skills of Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V, submits it as their own paper.

And our main worry, I think, was for a long time that we would not be able to catch it. That students would, actually, be able to fool us and that we would actually think this was a student who understood the course, who put in the work, and who deserve to be rewarded for their grade. That was the main fear.

But here is the thing.

And listen up, students :

Essays written by ChatGPT :

Suck

Are spotted from a mile away from the person reading it

For real. They suck.

I cannot stress enough how easy they are to spot. You are NOT fooling anyone. I do not need the platform's AI-detecting tool to know when an essay was written by Chat GPT. It is so, very painfully obvious when that's the case.

But the problem then becomes : ok, I have spotted a student who cheated.

What am I even supposed to do with it.

It is one thing to KNOW that an essay was AI-generated, it is another to defend it to a plagiarism committee. First of all, does it actually count as plagiarism ? Second, how do prove, with certainty, that the student did not write it ? How to I convince the plagiarism committee that this is worth looking into ? I am in the role of a police officer, who needs to convince the DA that this is a winnable case, that prosecuting will not be a waste of their time. But I don't have a Similarity Percentage to rely on. I don't have an original source to say "look, this is the exact same wording!" like in a classic plagiarism case.

Best case scenario, I can make my case for thee student to actually be called to the plagiarism committee, where we probe into how, exactly, they wrote their essay, until they fold. Unlikely, morally questionable, and in all likelihood, ineffective on students already so confident in their bullshit that they have the audacity to submit a fully AI-generated work for their finals.

Now, students, gather up, especially if you have considered using Chat GPT this way. Because right now, you might think it means you can get away with it.

But let me tell you something. First, that essay is getting the shittiest grade we can give you. Because you know what is more difficult than a lecturer proving that a student used AI to generate their essay ? A student proving that they deserve a better grade. Once we give you a grade, burden of evidence is on you to prove that you have not been graded properly. And we can come up with 15 reasons why an essay is a shit essay. We put on kids' gloves, when we lecture and give feedback. We give the simplified version of most theories, we give the basics of how to structure an essay, the bar we set is spectacularly low, because students come in good faith, they are learning, they will not be held at the same standard as academics. But if you try to argue that you need a higher grade, when you had the audacity to not write a single word of your work, the kids gloves are going to come off real quick, and your lecturer will be able to very convincingly explain why, actually, giving you a passing grade was a mercy in the first place.

Second. Academics, especially angry academics, are a gossip machine.

You may get a passing grade, and there may be no official note of it in your file whatsoever. But I can guarantee you that your lecturer will chat with their colleagues. That every single one of your essay that year, and the years to come, will be looked at with so much scrutiny I hope your referencing for every single work reaches perfection. Every single paragraph will be looked at with the knowledge that you are likely to have had it AI-generated. Lecturers will tell their TA to look at for That One Student when they grade you .You will not be getting any flexibility from us, no extension without full documentation to support it, no letter of recommendation from any member of the faculty, no word in your favor if you are bordering a grade bracket. If we are feeling especially petty, we might even forget to answer your emails or answer any question you have with such warmth and kindness you really still never feel like asking a question again in our class. And I know that, because that's already happening. I have the name of three undergrads that we know, for a fact, did not write their own essay. Two are not even in my modules at all.

Now. That's pretty mean. But if you have the absolute audacity and lack of ethics required to submit an essay for which you have not written a single word, and thought it would actually work, when your lecturer spent probably more that 80 hours working in this module this term, gave you the opportunity to meet for office hours, to ask any question in person or in email, to have extensions, accommodations, additional time ? When you decided that putting exactly zero second of your time, considered that you were above that - and above other students- and yet we were not able to officially sanction you for it, we had to give you a passing grade, the same passing grade as students who actually made an effort?

Yeah, sorry, you are not getting any sympathy from your lecturers anymore.

#studyblr #phdblr #university #adventures in teaching #postgradblr #chatgpt #ask me thing #now I am going back to grading #actually

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3minsover · 3 months

Text

back on my steddie bullshit fr

Thinking about hope(ful)less romantic Steve driving to Eddie's trailer in the pouring rain to finally confess his love after months of dancing around each other and almost-confessions that crumble on the tips of their tongues before they can become anything real.

Steve finds himself pacing around the ground floor of a house that's too big and too quiet, thinking about a guy who should never, ever have taken up as much of his brain as he currently does. It's a Friday night, and Eddie's most likely out at a gig, or at a bar, or doing nerd shit. He's most likely doing anything but thinking about Steve. And yet here Steve is, entirely preoccupied with the reckless marvel that is Eddie Munson.

Fuck it.

It's been four months since Vecna, and everyone seems to be okay again. It's been long enough that it wouldn't be weird for Steve to make a move, right?

Before Steve can really consider what it is he's about to do, he has his keys in hand and he's heading out towards his car. He doesn't even realize it was raining until he steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. And there's not much thought that goes into any of it, really. It's instinctive, the way Steve knows the route to Eddie's place by now. Regardless of the thrashing of his heart, there's an easy kind of familiarity in the sodden streets and jutting roads. Steve's windshield wipers are working double time, fending off the sheets of rain that pile down amidst the humidity of late July; it'd been a cloudless day until the sun set. But like the heaviness of Steve's heart, the clouds had begun to weigh themselves down with water, waiting for the moment where the heft of it all became too much.

Steve hadn't quite beaten those clouds to the punch.

He arrives at Eddie's with really no recollection of how he'd gotten there, only that he needed to see him and nothing was going to get in his way. Eddie's already sitting out on the porch when he pulls up. The dusty ground is darker, saturated with fat, relentless raindrops. Eddie sits on the steps of his trailer, only just covered by the awning. The toes of his sneakers shine with wetness.

"Why are you out here?" Steve asks, clambering out of his car. It's all he can think to say. It's not the words he wants to purge, not the things that have been itching in his throat every time they've been alone together for the last however-many weeks. But it's what comes out.

"Wanted to hear the rain," Eddie responds, a cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. It's a simple enough response. Shouldn't warrant a reaction. Only, Steve's standing a few yards away, dampening by the moment, and he needs to just get it out.

"I need to- I gotta talk to you," Steve stutters, drifting closer. Eddie's eyes narrow.

"About what?" he asks, clearly skeptical.

"About you. Or, me. Us. I- shit, I used to be good at this." Steve raises a hand to swipe over his mouth: it comes away wet. He's fucking soaked, standing defenceless against the onslaught from above. Eddie flicks the cigarette and the butt lands at the base of the steps. He hinges upright, dropping down a step until the raindrops begin to splatter onto his curls, landing like spits of silver against the glow of the street lamps overhead.

"Good at what?" Eddie calls through the low rumble of the rain.

"Good at- I dunno, confessions? I told Nancy how I felt about her no problem. Robin was a little tougher, but I still got through that, but with you," Steve gushes, entirely unsure as to where he's going with this, "I just can't seem to find the words."

For an impossible amount of time, Eddie stares. His pretty features seem to go through about a half dozen emotions before he settles on something that Steve's soul recognizes as pity. He prepares himself for inevitable rejection.

"You're telling me you can't find the words?" Eddie asks, incredulous, "Dude, i'm a songwriter, a fucking wordsmith, and I've been drawing a blank on you for months!"

Steve squints, a little at a loss.

"What?" he asks, feels stupid for not getting it straight away.

"Steve, I should be able to write songs about the guy I love, right?"

"Well- Yeah- I- Wait, what?" Steve starts before Eddie's words catch up. The rain's growing heavier, beginning to sting his cheeks a little, but he's fixed to the spot, not daring to move any closer. It's Eddie that draws nearer, dropping down the final steps until they're on even footing.

"If you hadn't- If you didn't come over here tonight, I was gonna- I was gonna come to you. I had this whole fuckin' speech planned out - I'm pretty sure it was stupid, honestly, but I wrote it anyway, because I have all these goddamn feelings about you, Steve. And I couldn't find a way to make them sound like anything other than what they are." Eddie's waves are flattening by the second, darkening under the weight of the water falling from above. Steve's heart pounds against his ribs, threatens to break free altogether.

"But I- I came here to- You're- Eddie?"

"Fuck sake, Steve. I'm-"

"Wait." Steve interrupts him, his brain catching up all at once, overfilling and spilling over. "Wait, just let me- Can I say what I was gonna say?"

Eddie folds his arms around himself, chilled by the rain despite the thick warmth of summer around them.

"Sure. Shoot."

Steve heaves in a breath.

"Okay. Eddie. I've been thinking, and you and me, we're good, right? Like, for each other." A droplet of rain catches between Steve's lashes, forcing him to blink it away. Eddie's slim figure remains in front of him, proving that this is real, this isn't some hallucination, some daydream borne of an idle brain. "I think you and me could be something good. Great, even. And I- I- I think I- I know you maybe said it already, and I shouldn't even be-" Eddie strides forward, closing the space between them in a breathless moment. Steve's breath catches in his throat. Eddie's dark eyes dart frantically between Steve's own, so round and wide and beautiful. Steve's so in love with him. "Eddie, I'm- I think I've... fallen in love with you." Steve skates his palms over Eddie's biceps, up and over his shoulders, until he's cradling the sides of Eddie's neck. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm in love with you."

Where they're so closely matched in height, Steve's eyes are crossing just to keep his gaze focused on Eddie, who's looking more like the proverbial deer in headlights right now.

"Shit, Harrington," Eddie breathes, and Steve feels it warm against his rain-chilled lips, "took you long enough."

It's a kiss that follows, soft and hesitant, like Steve would do anything but lean into it, like he's anything but head over heels, absolutely and embarrassingly in love. it's a kiss, and it's wet and a little too cold, a little too out in the open, but Steve wouldn't change it for anything.

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #fanfic #drabble #3minsover #twitter crosspost

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seospicybin · 10 months

Text

TOO HOT TO HANDLE.

PART II

Felix x reader. (s)

Too Hot To Handle Masterlist

Synopsis: You and Felix become contestants in a reality dating show, Too Hot To Handle. (9,7k words)

Author's note: I'm sorry guys but I have to leave you with another cliffhanger. The last part will be posted this weekend, feel free to vent in my inbox and enjoy x

Content warning: This is entirely a work of fiction and not affiliated with real Too Hot To Handle show.

FELIX: I'm just your uh... normal guy. [smiles] Just trying to be a nice guy and do something my mum would be proud of at the end of the day. [snickers] I don't really have any lines, I don't have, like, a strategy to attract girls. Basically, I just walk into a bar and they heard my voice and accent, sorted. I wouldn't say how many girls I've been with [chuckles] uhm... people only focus on the numbers and a gentleman doesn't say. [laughs]

Felix has been staring at the surface of the pool long enough that it starts to calm him down. He was nervous a minute ago, waiting for you in anticipation even though he should be relaxed knowing that you said yes to having a date with him.

The date is set in the pool of the villa with a fruit platter and a bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket of ice served at the side of the pool. It's not the first time he's going on a date but his pattern of dating is casually meeting someone someplace and taking them home for a hook-up, that's it.

It's going to be hard to change that pattern, especially when he's been trapped in it long enough that it's comfortable. Going on a date and try not to do any physical touches? Felix already has a hard time imagining it.

"Hi, hello!"

Felix's head snaps in your direction and he almost chokes on air seeing you walking toward him in a crimson-red bikini.

"Have you been waiting long?" You ask.

Felix quickly offers his hand to help you get into the pool, slowly engulfing both of your bodies in the lukewarm water from the chest down. The lights from the bottom of the pool casts a bluish glow on your face and with this proximity, he can see your face up close and observes every facial feature you have.

Felix slightly shakes his head in disbelief. You're so perfect from head to toe that he's having a hard time wrapping his head around it and you're right in front of him.

FELIX: She's lush! In that red bikini looking like a forbidden apple and I just want to take a bite.

"Aren't you going to pour me a drink?" You're eyeing the two empty champagne flutes.

It's obvious he's too busy lusting over your body that he forgot to be a gentleman. You hold the glass as Felix filled them with bubby wine and pours himself a glass after.

"It's so nice!" You compliment.

Again, Felix has to force his brain to cooperate and actively stop himself from looking at your body, "Huh?"

"The date," you say, picking a grape from the plate and shoving it into your mouth, "I've never been on a date this nice before."

Felix gulps his wine to fuel his guts, "me too," he says, reaching for the grape but you get ahead of him.

"Here," you say, bringing a grape close to his mouth and feeding it to him.

He's more than eager to eat it right from your hand and grins as he chews on it while you refill both of your glasses with more wine.

"Thank you for picking me for the date by the way," you tell him with a smile.

Felix clinks his glass with yours, "thank you for saying yes," he thanked you back.

After taking a sip, you put the wine away and focus on him instead, making him nervous as you tilt your head low and look at him through your lashes. It's the classic trick in the book of seduction but you do it effortlessly with a hundred percent rate of success, making him feel like a special man, the only man in the world.

"I was surprised when Lana told me you asked me for a date," you explain.

The water is still enough that Felix can see you scoot closer to him that your knees bumps with him and it takes everything in him not to put his hand on your thigh, "May I know why you chose me?"

Felix has to force his brain to work extra tonight and rakes his hair to the back as if it would help, "I have my eyes on you on the first day," he admits.

Your lips curl into a smile and it's a familiar one that tells you're not buying his words, "yeah?"

Good thing Felix has just the proof of it, "I'm the one who kissed you at the blindfold game," he confidently spills the truth.

You hold a gaze for a moment then look away to get your wine glass, "I know."

If you know, then why you didn't react the way Felix expected to? You hold your wine glass close to your mouth but not drinking it, "What I want to know is why you didn't make a move on me until now?"

Felix finishes his wine before answering, "I have my reasons," he answers.

Your hand reaches for the fruit platter next to his shoulder and picks a slice of strawberry, "is it because I'm your second choice?"

"No!" Felix immediately denies it.

"The boys talked about which girls they were going for. You are Alex and Jamie's choice, then Jamie partnered up with you so I–I uh..." he stammers as he watches you eat the strawberry, then wash it down with the wine.

FELIX: Sitting this close and not able to kiss her? Impossible. She's irresistible, my gosh... [sucks air through teeth]

When Felix talked to you in the firepit that night, you have your guard up because he knows you were with Jamie but now, look at you! Your head is slightly tilted and flutter your eyelashes at him. You got game and Felix likes having all of your attention just for him. He's more than eager to give you all of his attention, that wouldn't be hard, you're the only one he's seeing.

Felix licks his lips as his throat got dry from watching you and quickly recovers by splashing some water into the back of his neck, "I think compared to them, I don't think I'd have a shot with you," he furtherly explains.

You stare into his eyes and locked them in an intense gaze, "why? I think you're attractive," you tell him.

He unconsciously reaches for his ear as he gets flustered by your compliment.

"I think you know by now that three of the girls are chasing after you. Shouldn't you be happy?" You share the news Felix already knew. He wants to know something else, something more important, "depends," he says, "If one of the three is you then yes, I'd be happy."

A laugh burst out of you and Felix is elated to know that he's the one who made you laugh like that. There's something else as important he needs to know, "so what's your type?"

You fix the strap of your bikini and Felix reflexively looks at your cleavage, glancing at the soft mounds inside your bikini top, then quickly shifts his eyes back to your face.

"On the paper, no, you're not," you honestly answer.

Felix's smile fades a little but he keeps his disappointment to himself by sipping his drink.

"But I'm attracted to you," you add.

He swallows his drink at once and almost choked on it, the scintillating smile returns to his face.

"The fact that you're not my type but I'm attracted to you... I think that says something," you tell him with a sly smile. You hold his gaze before looking away and it's cute that you can be bold then shy the next minute.

He sees that you're eyeing the fruit platter next to him, "want something?"

You lowly chuckle and shyly say, "I was looking at your biceps actually but yes, okay, I'd like a strawberry, please?"

You always seem to know what to say and how to make his heart flutter, he can't help but softly laugh, flustered. You hold his hand by the wrist and steady his hand as you eat the strawberry right from between his fingers.

Felix briefly feels how your mouth and lips feel like. It's not technically a rule break and he was playing it safe until you did that. He clears his throat to steer his mind back on track, "Uhm... is that what you like about me? My biceps?"

You lick the juice escaping the corner of your mouth with your tongue, "you have a great body but what I like is the freckles," you share.

Felix unconsciously reaches for his face, "Yeah?"

You pull your hand out of the water and touch his chest, "I didn't know that you also have freckles on your chest."

Is it the beads of water slowly trickling down his chest or it's your fingertips that are lightly touching him that make him tingle inside? Felix feels the need to do the same with you. He reaches for the stray hair escaping your messy bun and tucks it behind your ear.

Instead of retracting his hand, he keeps it there, holding the side of your face.

FELIX: [Hisses] I want to kiss her so badly.

Felix may as well take his chance, leaning in close but doing it carefully as he seeks permission from you. He leans in closer to whisper in your ear with his hand still holding one side of your head, "Should we kiss?"

You put your hand on his thigh underwater and seductively chuckle, hinting that you probably think it's not a bad idea after all.

"I just got out of this thing," you avoid mentioning Jamie in the sentence, then you smile as you say, "I don't want to rush things."

Felix nods in understanding, "That's fair."

However, the hand resting on his thigh tells him otherwise.

FELIX: The chemistry we have is electric. I get the feeling that he can't resist me for long.

The date ends since it's about to be curfew soon. You and Felix exchange a hug, a long one that he gets to feel your body against him.

"That was a nice date," you mutter with a hand around his neck.

Felix uses the opportunity to draw you closer until your breasts squashed between your chests, "Yeah, indeed."

Being the gentleman he is, he gets out of the swimming pool first, then immediately offers his hand to help you. You take it without complaining, letting him hold you until you got out of the water.

Felix watches as the streams of water trickle down your body and your bikini stick to your skin, leaving so little to his imagination. He grabs a towel from a stack prepared on the lounger and put it around your shoulder.

"Thank you," you thank him, then he grabs one for himself and walks back into the house together.

FELIX: She refused to kiss but I’m confident to say the date went well.

The date may have ended but the night continues.

You both go straight to the bathroom with water dripping down your bodies and it's empty since everyone else is tucked in for bedtime. The spacious shower stall gives Felix an idea crossed but he's afraid of crossing the line to ask you.

"You can go in first," he offers.

You drop the wet towel and put it on the edge of the bathtub, "how about we shower together?"

Are you reading his mind? Because that's exactly the idea he had in mind. Felix suddenly doesn't know what to do with himself, aimlessly pacing around the bathroom.

"You can use my nice-smelling shampoo," you offer with a playful laugh.

"I can't say no to that," he replies.

Felix has to calm himself as you enter the shower after him, turning your back to him to help you untie the straps of your bikini. He puts all of your hair away and carefully works the knot open, you take it off yourself after. He watches as you hook your fingers around the sides of your bikini bottom and slide it down your legs, putting the bikini aside with your feet.

It's when you turn around to face him that he starts malfunctioning. There's nothing left to imagine now he sees all of you, that beautiful body of yours that he wants to explore if it wasn't for the stupid rules. You step under the shower and tilt your head up to let the water rain down your chest.

Felix has never been this jealous of the water for being able to be all over you.

"Want me to wash your hair?" You ask, taking the shampoo out of your toiletry bag.

Unable to verbally answers, he stifled a nod.

FELIX: I don't know how I'm still alive after seeing her phenomenal body [whistles]

It's the way you stare up at him with your hands slowly massaging his scalp and standing so close to him that it alarms him that he's rather in danger.

"Is it good?"

He's not sure what you're asking, the way you shampoo his hair or how your body makes him feel. He chooses to compliment you instead, "You're good at this."

"Yeah?" You ask with a grin.

"Mmh, yeah," he tries to distract himself by talking but not long after, he found his eyes looking at your breasts, hung so beautifully on your chest, merely inches away from his chest.

"Time to wash it," you inform, pulling him under the shower and washing all the suds away from his hair while brushing it clean with your fingers.

As you intently clean his hair, Felix braves himself to put his hands on each side of your waist and reminds himself to not go lower than that.

"It smells nice," he comments, opening his eyes from closing it for too long.

You drop your hands on his shoulders then clasped your hands together on the back of his head. With his proximity, your hardening nipples are lightly grazing his chest, raising the goosebumps on his arms.

"You're lucky I let you use it," you say with a sweet smile on your face and your eyes staring back at him.

This is it. Felix has hit his limits. He can't resist it anymore.

FELIX: Oh fuck, I'm in trouble.

"I'm glad we didn't kiss on the date," Felix says.

You chuckle right at his face, "Huh? Why?"

Getting bolder, Felix wraps his hands around you and pulls you even closer, "Because now is the right time to do it."

Your teeth faintly biting your lower lip and he can see the lust in your eyes. Once you close your eyes, Felix knows that he just got your permission. The sweet smell of your breath welcomes him as he kisses your slightly parted mouth. You kiss him back with the same eagerness with a broken moan slips out of you between kisses.

Felix expected sparks but what he gets are far greater, fireworks getting off inside his chest.

FELIX: The kiss is such a long time coming and I just don't care about the rules at that moment. It feels so right.

You pull away first with a gasp and an open mouth, keeping your hands looped around his neck

"Wow. We made that kiss worth the six grands."

Felix grins in agreement with you, except that for him, the kiss is worth more than that. He'd pay with his own money if he had to, it was special, one of a kind. Then another problem appears, Felix craves for it more than before. He leans in for another but you're quick to turn your face to the side, sending his lips landed on your cheek.

"We can't break another rule today," you whisper into his ear.

Defeated, Felix drops his head on your neck and holds you close.

You reach for the faucet and turn it to the side, "How about a cold shower, mmh?"

FELIX: A part of me is glad that she stopped me or else, we would have done everything by now [shamelessly laughs]

It was too late to have you sleeping with him last night.

Hopefully, later, he can fix this bed situation so he can wake up next to you and probably, sneaks a kiss or two. Seeing your face and exchanging a secretive smile is enough to gather his spirits to last the day.

Cole is going through his routine and asks everyone the question of the day, "anyone breaks any rules last night?"

He scans everyone to spot any guilty faces and Felix knows that he's safe from his suspicious eyes since Cole is his bedmate.

"You guys are looking guilty over there," Heidi points at Jamie and Mia's bed.

Fuck Jamie, he's so stupid to let you go but smart enough to leave you because you deserve better. Felix is confident that he is that 'someone better'.

Unlike everyone else, Felix can't wait for everyone to know that he kissed you and gets jealous of him.

FELIX: Another day, another chance to break the rules [winks]

Too bad that despite his excitement, Felix can't spend time with you as you are being called to the front yard for a workshop with the other girls. He has no other things to do but join Alex working out and at the same time, helping him with some lower body workouts.

"You didn't tell me about your date last night," He says as he's taking a minute of a break between sets.

Felix counts the time and at the same time answering to his question, "It went great, man."

Alex is the one who encourages him to keep trying even when you were still with Jamie.

"Told you," he says with a triumphant smirk and getting up, grabbing dumbbells in both hands.

"Did you do anything?" Alex glances at him to get any hints from Felix's expression.

Felix refuses to answer but the grin on his face gives it away.

"How much did you spend?"

He's bad at lying and it's not like he's talking to Cole, which reminds him to look around, "Just one kiss," Felix answers after steering clear that Cole is out of his earshot.

Alex laughs and puts the dumbbells down, "just get ready, bro."

Surprisingly, Felix doesn't care so much about what everyone is going to say when they know about him breaking the rules.

"As an experienced rulebreaker, do you have any tips?" Felix playfully asks.

Alex laughs again and plops down on the hot sand, "I hate to tell you but the only way is through," he says with a stupid grin.

"Thank you, Dorothy!" Felix jokingly responds.

FELIX: I missed her even though I know she's only on a different side of the villa [chuckles]

Felix can't hide his smile when he sees you back from the workshop.

Moreover, he doesn't want to be around Jamie. The fact that he left you for someone else leaves a bad taste in him. Or maybe it's just that Felix grows protective of you that makes him feel that way.

"It's so hot. I'm thinking of taking a dip," you tell him.

He glares at you, "And you're not inviting me?"

"Yes. I'm not inviting you," you tell him with a sly smile, walking to the pool while dragging him along behind you.

Seeing your wet body only reminds him of last night, except that you have not even a thread covering that beautiful body of yours. He's standing next to you inside the pool, facing the view of the beach. He should distract himself from looking at your body by starting a conversation, or anything to keep his head occupied.

"So uh... how was the workshop?" He asks.

You turn to face him when he wishes that you didn't, "basically that when we let men into us, we also absorbed everything about them," you answer.

Your hand is floating on the surface of the water and drifting close to him, "it taught us that we should be more selective of the men we let in," you finish.

Can't help himself to touch you, he places a hand on the arch of your back, "that sounds great," he comments.

You nod and prop a hand under your chin, looking at him with a soft smile.

"What's your verdict on me?" Felix asks.

You tilt your head with a questioning look on your face.

He pulls you close and allows himself to place a kiss on your bare shoulder, "will you let me in?"

You shyly chuckle while putting your hand on his shoulder, "We'll see..." you vaguely answer.

FELIX: She may have not fully recovered from the previous thing but I think we're off to a good start.

You turn him around and jump onto his back, "get me there," you order.

"To the end of the pool?"

You nod, "and back," you continue.

"I didn't know that I have to do lower body workout," he says.

You throw your arms around his neck, "Go! Go! Go!"

Felix hoists you higher on his back and slowly walks to the end of the pool, carrying you on his back.

"Am I heavy?" You lean in close.

"If you're asking of we can do the wheelbarrow position, the answer is yes," he shamelessly pulls a lewd joke.

FELIX: It's so hard to not think about sex when she's walking around being the hot temptation she is.

The firepit is your favorite place in the villa and it unconsciously becomes his favorite place too.

"We're matching!" You exclaim, spotting the navy blue shirt he's wearing and pointing at the dress you're wearing.

"We're meant to be," he coyly responds.

If only you knew that he took a peek at what you'll be wearing tonight and purposely matches his clothes with yours. You sit next to him on the long sofa, lounging with him under the moonlight with the fire keeping the night warm for both of you.

You're lying sideway facing him and resting your head on his arm, this way, he can see the curve of your body wrapped in a skin-tight dress with thin straps.

He takes this chance to ask the question he's been wanting to ask, "Will you sleep on my bed tonight?"

Your fingers are busy playing with the button on his shirt.

"For the rest of the retreat too?" He asks again.

You lowly chuckle, "No."

Felix jerks his head away, refusing to believe that you just rejected him.

You look up at him and say, "But you can sleep on my bed."

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and dryly laugh, "Oh yeah, we're going to evict Heidi tonight."

FELIX: The bed situation has been sorted, there's one more thing left to do now.

Felix runs his hand up and down your arm, "it's a nice dress," he compliments.

"I borrow this from Laura," you share.

The strap accidentally got caught in Felix's bracelet and pulls it down your arm, almost spilling your breast out of your dress.

"Whoops," Felix cheekily responds. He carefully fixes it for you and slides the strap back to its place on your shoulder.

It seems wrong to be this close to you and not kiss you. Not when that's what he thought about all day, the taste and the softness of your lips. Felix tilts your head and seeks your permission with a thumb that tenderly brushes your lower lip.You close your eyes, once again, letting him get what he wants and hopefully, it's what you want too.

Felix doesn't need to worry as you return his kiss with the same eagerness. He can taste your lips with a hint of mint that he believes is coming from your lip gloss. A hand wraps around your neck to keep you still as his tongue pries open your mouth so he can deepen the kiss and tastes you wholly.

Everything else doesn't matter at that moment, it's just you and him, encased in a breathtaking kiss.

FELIX: I'm willing to pay with my own money just to kiss her again [shrugs]

"Do I have your lipstick on me?"

You nod as you wipe your smudged lipstick.

"Does it look good on me?" Felix leans in close so you can clean it for him.

"Yes," you reply, intently wiping the lipstick mark you left on his lips with your thumb.

With you still leaning close and your finger brushing his lips, Felix is tempted to kiss you again. You quickly sense his intention and look away to prevent it from happening. One kiss is enough, for now.

FELIX: I just can't stop... oh, my God! I don't want to stop.

It's only about time that Lana comes and announces the damage you both did.

Before that, you fix your dress and hair, leaving nothing that will give anyone the impression that the two of you have kissed. Felix holds your hand as you both make your way to the cabana and sit on the smaller sofa on the side of the room. He leans in close to the side of your head and softly asks, "Are you nervous?"

You take a deep breath and answer, "Yeah."

It would be a lie to say that he's not as nervous. This is his first time being on the hot seat but he knows what to do, he has his defense at the ready.

"It'll be fine," he comforts you while tucking a hair behind your ear.

The sweet smile you give him puts him at ease. Then you take his hand, clasped it together with yours, and rest it on your lap.

"Hello, everyone!" Lana greets with her computer voice.

"Hello, Lana banana!" Heidi being the loudest of us greets her back.

"There have been breaches of the rules," Lana announces.

Cole brushes his hair to the back in frustration and leans back on the sofa, "I'm so done with y'all."

Felix decides to own up to his mistakes and comes forward, "We kissed. Twice," he concisely admits.

Felix glances around and sees that Jamie is grinning, probably going to enjoy that he's not the one about to get shouted at. Instead of that, there's a moment of silence and he's not sure if it means good or bad.

"Well, if it's you guys..." Laura says, flipping her hair to the back, "I think you deserve it."

Alex nods, agreeing with her and Felix appreciates that Alex has his back like a good friend he is.

"I agree," Maeve adds with a smile shot at you.

FELIX: Whoa, what was that? That is not the reaction I was expecting we'd get [eyes widens]

"I feel like... you guys are building connections so..." Heidi gives her opinion.

Felix lets out a quiet sigh of relief and smiles at everyone, "Thank you, guys. We appreciate it," he says, shaking your clasped hand in giddiness.

He looks at you and you look back at him with a sweet smile. He feels more certain about his choices, this is right, you are right for him.

"But that's not all..." Lana drops a sudden announcement.

FELIX: Oh... fuck off, Lana!

"We have reached the middle of the retreat. However, certain individuals haven't shown the growth we wanted," Lana continues.

Felix feels your hand holding him tighter and he puts his other hand on you, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand.

You put your head on his shoulder, "Is she sending us home?" You meekly ask him.

Considering that he has broken the rules that automatically put both of you on Lana's naughty list, his heart races in his chest. Felix doesn't want to leave yet. Now that he's with you, he wants to stay for as long as he could.

"I'll be sending home two people."

"Two? Right now?" Cole gasps in pure shock.

You nuzzle your head further into his neck, "what the hell," you softly murmur with a restless sigh.

Felix lets go of his hand to put his arm around you. He can't say much because he's not in a good position to know for certain that it's not you or him Lana going to send home.

"Oh, fuck!" Heidi sighs into her hands.

The situation turns even more bleak as everyone got hit by the realization that they can get kicked out at any moment and they should have taken the rules seriously.

FELIX: I'm absolutely shitting it.

"Come on, Lana! You can't be serious," Cole says with a nervous laugh.

"The guests leaving the treat are..."

Felix hears your panicked whine on his shoulder and reflexively pulls you closer to him, knowing that you seek comfort from him.

"Daniel and Aly."

"Oh, my God!" You mutter, slung your hand across his shoulder.

Everyone is in complete shock while a few of them kind of figured that they're the ones who have been fooling around the retreat and not taking the process seriously. Despite all of that, it'll be a loss not having them again in here. Felix cherished the time he spent with them even though he doesn't know them on a personal level.

"Since arriving at my retreat, you have ignored my rules, dismissed my teachings, and failed to grow. And pursued your own desires at the expense of those around you."

Everyone gets quiet as Lana explains the reasons why she sends them home tonight.

"Daniel and Aly, you must now leave my retreat."

FELIX: I think Daniel had a problem following the rules and always chose to be selfish.

"Love you," Aly mutters to you as she hugs you.

You sniffle and say back to her, "Love you, Al!"

Besides Maeve, Felix has seen you hang out with Aly a few times so he understands that it must feel like you're losing a friend. That only proves what a caring person you are and he's lucky to be with you.

After watching them leave, you turn to hug to seek comfort from each other.

FELIX: I hope they continue to grow outside of the retreat. I wish you all the best, Daniel and Aly! [smiles]

It's bedtime and he feels bad if he has to evict Heidi, he turns to Cole, kindly asking him to sleep with her.

"Don't let me down, okay?" Cole warns before taking his pillow with him to Heidi's bed.

He saw you're chatting with Maeve in the make-up room and that explains why it's taking you long to come to bed. He's listening to everyone else talking about Daniel and Aly leaving one bed unoccupied for the night.

When you finally appear, you're smiling as you make your way to his bed. You toss the cushion onto the floor to make some space on the bed while he's puffing your pillow for you, then puts his arm out for you to rest on.

Felix doesn't wait to kiss you on the cheek, "you smell so good," he says.

You smile and say, "I'm pretty sure it's the moisturizer."

FELIX: I'm sharing a bed with her and she smells so good [hisses air through teeth] It's not going to be easy tonight!

There is not an ounce of privacy in the villa but as time goes on, Felix has come to the point that he stops caring about it.

The lights are out and as you turn to your side, your body instantly molds against him. Felix almost lets out a lewd groan the moment your ass is rubbing against his crotch. His self-control is being put to the test tonight and he's most likely to fail at it. He plants soft kisses along your shoulder and up the column of your neck, "I'm so happy that we're sharing a bed," he whispers into your ear.

Felix hears you softly giggling and if only you knew how much he likes hearing your giggles.

You slightly turn your head to the side, "Me too."

He plants his mouth on your neck again and tries not to think about kissing your lips that are mere inches away from his.

"Mmh..." he hums as he plants his nose in your hair and the smell of your shampoo brings him back to that night he showered with you. He hums again but it comes out as a low growl with the deep voice he has.

You look over your shoulder and gently grips his chin, "let's not break any more rules," you lowly say.

He nods and hastily kisses the nape of your neck, "mmh... 'kay."

It's like his hands have their own brains, they start to roam around your body, feeling your clothed body all over. Well, he can vividly picture it in his head without looking, you're wearing a white, thin tank top with boxer shorts that barely cover your body.

"You're so beautiful," he seductively says into your ear.

Sensing that he's close to danger, you take his hands and clasped them with yours to prevent them from wandering around. Felix sighs in defeat, then breaks into laughter as you caught on to his bad intention.

You laugh along and turn to softly kiss him on the jaw, "Goodnight."

He returns it with a long kiss on your cheek, "Goodnight, babe."

FELIX: [sticks tongue out] It's clear that she has better self-control than me [laughs]

You look adorable with your hair tousled, barefaced, and disoriented like an angel who has just fallen from heaven.

"Morning," he forgot that his voice is even deeper in the morning and slightly surprised you with it.

You sleepily smile at him, "Morning."

You reach for his head and slip your hand in his hair, lazily scratching at it.

Felix is smitten, he can look at your face for hours without getting bored. If only he could kiss you while he's at it, it would be perfect. He notices that your tank top slides to the side, almost exposing your breast. He immediately helps you fix it before anyone can see it.

Cole is calling for Felix across the room, "Are we good, bro?"

He chuckles knowing that he's asking whether he broke rules or not, "Nothing happened. I promise you," he assures him.

FELIX: I had the hardest yet the best sleep I had so far in the retreat.

"How are things going, my friend?" Killian asks.

Felix leans back on the sofa and looks at the beach with its postcard-worthy view.

"We've been good if that's what you're asking," Felix playfully replies then shot a glare at Cole.

"I have no problems with you breaking rules if you like each other," Cole defends his strict policy about rulebreaking. He stares at him and with a serious face asks him, "Do you like her?"

"I do," Felix replies without a beat.

He smiles out of the blue like a fool in love he is, "I started to notice these little things about her and find them cute."

Cole and Killian break into laughter in unison but Felix is too happy to feel offended and laughs along with them.

"Oh, boy!" Cole exclaims, enjoying making fun of him too much.

FELIX: [Covers face with hands] I like her so much it's so stupid. I don't know if she likes me back, I'm sure she is but... [shrugs] no, I actually don't know.

Seeing that you're done giving your daily interview, he begins searching for you in the house.

Instead of you, he bumps into Maeve and she knows right away he's looking for her best friend.

"She's in the bathroom," she informs.

"Thank you!" He quickly mutters to her, heading to the bathroom, seeing you standing by the sink and lathering your body with sunblock. It's time that he returns the favor you've done to him once.

"Need help?"

You smile the moment you see him standing in the doorway, "yes, please!"

Felix enthusiastically takes his position behind you, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder before lathering the skin with sunblock. Not that he's no longer attracted to your body, unfortunately, he will always be but he's getting better at controlling his impulses.

Sure it's tempting to untie your bikini and with everyone out of the house, you and him could have another round in the shower. He takes a deep breath when the urge comes up and reminds himself that he shouldn't break any rules, he's aiming to form a genuine connection with you to get a green light

He slips his arms under and around you, "you're so beautiful, babe."

You giggle in response and look at his reflection in the mirror, "Thank you!"

Without warning, he lifts you and carries you out of the bathroom like a sack of potato, sending you squealing, "I'm taking you with me everywhere.”

FELIX: Things are going better between me and her. We're happy with each other.

Knowing that none of you break the rules, Felix can relax when it's time to get to the cabana. He's sitting next to you, putting his arm around you and fiddling with the strap of your bikini, twirling it around his finger.

"Hello, everyone!"

"Hello, Lana!" He half-heartedly greets her back. From the sound of her ever-the-same computer voice, Felix gets the feeling that she's going to share the good news.

"I'm about to initiate my test."

FELIX: Oh shit. I was wrong to think that it was going to be good news.

"With the help of two new arrivals."

With Daniel and Aly left, it only makes sense that Lana brought new contestants into the retreat. Felix should have seen it coming and now, he's just nervous, afraid that it's going to be what he thinks it is.

"The first new arrival is Poppy."

Everyone starts to guess what she looks like just from her name.

"The second new arrival is Josh."

Now this is what Felix fears the most: what is Lana going to do with them? Because if it would be like the last time, Felix dislikes the idea.

"Two of you will be going on private dates with the new arrivals."

FELIX: Whoever this new guy is... I don't feel threatened. At all.

This is not good.

Things are looking up for him and Lana decides to stir things up by sending new guests which he's sure, not only going to change the dynamic in the house but possibly, cause some chaos too.

"They have selected the guests they are most attracted to from the choice of those in relationships."

Did Felix accidentally manifest it into reality?

FELIX: Josh, my guy, you'd better not step on my toes.

"Josh has chosen to go on a date with..."

Felix's heart is beating out of control, it's like his body is telling him that his worst fear is about to come true. He closes his eyes and tries to be cool if it's you who gets chosen.

When Lana calls your name, his heart leaps and he closes his eyes.

"Of course!" He mutters under his breath. He didn't intend for you to hear it but he's a bit upset about being put in this situation.

FELIX: I trust her. It's this new guy that I don't trust.

Felix looks at you to see your reaction. You seem to be at a loss for words and turn rigid next to him. Unlike him, you probably didn't expect to get picked.

"You may now leave to get ready for your dates."

He pulls you into a hug and reluctantly lets you go, "See you later," he says and manages to put on a smile for you.

"Bye," you say to him.

He watches as you leave to go on a date with someone else.

FELIX: If she goes for this new guy, I'm not going to lie... [licks lips] I'll be absolutely heartbroken.

"How are you feeling, Felix?" Maeve asks from the end of the sofa, curious about his feelings about this situation as if his face didn't tell how worried he is right now.

"It's not easy," he answers, "I trust her but I can't lie, there's a little part of me that's worried."

Maeve gently pats him on the knee, "Well, Lana said it's a test so..."

She shifts on her seat to put her feet up, "it wouldn't be easy."

Felix's head is in overdrive. There are so many thoughts inside his head and most of them are not doing him good.

"Yeah..." he half-heartedly answers.

"But I know her and I'm sure she'll stay faithful to you," Maeve tells her.

Considering that it's coming from your closest friend in this retreat, Felix decides to hang on to those words. At least, after this, he'll know whether he can trust you or not.

FELIX: This guy chose her for a reason and that makes me restless [drops head into hands]

The boys agreed to wear matching black shirts tonight. Felix just picked whatever piece of clothing he has in white color and put it on, having no energy to dress up for tonight.

Killian offers him the extra black shirt he packed with him, "You can wear mine, mate!"

Cole can only laugh seeing him so restless as they're hanging out by the fire pit and talking about the new guy when that's the last thing he wants to talk about.

"Are you nervous?" Jamie asks.

Felix knows that Jamie tries to take a dig at him, "not really," he coyly answers.

If only he knew that Felix is so close to losing it.

FELIX: My head is all over the place right now... I refuse to show it. I don't want to show my weakness.

Felix tries not to think too much about it. However, when you show up linking your arm with the new guy, he slouched down on the sofa to hide himself.

"Ooh... she's smiling," Killian quietly informs him.

He tries so hard not to look no matter how much he wanted to. He doesn't want to see you're happy with someone else.

"This is not good, man!" Cole adds, putting Killian's words deeper into him.

Felix covers his eyes as if it would stop him from facing reality. Cole aggressively pats his knee and not stopping until he snaps his head his way.

"They're coming this way!" He informs.

"Oh, fuck!" Felix curses under his breath and sits straighter on the sofa.

Good thing that with the job he has as a model, he knows how to put on a good front even though he's dying inside. He takes a deep breath and put on a straight face.

"Hey, everyone," you greet them as you descend the stairs to the firepit.

"This is Josh," you introduce.

Instead of parting ways, you decide to sit next to each other on the sofa across from him.

FELIX: Fucking hell, man?!

Jamie decides to be the one breaking the awkward silence, "How was the date?"

Josh nods with a smile on his face, "it was good."

The answer doesn't quite give Jamie the satisfaction, so he turns to you for another answer.

"It was nice. I think we got on well," you answer and glance at Josh.

"I've chosen her for a reason and I enjoyed the date. I think I'm going to try, get to know her better," Josh adds after you.

It takes everything in him to not go at him or snatch you away, out of this retreat. Felix starts to heat, inside and outside.

FELIX: Josh is a nice-looking guy and I can see that he's on a mission. Well, he's going to be a big problem to me [gulps air]

"I'm sure you guys have a lot to talk about," Cole kindly put the conversation to an end.

"Josh, right? We'll introduce you to the girls," he gets up, indirectly telling everyone to come along as well so you and Felix can talk.

Once they left, you walk over and sit next to him. He takes your hand resting on the space between you and him, "it's nice to have you back," he says with a smile.

You lean on the sofa and sit facing him, "yeah?"

He swallows air before asking you the question he's been dying to know.

"How was the date? Really?" He asks and nervously gulps air, it's like no matter how much air he takes, he stays breathless.

"Well, I did tell him about you," you begin.

That's a good thing but it's too early to celebrate yet, "yeah?"

"But he said he doesn't care," you continue with an awkward laugh.

FELIX: Oh, Josh, man, I'll never let you step on my toes.

You fiddle with the end of your hair before looking him in the eyes and continue talking.

"Josh is a nice guy but..." you put all of your hair to the side, "we didn't do anything."

Felix can't help but let a smile blooms on his face hearing your words.

You playfully grab his biceps and squeeze on them, "No one was going to change my mind."

The smile grows wider on his face and he can finally breathe for the first time.

"I know we have something great going on and I don't want to throw that away," you say with a soft smile that matches the gaze.

But Felix has one more question to assure him that he's made the right choice, "Does this mean you like me?"

Your forehead wrinkles in confusion, "Of course, I like you. I wouldn't have tried if I don't."

FELIX: Tonight, I am the happiest man on this retreat. Possibly the luckiest too [grins]

Ecstatic, he throws himself at you, sending both of you toppled onto the sofa. He rests his head on your chest and lets you brush his hair like you always do, "You're sweating," you tell him.

Felix laughs his embarrassment away, "I tried to stay confident but I was struggling."

You coo at him and brush his hair to the back, "Well, I kind of want to make you sweat a little."

He puts his arms around you and nestles his head in your neck, "I'm glad to have you back, babe," he says.

He gets carried away that he leans in to kiss you to abruptly stops as he remembers Lana's rules and gasps in shock, "Oh, fuck!"

You cradle his head and kiss him on the cheek to compensate for it.

FELIX: I can't believe I'm about to thank Lana because this test only brought us closer, stronger. So thank you, Lana! [Blows a kiss to the camera]

The two new arrivals don't make a significant change except that the empty bed is now occupied.

Yeah, he's happy that Alex also stays with Laura and proves to everyone that he has a connection with her. However, Felix is too over the moon to even think about everyone else. His cheeks hurt from smiling non-stop and now he's about to spoil you with cuddles as you climb onto the bed.

Cole warns the new arrivals that he's watching even though his eyes are closed, earning a series of laughter from everyone.

The lights are out but with his heart full to the brim, Felix can't sleep. He touches you all over and places kisses on the skin he can land his lips on. He likes you so much and he always thinks that just saying it is not enough. He wants to show you with actions.

FELIX: We've been good lately so I don't see why we can't spend a little money [smirks]

Felix waits until the night got late.

When he deems that everyone is fast asleep, he begins by disrupting your sleep with slobbering kisses on your neck and face. His hand is placing fluttering touches on your body and once in a while, squeezes on the flesh.

He doesn't stop until you wake up from your slumber and when you do, he whispers into your ear, "Baby?"

You turn your head on your pillow and look at him with half-shut eyes, "why are you still awake?"

Instead of answering you, he kisses the nape of your neck, knowing that it's your sensitive spot.

"I like you so, so, so much," he whispers into your ear and emphasizes the words to you.

You lowly giggle, then tangle your hand in his hair, softly tugging at it, "I like you too, baby."

Catching you off guard, he turns your head by your chin and crashes his lips against yours.

FELIX: I'm so happy she chose me and I want to show her that [raises an eyebrow]

Felix gives you no time to stop him. He distracts you, keeping your mouth busy while he slides his hand down, swiftly sliding his hand inside your silk shorts. You whine against his lips as his hand makes contact with your sex, so soft and warm.

"Shh..." he hushed you.

Felix touches you as he would to a delicate flower, doing it so carefully and with so much tenderness. You pull the duvet to cover you and muffle any noises that may come out of you even though you have planted your mouth on his neck.

Felix hovers his head above you, watching your face in the dark as your breathless moans echo under the cover. He traces your fold, fingers lightly circling your clit and applying gentle pressures when he knows you're getting closer to coming undone, "Close?"

"Mmh," you hum in answer.

He keeps doing the same thing with more intensity and adds more speed to it. From the way your cunt pulsates under his touch, you're on the brink of your release. He kisses you whole to contain your moans and stops moving his hand once you hit your high, feeling your hand clawing at his shoulder.

As it gets suffocating staying under the cover, he retracts his hand and put the duvet away. He hovers above you and tenderly caresses your face with his knuckle.

"I'm so happy that you're with me," he tells you just in case, what he just did, did not quite deliver the message to you.

You put both hands around his neck and pull him close, sending him collapsing on top of you. You turn your head to only give him a chance to capture your lips in a rapturous kiss.

Felix doesn't even think about the money at that moment. All he thinks about is you, you, and you.

FELIX: Let's think about the money later, when it's time.

It's his bad behavior last night that makes you act super careful today. You're sitting on the far end of the sofa even though he's patting the space next to him.

"Why are you sitting so far away, babe?"

You shrug and adorably pout, "I'm setting uh... a safe space?"

He laughs at your excessive effort to not create another damage to the prize fund, "Come here!" He insists.

"I wouldn't do anything," he promises, "at least not in here."

You refrain from coming at him and remain where you are, shaking your head at him. Felix eventually comes to you and puts you on his lap.

"I didn't mean to break the rules," he explains, "I wanted to show you how much I like you."

You're poking his freckled cheek with your index finger, "we have to be good from now on."

He nods in agreement, "I agree."

You hold his chin and turn his head to face you, "I'm serious!"

"I'm serious," he convinces you.

You cover his mouth with your hand, "then stop pouting your lips at me."

He chuckles and puts your hand away, "My lips have always been like this."

You put his hand to cover his mouth this time, "From now on, you have to talk to me like this."

He refuses to obey, then puts his hand away, "No, I don't want to."

You try to get away from him but he's quick to hold you down, not letting you off his lap.

"Where are you going, mmh?" He's tickling your neck with his nose.

FELIX: Lana called us to the cabana and I am shitting it because of what we've done last night.

"Somebody better not ruin my good mood," Cole says once he's seated.

Felix shoots an uneasy glance at you and you turn his head away, avoiding looking him in the eyes. Nothing wouldn't change, he's ready to defend himself and you for what he did.

"There has been a breach of the rules."

Lana doesn't dillydally, she goes straight to business, and by business, he means putting him at a stake and about to set him on fire.

Heidi looks at everyone and coo, "Who's been bad?"

Felix remains calm despite his heart feeling like about to jump out of his chest. It's always better, to tell the truth fast than prolong the pain.

"We kissed last night," Felix blurts out.

"Again?" Laura asks with eyelids fluttering.

He takes a deep breath before coming up with his first defense, "I was so happy last night and got carried away, it felt right in the moment to do so."

Cole gives him a death glare, "Was that it? Just a kiss?"

Felix hates to disappoint him but he can't lie, he doesn't have a good poker face.

"Something else also happened last night," Felix's voice goes lower than it already is.

"Oh, no..." Killian exclaims next to him.

Lana takes control of the situation, "Last night, the two of you kissed multiple times."

Cole's eyes widen and are about to pop out of their sockets.

"But that's not all they did," Lana continues.

Here it is, Felix squeezes your clasped hand and braces himself for what's about to come.

"They're engaged in a prolonged, manual gratification."

FELIX: I'm not sorry for what I did but I admit I feel bad for letting everyone down by being selfish.

"You have cost the group a total of $33.000."

Felix turns to you, seeing you wince in both pain and disappointment. But he appreciates that you don't blame it all on him even though it wouldn't happen if he didn't lead you to it.

"I'm speechless as to how much we've lost money this fast," Heidi says with her voice heavily tinted with disappointment.

"The prize fund stands at $86.000."

Everyone gasps in shock and face-palm hearing the announcement.

Cole shakes his head and sighs, "We lost more than half of the money, fuck... sake..."

FELIX: Hearing it makes it real and I genuinely feel bad.

"Today, I asked you to respect my rules but instead of building deeper and meaningful confections, you have continued signs that you may not be here for the right reasons."

Felix's heart drops and his head goes straight thinking that he'd be sent home tonight. He holds your hand tighter because this probably would be his last to do so.

"Therefore, I'm setting you the ultimate test."

Oh? He can breathe a little knowing that it's not elimination.

"To see if you can adhere to my retreat rules under the most trying of circumstances."

You slightly shift on your seat and scoot closer to him.

"Tonight, you will spend the night alone in the private suite."

FELIX: I'm screwed. I don't trust myself, that's the problem.

It doesn't take a genius to know that everyone is too haste to pull a conclusion: that Felix will fail.

"To be honest guys, I've always been the one who initiated it but not tonight," Felix makes a promise to himself and everyone.

"I'll not break any rules," he states and hopes that no one hears how his voice is quivering at the end of the sentence.

"If you did, that would be the most disrespectful thing you do to us," Cole says.

Felix raises his hand as if he's making an oath, "I promise."

"Please make your way to the private suite!" Lana orders.

FELIX: The pressure is on but it's the only way to prove that we have a real connection.

You jump onto the bed the second you both entered the private suite.

"Oh, it's so nice," you sigh, laying on the bed with a sheer dress on and looking at him with dreamy eyes.

"Stop looking so sexy," he says, getting on the bed and lying next to you.

The bed is much softer than the ones in the shared bedroom and covered in silk sheets. He looks around and sees sex toys, condoms, and even lubricants provided at the side of the bed.

"What do you want to do first?" You ask with a sultry voice.

Felix is not sure if you're being playful or trying to seduce him. Either way, he decides to play along with you, "First, I'll take your clothes off."

"Yep."

He glides his hand down your curve, "Then I'll give you head."

"And I’ll return the favor after," you continue with a sly smile.

That gets his eyebrow raised in excitement, "And after that…"

"And after that?" You repeat his words then bite your lower lip.

This is a dangerous game but Felix wants to test his limit, sees how far he can go, "We'll do some more foreplay, use a sex toy or two," he's eyeing the selections of sex toys on the bedside table.

You delightfully hum and turn over to lay on your stomach, "And after that?"

He takes a deep breath as he can vividly imagine it in his head in real-time, "Sex, " he lowers his hand to the curve of your ass, "Lots and lots of sex," he shamelessly adds.

You locked in an intense gaze with him and purposely lower your voice as you ask him, "What are you waiting for then?"

FELIX: Lana, what makes you think it's a good idea to put me in a room with her and not do anything? [Shakes head in disbelief]

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Note

Hiya! I love your writing so much it's amazing. Can I request Joel and Reader! smut? Maybe angry s3x? I loveeeee grumpy Joel. They would def be primal and rough and fast about it too...oof. I'm not too good at coming up with plotlines haha

Anyways thank you so much if you do! :3

oof, this was fun to write

gif by @tightjeansjavi

Menace

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

When Joel refuses to join her at the bar, she has a good time by herself. But he just can't stay away.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, rough sex, little angst, little fluff, mostly just smut tho

...........................

If Joel were here right now, she knows he wouldn’t like the looks of things one bit. Not because she’s in any sort of danger, the only real danger at the Tipsy Bison is whatever that cheap grog is that they keep stewing in the back. No, what Joel wouldn’t like to see is her having a good time, for once, without him. And that’s exactly what she’s doing.

It’s a Friday night in Jackson, a town in which she can actually enjoy the luxury of having a real Friday night after a long week of patrol shifts. Joel, in all his brooding glory, had rejected her invitation to go out to the bar, telling her that all he wanted was some “fucking peace and quiet.” She hadn’t let that get her down, though, scoffing at his petulant grumbles and heading out by herself. And she was having a damn good time too.

“Goddamn, girl. Giving me a run for my money.” She grins at the man, idly spinning her cue stick in her hands as she walks along the pool table.

“You better shape up then, or you’re gonna owe me another drink.” The man throws his head back in a laugh at that, his eyes crinkling up as he looks at her. His name is Teddy, one of the younger men around town who also works patrol shifts. She had a shift with him earlier in the week, and he had been warm and welcoming to her, still pretty new to the swing of things. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s flirting with her, and she’s happy to play along for now, knowing she’s got her grump of a man waiting for her back home, probably snoring in bed already. Love is strange, but she is Joel’s and he is most certainly hers, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. But for now, a little banter with this sweet boy isn’t going to hurt anyone.

“Watch and learn, Teddy. I’m gonna show you how it’s done.” The man whistles low as she bends over the table, lining her cue stick up with her target. So what if she’s hamming it up a bit? Shimmying her hips and flicking her hair out of her face. A small crowd has gathered around the table to watch her smoke this kid, and she’s enjoying the feeling of letting loose after being tensed up for so long.

She moves cool and slick around the table, driving home her last three balls before setting her sights on the eightball. It looks like a tough shot, and she revels in her confidence that she can sink it, feeling Teddy’s eyes sweeping down the slope of her back as she arches over the table. There’s a hushed swell of laughter and a few whoops when she hits the eightball clean into a pocket, and she turns and shoots Teddy a crooked smile.

“Pay up, boy. I want the good stuff this time, top shelf only.” Teddy barks out another laugh, but it quickly dissolves as his eyes flit just behind her. She feels him before she sees him, the solid warmth of him pressing up behind her and a broad palm splaying over her shoulder. He’s certainly not snoring in bed.

“You’ll have to take a rain check, son. She’s needed at home right now.” The low rasp of his voice tells her all she needs to know. He saw her, and the little moves she was making, and now, Joel Miller is pissed.

She can see the bob of Teddy’s throat as he swallows, nodding jerkily. She winces at the crack in his voice when he says that’s alright, he’ll see her around. Joel may be a grump, but he’s also a scary grump when he wants to be, like right about now as he’s steering her out of the bar with his hand still on her shoulder.

“Putting on a little show for all them townsfolk, darlin?” His southern drawl always gets headier, slower, when he’s angry. It’s never a good sign when she starts having a hard time pulling his honey-thick words apart. But she refuses to let him intimidate her, huffing as they trudge through town toward their house.

“It was just a little fun, Joel. I know you’re not too familiar with the concept, but—”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that, darlin. Me and you? We’re about to have a whole lot of fun.” So it’s like that. She can’t help the excited shiver that runs up her spine at his words, heat already starting to lick at her core. She’s known him long enough to know that when Joel is pissed at her, it can only go one of two ways. Sometimes, he’ll shut down and sulk off, keeping his distance until he’s gotten some sense back in his body to come talk to her. But other times, his anger flirts over into a jagged lust, only simmering to cool when they’re both too sore to bitch at each other anymore, a heaving tangle of sweat and pleasure. And judging by the hard flush she can see peeking out of his shirt collar as they get home, she’d put money on this being one of those other times.

The instant the front door closes behind her, he’s pressing her back up against it, swallowing her gasp as he licks into her mouth. She presses her palms into his chest to try to get some space, but he’s immovable, dragging his lips down her neck and nudging the collar of her shirt out of the way to suck searing bruises into her collarbone. She tugs harshly at his hair to get him to finally take a breath.

“Hey, hey. What about Ellie?”

“At Dina’s.” And with those few gruff, syllables, he’s back on her, shoving his jean-clad thigh between her legs and pressing up hard into her core, her hips immediately grinding down to seek any kind of relief to the quick-building heat blooming up her spine.

“You’re something else, you know that? Saw you acting so tough, so cool down at the bar.” His words are a smear across her chest as he works the buttons of her shirt open, dipping down to mouth at the fabric of her bra the moment he gets access, her back arching up into his mouth as she lets out a long sigh of his name. He chuckles into her skin.

“None of them know how sweet you get like this, though. S’just for me, right?” She chokes on a breath as his hand wrenches down the front of her jeans, rough fingers swiping through the slick pooling between her folds. He drags his nose up her cheek as he works one, then two of his fingers into her, her knees buckling when he crooks his digits just so, her cunt clenching hard.

“Asked you a question, darlin. Who’s all this for, huh?” His fingers are pumping into her relentlessly, the squelching noise of each thrust embarrassingly lewd and loud. It’s all she can do to give him a response.

“You– it’s all for you– fuck– only for you– it’s– just you– please–” He laughs, the smug bastard, smearing a kiss to her temple as he continues to fuck her with his fingers, the heel of his palm digging just right into her clit.

“That’s right, baby. S’all for me. Think you can give me one just like this? C’mon, know you can. Be good for me. Just for me.” He doesn’t have to tell her twice, her cunt already spasming around his fingers as she lets out a broken cry, pleasure crashing over her in ebbs and flows as he fucks her through it. He finally relents when her preening whines turn into whimpers, pulling his hand away and sucking his fingers into his mouth as she slumps back against the door.

She’s a complete mess, her shirt hanging loosely off her arms, the cups of her bra shoved down to let her tits spill out, while Joel stands before her still fully clothed, a contrast that sets heat simmering in her belly all over again. She closes the gap between them this time, pressing in for a demanding kiss as she shrugs her shirt off the rest of the way, fumbling behind her back to snap the clasp of her bra open as well. Joel’s hands are on her right away, palming the swell of her tits before squeezing just harshly enough to make her gasp into his mouth, her fingers stuttering where she was working on the buttons of his shirt. He seems to get the hint, swatting her hands away from his half undone shirt and tugging it the rest of the way off by the collar.

“I need you right now, darlin. Got me fucking aching here.”

They’re a stumbling swirl of limbs as they fumble upstairs to their bedroom, banging into walls and slamming doors along the way.

He gets her exactly where he wants her, on all fours at the end of the bed, and she yelps as he wrenches her jeans and panties down her thighs. She cranes her neck over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of him, his jeans rucked down just enough for him to free his cock as he fists himself over her, his other palm kneading the swell of her ass. He nudges his swollen tip through her folds and she shivers at the sensation, trying to press her hips back into him to get more of anything. Joel doesn’t seem to like that though, laying a harsh smack to her ass that makes her nearly jump out of his hold.

“Mind your manners, darlin. Don’t get greedy on me.” She huffs, trying to look back over her shoulder at him but he presses a rough palm between her shoulder blades, forcing her back to bow until she’s collapsing onto her arms, cheek smushed into the sheets.

He presses into her with one hard thrust, his hips grinding into the plush of her ass as she lets out a broken cry.

“Fuck– always so tight for me– fucking made for me, huh?” She can’t respond to his breathless words, not with the brutal pace he’s setting, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room as he pumps into her, his leaking tip hitting a spot inside her that has her mouth opening in a silent scream. Suddenly, he’s snaking his palm up her chest, pressing between her tits to pull her up until her back is snug against the warmth of his chest, his lips pressed hotly to the shell of her ear.

“Tell me you’re mine, darlin. Wanna hear you say it.” She lets out a low moan as his hand dips down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across her clit. Meanwhile, he’s skirted his other palm up to her throat, curling his fingers lightly, a faint but firm pressure making her mind go hazy.

“I’m yours– I’m all yours– please, I’m so close–” His thrusts are getting shorter, more of a deep grind up inside her that has her clenching hard around him.

“Want you to say my name when you come, darlin. Make a fucking mess– c’mon, that’s it.” It becomes too much all at once, and she finds herself letting out a panting sigh of his name as pleasure finally snaps inside her. His hands slacken where they had been holding her up and she collapses forward, resting her teary face in her arms as he fucks her through her high.

“So perfect for me, darlin– shit– just a little more, huh? Fucking close.” His hips start to stutter against hers, and she does her best to press back against him.

“Please, Joel– want it so bad– c’mon, baby, give it to me.” He lets out a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself once, twice, before he’s painting her ass with his spend. He lets out a hard breath before flopping down next to her on the bed, dragging a hand down his flushed face. She winces as she lets her legs splay out, slinking down onto her stomach. There will be bruises tomorrow, without a doubt. She crooks her face to the side to look at him, still panting, eyes scrunched closed.

“Feel better now?” He cracks one eye open, glancing at her before fully turning on his side to steal a kiss from her lips.

“Fucking menace. Yes, I feel better now.” With that, he flops onto his back again, crossing his arms behind his head. She shimmies over to rest her head on his chest, her chin propped up on his sternum so she can look at him.

“You better get me cleaned up, Miller. Made a damn mess.” He huffs, bringing one hand down and smacking the curve of her ass, making her yelp in surprise. She tries to kiss away the all too smug grin on his face, but it’s still there when she pulls back.

“I will. But first, I gotta know. Where the hell did you learn to play pool like that?” She lets out an exasperated laugh at that.

“Come with me to the bar next Friday night and I’ll tell you.” A low grumble resounds through his chest, but he’s still smiling as he shakes his head at her.

“You’re on, darlin. I should warn you though. I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Looking forward to it, Miller.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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charliemwrites · 5 months

Note

Before charmed slasher Simon revealed his true identity, what were movie nights like? I’d kill for a lil section on them almost cuddling on the couch while watching a scary movie and Simon absolutely adoring when you jump and scooch closer to him on instinct 🥹🥹 please charlie I beg you 😭

*Checks notes, chats with The Council* Yeah okay... we can do that.

CW for a bit of somnophilia and Simon being a creep!!

You open the door looking like some kind of pastry with too-big eyes. Soft, cream-colored pair of joggers and a thin pink jumper, so fuzzy he just knows he'll find fluff on him after this. You look so cozy and sweet; he wants to put a pretty belled collar on you. Maybe watch you curl up in a nest of blankets, safe behind the bars of a cage.

But maybe not, he muses as you chirp a greeting, taking his hand to tug him into your apartment. A lamb inviting a wolf to the pen. He likes you best like this, all loose limbed and free to roam. Thinks maybe you'd lose some of that mischievous glint if he locked you up.

The collar though... he'd like to hear it ring as you bounce around him.

"I am the bestest friend ever," you declare, squeezing calloused fingers so much bigger and crueler and blood-stained than your own. "You know why?"

He arches an eyebrow. Your impish smile widens with delight. "Why's that, luv?"

"Well, you know that one place you wanted last week, but they were closed?"

He grunts and nods. Last week was your choice to pick the movie, which mean he was in charge of dinner.

"Well... they're still closed for repairs but! I talked to the owner, who talked to his mum, and she gave me the recipe for that dish you like. So guess what I did!"

He stares at you for a moment, teeth aching his jaw with the urge to sink them into soft flesh. Mark you as his. How the hell are you real? How the hell are you here?

When he's silent a beat to long, you click your tongue.

"You're no fun - I tried to make it," you explain.

Only then does he become aware of the scent in your apartment. Garlic and red meat and savory spices. His mouth fills with saliva as he focuses his attention on you again.

"Smells great, luv," he says, flicking the corner of his mouth up.

You beam. "Hopefully it's good! I tried it first and it seems alright, but I'm not sure it's as good as the restaurant."

It's almost not a conscious thought to snap his arm out and scoop you up, dragging you in against his chest. You yelp initially, but it devolves into a little giggle as you flatten your palms against his chest.

"Thank you, luv."

Every time he comes into your home, it's a struggle not to keep you. Not to take this place for himself, keep you for his own among all your pretty, soft things. Blood washes out; he'd show you how.

"Rileyyyy!" you mock-whine, pushing at him. "C'mon, before it gets cold."

He wants to make a comment about eating you. Simon thinks he could survive a winter on your taste alone. Instead he lets you on your feet, eases his snake-like grip around your waist. You cast him one last, warm look and skip off to the kitchen to fill bowls with food.

"So what movie are we watching?" you call.

"You ever seen Sinister?" he asks.

You make an annoyed noise. "You know I haven't!"

"Well, that's what we're watching."

You appear with a full, steaming bowl and a beer, shoo him to the couch with a little kick to his ankles. "Get it set up while I finish serving."

"Bossy thing," he tuts, voice a little too low for teasing.

The bridge of your nose darkens with a flush, but you make a cheeky little face in return. "Someone's gotta keep you in line!"

You're gone before you can hear the rumble in his chest. Some days he could swear you know what you're doing; that you know just what sort of animal you're poking at. That you're seeing just how much you can prod before he springs.

He tries not to imagine that cheeky, smug little smirk going all wet-eyed and desperate with lust. Sits to hide the bulge forming in his pants and sets up the movie.

You saunter out with your own, less-filled bowl and a glass of white wine. Take one look at the screen and shoot him an exasperated look.

"I should have known," you complain.

"Literally called Sinister, luv."

"Yeah, I know," you lament.

As soon as the movie starts you're curling into his side, eyes huge. Meal forgotten in your lap.

"Oh, no," you whisper, tilting your face to give him a pleading look. "I can't eat like this!"

"Eat quick, luv. You'll have a break after this first part.”

You do as you’re told; take a big sip of wine when you’re done - just in time for the first jumpscare. You save the wine but quickly put it away, shrinking down against the cushions.

“You’re mean, awful, terrible,” you mumble, fumbling a blanket off the back of the couch.

“‘S not very nice,” he snorts, licking his fork clean. You’d made it quite well for a first time. Not necessarily as good as the restaurant’s but better for you having made it special for him.

“You’re not very nice,” you reply, going stiff with fear as the “home movies” start playing. “No no no, fuck all of that.”

As soon as he’s set his bowl aside, you’re clinging in his arm. Bicep squished against your breasts, little fingers curling hard into flesh. He hopes you’ll leave cute little bruises. Your eyes are huge trained on the tv, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Holy shit,” you squeak, hiding your face.

Chuckling, he nudges at you. “Uh uh, no hiding. C’mon, I’m right here.”

You whimper and snuggle in even closer, wedged up against his ribs, leaning into him. Nearly climb into his lap when the creature starts moving on the screen, hands flapping.

“Fuuuuuck that,” you whine, “he’s so fucked oh my god.”

Simon chuckles, setting his other hand on your thigh. Indulges in stroking his thumb over the inseam of your joggers. You barely even seem to notice, engrossed in fear.

By the end, you’re fanning yourself of the panic, shooting him a look that’s meant to be accusing but mostly just owlish.

“You have to make it up to me,” you declare.

Oh, he could think of a dozen ways to do that.

“Yeah?” he rumbles. “What do you need?”

“We’re watching something else. My pick this time.” You pause, shoot him a worried look. “Can you stay for another?”

He smirks. “Couldn’t kick me out if you tried, luv.”

You really couldn’t. Because you’re adorable when you’re scared. Look like something to ruin. But the aftermath is almost better. When your body melts into warmth and (false) safety. The anxiety drains away, leaving you sleepy and pliable. You’ll fall asleep within the hour.

And you do. Clue playing (subtitles on) you’re snoozing against his shoulder before long. He waits until the movie ends for plausible deniability, then takes you to bed. You hardly stir, save to press your nose against his collar with a little hum.

He eases you out of your joggers, eyes flickering at the pretty lace clinging to your hips. Tiny little bows at the sides.

Snuffs out the bedside lamp and fishes his fully-hard cock from his pants. He teases his free hand along your inner thigh, over the lace front of your panties. Scrapes his nail a bit where your clit is hidden. Nearly purrs when you moan softly, wiggling on the mattress to open your thighs wider, still out cold.

Fucks his other hand vicious and brutal, relishing the slight dry pain. Fast and hard, already worked up from having you trembling against him for over an hour. It doesn’t take long to fall over that edge, the memory of your squeaks and cries finishing him off.

He covers the sensitive, angry tip as he cums, no matter how much he wants to paint you with his spend. He takes a deep breath as the pleasure courses through him, twitching through aftershocks. Cracks his neck as he peeks your peaceful expression.

Can’t help himself. Smears his wet thumb over the front of your panties. Nothing you’ll notice in the morning, but you’ll spend all night with him marking your cunt. Maybe even all day tomorrow.

He should go.

Ends up gently, carefully, glossing your bitten bottom lip with a drop of cum as well. Gets rock hard all over again when your tongue flicks out at the sensation, tasting. Still unconscious. You roll over with a sleepy sigh and curl up.

Simon pulls the blankets over you and returns to the living room to clean up from dinner. He’s not yet willing to slink back to his den.

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#asks #cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #charmed slasher ghost #final girl reader

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asumofwords · 5 months

Text

Midpoint - Michael Gavey x Reader

Synopsis: The semester break came along quicker than you thought it would, and you decided to stay on campus for the break to get ahead in your studies. What will happen when you go head-to-head with a certain ill-tempered maths student in a war of pettiness?

Warnings: This fic is 18+, readers discretion is advised. Arguing, pettiness, name calling, low blows, tension, degradation, ripped stockings, finger fucking, rough fucking, fucking in public, p in v, creampie, cum eating.

Word Count: 8.7k

Notes: Hello my angels, Happy New Year, heres to all the filth that will continue to come from the cesspool that is my mind. Thank you all for your patience, I have been so excited to write for Michael, and so I hope you enjoy this as much as I have writing it !! heheh ;) <3

Part 2

There was a soft amber glow that cast over the library, the dark wood warming with the golden light that peaked through the windows, patches of wooden floors illuminated in some spots with coloured lights from stained glass windows.

For the most part, the library was empty bar three other students who had stayed behind for the break, getting ahead on their work for the next semester.

You were one of them, and with the sheer size of the library, you wouldn’t have known there were others inside if you had not seen them when walking down the endless isles of books in search for the ‘British Working Class Movements’ for your history course.

It didn’t take long for you to find it, and by the time you settled into a secluded corner down the back, the sun had already begun to set. You flicked on one of the green and gold table lamps and began to read, periodically taking notes on a page as you went.

It wasn’t that you needed to study ahead, it simply gave you something to do whilst the break droned on, few students having stayed behind making it lonely, but a bit more bearable than making the long trip home.

You loved the library, the stained wood, smell of old books lining the walls, and the quiet of the place was a nice haven to get away from the usual hustle and bustle of college. Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to either their next class or their next party, and although you weren’t a loner per se, you didn’t always feel like being in the constant lights and sounds that came with socialising. And so the library was the one place, besides your dorm, where you could have a nice piece of solitude.

Settling over the page, you gained a steady rhythm. Read about one movement, then write anecdotes as you went, taking the time to pause, re-read, and really absorb the information as much as you could. It was fascinating, and you enjoyed learning as much as you did.

By the third hour of continuous reading and note taking, your hand began to cramp, and so you decided it was time for a short break. You stood up from the desk, stretching your arms above your head, a small sigh escaping your lips as your back cracked and muscles pulled. You twisted your upper body to each side, softly grunting as you felt your back click again and again, sighing loudly as a particular pop took away an ache that had settled between your shoulders. You continued on with your languid stretches, trying to get some of the stiffness out of your body from being hunched over the desk for so long.

You wondered how much more time you should spend writing notes, or whether you could go back to your dorm and laze about on the bed. Luckily for you, you didn’t have a roommate, and were able to make the space feel much like your own. You didn’t have too much furniture, the room not allowing for it, just your essentials and a few trinkets here and there that you had collected. Your real pride and joy however, was a Peace Lily that you had saved from sure death. Now, it sat proudly on your study desk, growing dark green leaves and flowering its soft white flowers.

The idea of going back to your dorm seemed tempting, after all, you didn’t really have to be studying, and you had just recently bought the new Harry Potter book and wished to read some more of it, make a nice cup of tea, sink into your sheets and get lost into a fantasy world.

A soft jangling came from between one of the large book shelves, and soon a man peeked through. His icy blue eyes caught yours and you watched as he assessed you from where he stood, albeit awkwardly, gaze dragging up and down your body.

He was tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair that sat messily atop his head. He had a sharp aquiline nose, and lips that pulled up naturally in its corners.

You recognised him from somewhere, but where you couldn't be sure.

Perhaps he was in the same classes as you?

He continued to stare at you, shirt tucked into his pants, small carabiner attached with a USB dangling from a belt loop, his tongue pushed into his cheek.

“You right?” You asked, shifting on your feet, wondering if he needed something from you.

His lips pursed as he looked at you from down his nose, “Are you?”

You furrowed your brows, “Huh?”

“You've been moaning in the back of the library like a tart.”

You bristled, “I beg your pardon?”

Who the fuck-

“Some of us are trying to study.” His arms were stiff by his sides, and before you had the chance to reply, he spun on his heel, shoes squeaking loudly in the aisles as he marched away.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, feeling angry and also slightly embarrassed about the encounter.

Had you been making a lot of noise?

You didn’t think so, especially since the library was essentially empty anyway. You had even chosen the furthest corner of the floor as well, tucked away behind rows of books and out of sight.

You sat back down at the desk and tried to continue writing notes, but instead, you found yourself feeling far too self conscious, and wondered if you were even breathing too loudly. But before you got too self critical, you remembered that the library was practically empty, and you had specifically chosen a spot the furthest away from the other three students.

If your stretching and little sighs had disturbed him, he was either hanging around your area, or had the hearing of a bat.

So after about an hours more of study attempts and a half a page more of notes, you decided to call it a night, packing away your belongings before taking the book with you, not bothering to check it out.

As soon as you got back to your dorm, you headed straight to bed, not feeling in the mood to make a cup of tea or even open your new book, no longer looking forward to enjoying yourself and settling in. Instead you laid on your back staring at the ceiling, stewing about how the man in the library had spoken to you, and vowing that if you saw him again, you'd give him a piece of your mind.

And by your luck, you did see him again.

The very next day.

You got to the library around midday, deciding that you weren’t going to do a late night of studying, deciding to have a relaxing night in to pamper yourself, maybe even watch a movie in the common rooms if the tv free, or do as you had intended the night before; a cup of tea and your book, and maybe even some ‘me’ time.

The library, despite all its windows and the suns rays peeping through, was cold, and as soon as you stepped foot into it a chill ran over you. You walked through the endless rows of books, not seeing a soul as you climbed the stairs to the second floor, dust settled into the crooks and corners of the staircases and bannisters, the smell almost overwhelming, until finally, you saw him.

He was sat in the centre of the room at one of the large study desks, multiple books opened around him as he furiously wrote down notes and equations. His head didn’t lift at the sound of your footsteps, too busy in his own little world studying for God knows what, so much so, that it was a wonder that you had even managed to disturb him the day prior, which now only seemed to fuel your anger.

You were never one to back down.

You walked straight to him, toes almost kicking the leg of the table as you looked down at his neat writing, his hand flying across the page in rapid succession, no calculator in sight despite the lengthiness of the equations.

It was impressive, you noted begrudgingly, the way he worked so swiftly, and just was you were about to gain his attention, he spoke to you, hand not once slowing as he worked.

“What do you want?”

It wasn’t rude, just as it wasn’t polite. If anything, it was abrasive, like the rough cobblestones outside, and not once did he look up at you.

It caught you off guard.

Your mouth opened and shut as you tried to think of something to say.

Was it really worth being hot headed and saying something the day after?

Would he even remember?

Or would you be embarrassing yourself further?

Ultimately you gave up, deciding that there was no point to saying anything anymore, sighing in resignation as you walked around the length of the table continuing to yours.

You got about three steps away before he spoke again.

“Remember that you’re in the library this time.”

You spun, staring daggers into the back of his head, hand gripping the strap of your bag, “What the fuck is your problem?” Your chest heaved in anger, waiting for him to turn around or answer you, but he didn’t.

The sandy haired man continued his endless equations, leaving you standing behind him as though you had spoken to a ghost. It was maddening, the rush of your blood loud in your ears drowning out the steady scratch of his pencil.

How dare he?

He was just like all the others, like every other man on campus who felt they could speak however they like at any woman as though you were beneath them.

You stood there for what felt like minutes, but was mere seconds.

Realising that you weren’t to get an answer from him, you continued on your way to your secluded little table, stomping through the aisles, your footsteps echoing loudly in the space on the wooden floor.

When you got to the table, you all but threw your bag down, the heavy textbook slamming onto the wooden surface, making a large bang.

Never in your life had you been so agitated, ripping the chair away from the desk, letting the legs scrape on the mahogany floor.

One after the other, you yanked your books out of your bag, your notebook and pens, throwing them onto the table without a care. You could feel the heat of your anger creeping up your neck and into your face, and despite your attempts to calm yourself by studying, you ended up just re-reading the same paragraph over and over again, not once absorbing it.

By the time you decided to give up, the sun had begun to set, and so you hastily scrambled to shove your things back into your bag, not even bothering to tuck your chair in softly, throwing it against the desk and storming out the way you came.

He was still in his regular spot when you stalked past him, his head turned down as he read through his notes, multiple empty chocolate wrappersw spread across the table.

“Fucking asshole.” You muttered as you walked past him, not bothering to spare him a second glance as you huffed and stormed away, hoping to find some peace in your dorm.

When you got to your dorm, you were so hungry that you began to feel sick. Realising that in your anger you had forgotten to eat, you wandered down to the pub not far from campus and got a cheap little meal, eating quietly in the corner, a telly playing a soccer game on the screen in the back.

There weren't many patrons that night, but you could hear the pool table being used in the distance, the loud clacking of the balls being sunk, drowning out the soft sound of the telly. The pub stunk of stale beer and cigarettes, ring stains on all the wooden surfaces from sweating glasses.

It was still early when you finished, and so you made the decision to check out the commons and see if a tv was free.

The night air was cold as you walked back to your dorm, your teeth chattering in your skull as you sped walked, wrapping your arms around yourself to get back into the warmth of the old building. Lights illuminated the old stone walls in a yellow light, casting shadows on the cobblestones and bare trees around you.

It would have been spooky if you weren’t used to it by now, and could understand how first years would become spooked at night alone, walking through the courtyards.

As you made your way towards the common room in your building, you couldn’t help but think about the man in the library. His sandy hair, blue eyes, sharp features and sharper mouth. Who needed a heater when you had this man to fire you up? You could almost hear his grating tone as he mocked you, his glasses shining in the library as he looked down his nose at you.

He made you feel small, unwanted. But you had worked hard to get into Oxford, and you, whether he liked it or not, had earned your place.

It wasn’t unlike the men you already knew in STEM to be somewhat assholes, especially towards women or any degrees they deemed ‘unfit’ or ‘unworthy’. You had heard many scoffs and sneers at the Arts students, or English Literature kids, especially if it was women, from the STEM boys who seemed to hoard together like a bunch of flies. Or better yet, like a Rat King, unable to break the connection between each other despite how much they fought it.

It was, to follow the pun, a rat race.

The hall was dark as you walked to the commons, but from the window of the door, you saw the tale tell sign of the telly being on. You wondered momentarily if it was anyone you knew that had stayed back, perhaps one of the girls.

Maybe you could settle down with them and watch whatever mind melting soap opera was on, and lull yourself into a stupor.

The prospect of talking to someone almost dissolved your sour mood, and by the time you opened the door, peering into the flickering light illuminated room, a small smile had begun to pull at your lips.

But that smile was short lived as your eyes met a pair of pale blue ones.

You watched as his lips pulled down in recognition of you, his head turning to look back at the telly. Your heart began to race in your chest again, the door clicking shut behind you, the soft sound of Doctor Who’s theme song filling the room, the screen reflecting off of his rectangular lenses.

It didn’t help that the small drinks you had at the pub seemed to ignite your previous disdain for the man, as well as dampening your, for a lack of a better word, cognition.

In that moment, you were at a loss of what to do. You wanted to watch tv, but the idea of being anywhere near him infuriated you. Yet, at the same time, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction by leaving, indicating to him that you had given up, and that he had won.

“You going to stand there all night?” He teased cruelly, eyes not once turning back to you, locked on David Tenant as he ran through an abandoned warehouse.

You bristled, teeth grinding down against each other as you stormed past him, “Fuck you.” You dropped down onto the cushion on the other end of the couch.

From the corner of your eye, you could see his lips purse slightly, obviously hearing you.

No matter how much you tried, you could not get comfortable on the couch, and it wasn’t because the couch had a natural groove from the many people who sat in it, or the obvious stains on the covers and arms, some recognisable, others dubious, nor the permeating cigarette smell that emanated from deep within the foam, but rather because he sat all too comfortable beside you, watching a show you wished you could watch alone.

You shifted against the arm again for the umpteenth, huffing softly in the room. Your ass had fallen asleep because you sat ramrod straight and refused to relax, tucking your legs beneath you not leaning back. No matter what you did, you could not settle, body gearing up for a fight.

When you shifted again, it seemed to pull his attention away from David Tenants doctor.

“You gonna keep huffing in the corner like a baby?”

Your already fragile thread of patience snapped.

“What the fuck is your problem? Have I done something to you? I don’t even know who you are.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him. The man sneered, leaning towards you on the couch, “My problem is vapid little cunts like you. Getting by on mummy and daddy’s money whilst the rest of us have to work to stay here. You just party and fuck each other like rats.” His cold eyes razed up and down your body, watching as your face morphed from anger to offence, and then, to rage.

You shot up from your seat, moving to stand over him as he looked up at you, face barely containing his hatred.

“I don’t have ‘mummy’s and daddy’s money’, I’m here because I worked hard to be here.” You hissed, hands clenched into fists at your sides, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know you’re friends with Felix Catton and every other vapid, useless cunt that hangs off of his every breath.” His voice lowered, hatred simmering behind his light illuminated glasses.

Your brows furrowed, “Felix and I have a class together. Assigned seating. We walk there together. If-” You straightened, looking down at him before it hit you.

A laugh of disbelief flew from your lips, and soon enough the cocksure anger melted away from his sharp features, replaced by confusion.

“Wow.” You huffed, a bitter laugh filling the air, “You’re jealous.” His eyes narrowed on you, “You’re jealous of Felix.” You watched as his mouth snapped open, “Maybe if you weren’t so-“

“-I’m not fucking jealous of those nobodies.”

Snorting, you shook your head, “Nobodies… Yet people know their name. I don’t even know who you are.”

You waited for him to give you his name, to finally tell you who this infuriating man was, the credits of Doctor Who playing in the background as you stared at each other. Your chest heaved, but all you felt looking down at him was irritation.

“Your anger is misdirected." You growled, "I thought you would be smarter than that.”

The man's jaw ticked, “I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I don’t.”

You turned away, suddenly drained from the whole interaction. You didn’t bother to turn back and look at him, or even say another word. You wanted to go to bed, no, needed to go to bed and get away from the man on the couch before you tore your hair out.

As you opened the common room door, his voice called out to you.

“Y/n L/n.”

The way he said your name sent goosebumps rising on your skin, each syllable pronounced slowly, as though he was savouring your name on the tip of his tongue. Your hand paused on the door as you pushed it open, looking back at him.

“And who are you?”

Before he could answer, you left, slamming the door shut behind you. You marched straight back to your room, hands in such tight fists that your nails left half crescent moons in the flesh of your palms.

You lay awake most of the evening staring at the ceiling with the interaction on your mind.

He knew you by name, even thought you were friends with Felix, and whilst you weren’t not friendly with him, you wouldn’t say you were closely acquainted. You drank at the same parties sometimes or saw him down at the pub, but the only one-on-one time you had with him was in class.

Whoever this man was, and whoever he thought you were, he was wrong. And now he was going to regret it.

You knew he would be there, in fact you betted on it, getting up extra early to go to the library to do the one thing you planned on doing that day.

Piss him off.

If there was one thing that men hate the most in the world, it was not being in control, and that was doubled if it was with a woman.

You sat at the table he always did, spreading your textbooks and papers, pens, notes, snacks, water bottle, and even IPod Nano on its surface. You had brought extra things with you today in your bag to spread across the table, some things not even needed to study, but used to take up more space and soil his little territory.

The sun had barely even risen by the time you laid it all out, but you knew it would all be worth it.

And it was, because not even fifteen minutes later, he arrived to the sight of you at his desk, humming as you looked at your notes.

His feet stopped not too far from your (his) table, watching as you met his gaze, devoid of emotion. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling, watching as he clenched his teeth in irritation.

He was almost shaking with anger.

Got you.

You kept the image of innocence, looking back down at your notes as you tapped your pen against the tables surface loudly. You could see his fists clenching in your periphery at his side, his pale green button up shirt with long beige pants shifting side to side as he stood angrily watching you.

“What are you doing?” The blonde’s voice cut through the quiet of the library, irritation evident in his tone.

You didn’t bother to look up, pen still clicking rhythmically against the table, “Hm?”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Placing the pen on your page delicately, you looked up, “Pardon?”

The mans cheeks flushed an angry red as he stared down at you, lips pulling into a tight line, “Whatever you think-“

“-I’m sorry,” You interrupted him, leaning forward to look up into his eyes sweetly, “Do I know you?”

The man leant forward and sneered, “Gavey.”

“Gavey?” You titled your head, biting your lip softly in thought.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

“Yes.” He grit through his teeth, looking down at your spread notes and gear.

Then it came to you.

“Gavey! Michael Gavey!” You beamed up at him, leaning slightly forward on the desk.

Now you knew why he was so familiar.

“You’re the maths genius.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Anyone who had heard about Michael Gavey knew about his stellar intellect when it came to maths, and unfortunately for him, they also knew about his little antisocial outbursts, “You yelled at Oliver on O week.”

You watched with delight as the anger fell momentarily from his face, and embarrassment replaced it. You leant further forward, putting both elbows on the table as you rested your chin on your hands, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Is it true then? You can do any sum just in your head?”

If it was true, he needed to be studied by a team of scientists.

And maybe a behavioural therapist.

Michael stood taller, proud to have been recognised for this part of him as he watched you bat your eyelashes at him. His shoulders rolled back, eyes glimmering with determination behind his glasses.

Men were so easy.

You just stroke their ego a little and their guard comes down immediately.

“Ask me.” His voice was soft, confident, waiting on bated breath to show off his born skill.

You smiled, “Alright. Seven-hundred-and-eighty-nine multiplied by six-hundred-and-fifty-four.”

Without missing a beat, “Five-hundred-and-sixteen-thousand-and-six.”

“Divided by twelve.”

“Forty-three-thousand point five.”

“Times nine.”

“Three-hundred-and-eighty-seven-thousand-and-four point five.”

You leant back in your chair watching him. It was impressive, and if he wasn’t such a prick, you would have openly praised him. But you didn’t have it in you in that moment to give him anything but a lengthy stare, using the time to get a good look at his face without the sneer.

He was handsome, a long face framed nicely by his ‘devil may care’ hair. You wondered if he even bothered to brush it in the morning. The longer you looked at him the more you could see how his sharp features and soft lips would in fact get him the attention he so desperately craved, if only he wasn’t as insufferable as he was. In fact, the more you thought about it, if things had been different, perhaps you would have pursued him, maybe even asked him out for a drink.

Instead, he had made an enemy for himself, and being petty at this point was a hobby for you that you took great time and pleasure in doing, especially if it was for assholes who made the first move unwarranted.

“Hm.” You tapped your pen against the table, “How do I know it’s correct and you're not just making it up?”

This seemed to anger Gavey.

“I’m not making it up. I do the sums,” He narrowed his eyes, “In my head.”

“I don’t have a calculator to confirm this. For all I know, you could be lying.”

The anger was back, “I’m not lying. I’m never wrong.”

“Sure.”

“I’m a genius.”

“Uh huh.”

Then came the vitriol, his shoulders tensed in rage, “What would you know anything about maths? You’re a History and Philosophy major.” Michael scoffed, seeming to think that his disdain for your degree would upset you in the slightest.

You sighed loudly, pulling the earphones from your Ipod to begin putting them in your ears. You looked at him pointedly, putting a sad little smile onto your lips.

Show time.

“It’s a shame, you know.” You said sadly.

“What?” Michael responded, over-eagerly.

The earphones sat in your ears and you scrolled down to a song you wanted, letting the music begin to play loudly just to piss him off, the noise turned up high enough for him to hear the lyrics. You didn't show it, but it was too loud, and most certainly hurt your ears, yet it was worth it to see his nose scrunch up.

“That you’re a snob.” Your voice rose over the music in your ears, unable to hear anything but the loud bass line that bounced in your head, “You’re actually cute when you’re not sneering at me.” You let your eyes drop back to your page, ignoring his presence as you strummed the pen loudly against the wood of the desk, unable to hear if he responded, but also not bothered to hear him. You had ended the conversation just the way you wanted.

And it would drive him nuts.

What you hadn’t seen was his mouth opening and shutting multiple times as a blush spread across his cheeks. He stood idly by, utterly unable to produce a single word or sound bar clearing his throat. Michael disappeared from your periphery as he left to sit at the table at the end, dropping into his seat to begin his studies.

But it proved to be fruitless, because as he attempted to settle into the endless stream of equations, all he could hear behind him was the tinny sound of your music blasting from your earphones and the steady grating tap of your pen.

He tried, in vein, for over an hour to focus, before giving up and storming out of the library. It was only then when you lifted your head, smiling at his retreating figure in triumph.

I win.

Not a word had been written on your page, and not a thing had been absorbed in your head. You lowered the volume of your music, a ringing settling into your ears, before packing up your things to go back to your dorm, deciding that a job well done was deserving of some respite, and in your good mood you would actually read your book.

You spent the rest of your day and better part of your evening reading, lounging, and snacking on some chips as you snuggled into your sheets.

Being the creature of habit that you were, you ended your triumphant day going to the pub to have another cheap meal and a drink or two, spending a considerable amount of the evening chatting up another student who had also stayed behind during the break.

He was cute, and funny, and although he hinted more than once that he would like to continue your evening back in either one of your dorms, you didn’t have the energy to entertain a potentially dull night of barely there pleasure.

He smiled too wide and had too much confidence to really know what he was doing, and you felt immediately that he would be the type to get his and leave you high and dry. So you parted, promising emptily to get another pint together soon enough, though you knew it wasn’t your stellar verbal company that he wanted.

Sinking into bed that evening was an easy and pleasurable experience. You crawled into your sheets, smile on your face and victory on your tongue. Your tit-for-tat was successful, and now you could finally just focus on your work, and not the sandy haired Michael Gavey who seemed to invade your every thought.

The sun trickled through the curtains by your bed, a warm stream of light hitting your face. You woke with a stretch, body slowly waking up with the day.

You didn’t have much planned after yesterdays success, and didn’t have a want to do much at all, but there was only so much lounging in bed one could do over the many weeks of break, so you decided to go back to the library, at least for an hour to make up for yesterdays losses (despite the personal win).

You looked around your room and settled on a skirt and some tights with a turtle neck sweater, unable to find anything else as a pile of dirty clothes had slowly accumulated in the corner. You made a note to yourself to take it to the laundromat later with some coins and your book.

The walk to the library was the same monotonous one as it always was. The same stone walls, the same dark wooden detailing and floor, the occasional beautiful stained glass window, and the ever strange silence of an empty college. There was a light layer of frost on the grass outside, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it would snow. The trees were bare except for a handful of orange and brown leaves, hanging on for dear life, or perhaps, holding on with dead fingers.

Rigor mortus of the petiole.

The steps creaked beneath your feet as you made your way up to your usual spot, the library cold as it always was, causing you to wish you had brought a warmer jacket with you. When you got to the landing, you expected to see him, sandy hair, glasses slipping down his sharp nose, hunched over the same textbook as he wrote out his equations with dizzying speed, but the tables were empty, and the aisles were barren, and all that was in the library was you.

Briefly you wondered for a moment if something has happened to him. Had he gotten sick? Too ill to crawl out of bed, laying in his sheets with a fever and no one to comfort him?

You frowned at the thought.

Why did you care?

His ego was likely too bruised to show his face, and was hidden in another alcove or other smaller library somewhere else, or perhaps even in his room.

Maybe he even had friends, and decided to spend the day with them, likely another student in STEM.

You could have sworn you saw him and Oliver Quick in the pub one night together.

You walked past his empty table and continued down the end to where your little nook was, grazing your fingers along the spines of the books as you went. Each ridge another spine, each spine another thousand upon thousand of words that had been read, dissected, and rewritten by many a student. You liked to think about how many hands had touched the pages, how many eyes had skimmed the words, how many bags, beds, tables, couches, cars or trains they had been in over the years, and how many times you had read them, or held them in the same spot.

You emerged from the isles to your nook.

It was not what you had expected that morning.

Certainly not what you had expected any morning come to think of it, but even so, your steps halted and your heart began to quicken, anger slowing creeping up your neck, heating your face.

He was sat at your table.

Your table.

His glasses had slid down almost to the tip of his nose, a long slender finger daintily pushing them back up to the bridge, lips pouted in their natural pout as his hand flew about his notes, writing equation after equation in a speed that would intimidate even Einstein. Michaels hair was disheveled, as though he had run his hand through it multiple times, as he contemplated the pros and cons of sitting there.

He must have landed on the pros.

“What are you doing.” You bit out, an irritating sense of dejavu seeping into your bones.

Michael didn’t look up at you, your feet almost pushing through the floor, anger rooting you in place.

“Hm?” Came his noncommittal reply.

It set you off.

“You’re in my seat.” You hissed, swiftly stepping towards him.

The light from the window beside him cast shadows across half his face as he looked up at you, he sucked his teeth loudly, “Your seat?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” His head dipped back down to his notes, his blue eyes looking up at you from under his lashes as his hand continued to write, “This is a public library. It’s a public seat.”

You stormed forward dumping your bag atop his hand, his pencil scraping across his notes on the paper, “You know exactly what I mean.”

His jaw ticked, steely blue eyes flicking to where you dumped your heavy bag atop his notes and own text book.

“I’m sorry, I’m not tutoring on break.” His tone all too demeaning as he over pronounced each word.

Your hands slammed down onto the desk as you leant forward towards his face, “I don’t need a tutor and you know it, you miserable little cunt.” Anger boiled inside of you, building and building, ready to burst.

Michael bristled, “Who the f-“

“-Oh, fuck you, Michael. You’re a miserable piece of shit, thinking you’re above everybody else, sneering at anyone who dares to be happy. I’ve seen you, always sulking about in the shadows because no one can stand to be around you.”

The silence was almost deafening.

Oh God.

That was a low blow.

You had taken it too far.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very guilty, “Michael,” You started, “That was-“

A pale hand lifted in front of your face, the man standing almost near silently in front of you. He went from below you, to towering above in a split second, his sheer size double your own. He stared down his sharp nose at you with a look of contempt, the rage behind his eyes flickering with barely held restraint.

“Do you want to know what I think?” His voice was low, lower than you had ever heard it go, emotion almost drained entirely from it except an icy edge which sent the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

You stayed silent, watching as he stepped away from the desk, chair scraping on the wood to come towards you slowly, your heart beating like a drum behind your ribs.

Though you could step back, his eyes kept you glued to where you were, head craned up to look at him as he came closer, the tension in his jaw growing with every passing second.

It was unnerving, and everything within told you to run, but something made you stay.

Call it guilt.

Or intrigue.

His hand dropped to his side, slow, calculated steps coming closer, each one as silent as the next as his cheek twitched whilst looking you over.

“I think,” He began, a foot away from you, voice low, “That you’re just desperate enough to accept the scraps that they give you, because you fear if you don’t,” Another step, taking him toe-to-toe with you, “That you’ll be a nobody like me.”

Your mouth became dry, lips slightly parted as a tinge of hurt spread through your chest.

You shook your head faintly, “I don’t think you’re a nobody.”

A brow lifted, “You called me a nobody.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wrong because it was hurtful? Or wrong because you have more in common with me than you do with them.”

You shook your head, “Why is it always about them?”

“It is always,” He sneered, “About them. I have watched you take what little you can get from them like a beggar. Talking to Felix in the hallways, doing his homework for him, smiling at him like a dolt.”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“I’ve seen you.” His shoe bumped against yours as he leant forward, “You’re nothing to them. How long was it before they even learnt your name?”

“Stop it.” You whispered, feeling tears prickle in your eyes.

Michaels head tilted, “Why? It’s the truth.”

“It’s not.”

The sandy haired man clicked his tongue at you, head tilting, “You and I both know that’s not the truth, is it? What did Farleigh call you again?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek, leaving a wet track in its path. Your lip wobbled as you tried to keep your composure.

You didn’t know how he knew.

You didn’t know how he could have known what Farleigh had said to you that night, drinking in the pub together.

You hadn’t even meant to join them, but their table grew bigger and bigger until it swallowed your own and soon enough they were buying you shots. It was never a regular thing, you were never quite in the circle, but not quite out of it either. More-so lingering in the nothingness of neither here nor there.

Michael looked at you pityingly, not in a way where he held empathy for you because of it, but in a way where he pitied you for being the way you were. It was demeaning. Cold.

Detached.

“Parvenu.” His lips pronounced each syllable slowly, darkly, and it made you ache.

Another tear fell as you took a sharp intake of breath, sniffling roughly.

Shame built inside of you.

It was humiliating to relive that moment, let alone with Michael. And now that you knew he had witnessed or heard it, you wondered who else may have been there to hear Farleigh’s degrading comment and snort of a laugh followed. The way he would raise his brows at you the rest of the night as if to say ‘See? You don’t belong here, and we can all see it’, ‘We let you here because we can’.

“I don’t understand-“

Michael interrupted you, "-You let them walk all over you, and for what? Parties and accolades?” The corners of his lips turned downwards, “They don’t even respect you. Do they know that you’ve stayed behind on break alone? Do you think they’ll think of you in their mansions? Do you think Felix would ever-“

“-You talk about them as if they’re irredeemable, but they’ve been far nicer to me than you have.” Another tear fell, and your stomach tied itself in knots.

The anger seemed to simmer in his eyes, “They don’t deserve you.”

Your brows pulled down in confusion, “What?”

“You let them use you, chasing after their fleeting affections. It’s pathetic.”

Anger began to simmer inside of you, “Pathetic? You know what’s pathetic?” You leaned up on your toes, “The fact that you have so clearly been watching me, and everything that I do, and not once have you tried to be my friend. Do you know what’s pathetic?” Your voice began to rise, heat inside of you rising with it, “Your anger and hatred of them clearly stems from jealously and embarrassment because they would never talk to-“

Your eyes widened in shock, his lips crashing against yours as he yanked you forward, hand at the back of your head pulling you in tightly. You were so in shock, you didn’t know what to do, standing stiffly in his arms as the other circled your waist and pulled you against him.

It only took a second for your brain to come to with what was happening, your eyes sliding shut as you kissed him back roughly, all teeth and vitriol as you bit the soft flesh of his lips roughly. He hissed, pulling you closer, your feet stumbling against his as he backed you towards the wall of books beside the desk.

Your spine hit the shelf roughly as he shoved you back, both of you panting before you grabbed his shirt angrily, yanking him back towards you. You were so furious, so almost feral that you needed this more than you would have thought.

There was something about him, something about him that made you want to pull your hair out and also sit on his face to silence him.

His kisses weren’t skilled, but they were filled with passion as his teeth clashed against yours, a fight for dominance ensuing as you let a hand slide up into his hair and pull. A grunt came from deep within his chest as you yanked at the roots cruelly, hoping it would hurt him. Heat built in your gut rapidly, the need for him growing stronger with each passing second.

The hand on your waist slid down further, pulling up your skirt as his fingers pressed against your clothed core. You gasped into his mouth, hips thrusting forward from the pressure. With the other hand disappearing from the back of your head, it met the other between your legs, hooking into the gusset of your tights before you heard a loud rip, cold air immediately hitting your core.

You gasped loudly, Michael taking advantage as he slid his tongue into your mouth, flicking it upwards against the back of your teeth. He tasted faintly like chocolate, and it was a taste that you didn’t mind at all. His fingers immediately sought out your centre, sliding impatiently between your folds to gather the wetness from your entrance.

His movements were sloppy, yet focused, drawing it up to your clit as he rubbed fierce circles into it that bordered on painful. You nipped his bottom lip harshly again, yanking his head back and away from you to look at his face as two long digits circled your entrance.

The pupils of his eyes were enlarged, almost swallowing the blue of his iris whole. His cheeks were flushed a dusty pink, and lips a deep red after your bites. The glasses upon his face were slightly skewed and lightly fogged, the hair atop his head sticking up in different directions from your rough handling. You didn’t even get to observe him for longer before he roughly shoved the two fingers inside.

“Fuck.” You hissed, back arching towards him, shoulders roughly pushing into the bookshelf.

A mean smirk pulled on his lips as he crooked his fingers against the front of your walls, quickly thrusting his hand in and out with dizzying speed. Your breath caught in your throat, brows pulled down as you looked at him, low whine falling from your lips.

“So wet already.” Michael teased, thumb lightly brushing your pearl, a spark of intense pleasure shooting up you.

You pulled his head back towards you, moaning into his mouth as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, the sound of your arousal loud in the both of your ears. Michael pulled up one of your legs, hooking it around his hip, the cold metal of his carabiner pressing sharply into your inner thigh. Pleasure began to wind tightly in your gut, his long fingers reaching parts of you, your own couldn’t.

Panting against his mouth, your hand flew behind you to grip one of the wooden shelves, elbow bumping against the spines of the books.

His pace never once faltered, all those hours of quick equations all day boosting his hand strength and stamina. You were surprised that he even knew what he was doing, but the questions floated aimlessly in the back of your mind, not quite sticking.

Your nails dug into the wood of the shelf, hand falling from his hair to his shoulder as your head fell backwards against the shelf, your peak barreling towards you.

“S’close. Please.” You whined, rolling your hips into his hand.

A mean laugh broke your peace, his fingers pulling out of you sharply, preventing you from reaching your release. Your eyes flew open, brows furrowed in frustration as you looked at him, smug smirk on his lips as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on the arousal soaked digits.

You moaned weakly looking at him as he did it, hips rolling towards him in an attempt to get him to touch you again. Michael lips pouted at you as he pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop.

“Touch me.” You breathed, pulling him towards you with your leg, the zipper of his cargo pants pressing against you sharply. You sighed, rubbing your centre against his pants, a wet patch no doubt beginning to stain the front of them.

“So desperate.” He cooed at you, your core clenching at his words as your eyes fluttered.

The hand that had been inside of you quickly made its way to the front of his pants, the other joining as he hastily undid his belt, not pulling it through the loops, followed by his button and zipper. Michael hastily reached into his pants and pulled out his hardened length, the tip pink and weeping, veins crawling up the sides.

You swallowed thickly as you looked down.

Oh shit.

Michael was very well endowed.

You didn’t know what shocked you more, the fact that he had such a sizeable cock, or how he thrust it up into you without warning. The stretch was bordering painful and you cried out loudly, Michaels hand slapping across your mouth to stifle the sound.

“Quiet.” He hissed, pushing in to the hilt, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. Your eyes screwed shut as you whined into his palm, your walls struggling to accommodate him as he slowly pulled out, each vein and ridge catching on your inner walls deliciously.

The slow heat inside of you began to build once more.

Michael thrust into you sharply, your head banging against the back of the shelves as he kept his hand against your mouth, the other holding your hip against him. He set a brutal pace, fucking into your slick walls without abandon as he chased his own pleasure, punching the air out of your chest.

“Fuck.” He hissed, forehead pressing against your own as he looked down to where you were joined, the leg you stood on stretched on your tippy toe to meet his height as he fucked you, “Your cunt is fucking tight.”

“Mmm.” You moaned, eyes slipping shut as the coil within your gut began to wind rapidly, each brutal thrust stretching you wide against him with painful pleasure.

“You gonna cum?” He panted, his eyes shutting behind his glasses that slid down his nose, “Can feel you squeezing my cock. Fuck.”

You nodded desperately beneath his hand, eyes opening to meet his steely gaze as he pulled his head back to watch you, the book shelf creaking as he fucked you against it.

You were so close, so fucking close.

“Go on.” He commanded, “Cum on my cock like a little slut.”

Your core clenched around him, blinding white pleasure coursing through you as you came, his hand falling from your mouth as you moaned loudly, the noise echoing in the library.

“Shit, fuck. I’m gonna-“ Michael’s thrusts stuttered as a long moan burst from his lips, the warmth of his cum filling you.

You whined, hands gripping his hair as you crashed your lips against his, kissing him lazily as you both panted, his cock throbbing inside of you as your walls squeezed every last drop from him.

Michael pushed as deep as he could go, the warmth of his cum beginning to leak around the base and down your thighs as you pulsed around him. Your mind was blank, fuzzy warmth spreading through your limbs in a soporific manner. He broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at you, glasses slightly foggy.

You searched his eyes and his face before a smile cracked on your lips. Michael mirrored it with a lopsided grin, huffing as he breathed out deeply.

Feeling a burst of confidence, you let a hand brush between your legs, swiping some of his cum that had dripped onto your thigh up to your mouth. You licked it off your finger slowly, opening your mouth to let him see the mess on your tongue before swallowing.

Michael’s adams apple bobbed, his cock twitching inside of you, “Fucking hell.”

You huffed another laugh, leaning forward to kiss him again, sliding your tongue into his mouth so he could taste himself as well as you on his tongue. He hummed loudly, dropping your leg to cradle your head in his hands.

When you broke away once more, you couldn’t help but notice the glaringly obvious.

Michael Gavey just fucked you in the library.

His tongue wet his lips as he looked at you, “Was that good?” A beat, “For you?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, “You?”

“Yeah.”

Silence began to stretch between the two of you before you shifted your hips, Gavey took the hint and slowly slid from your walls, causing you to whimper from the overstimulation. He tucked himself into his pants as you righted yourself, looking down at the gaping hole in the gusset of your tights.

“Well this will be an interesting walk home.” You mused, a hum of a laugh tickling the back of your throat.

Michael snorted, “Made quite the mess.”

“You did.”

Michael smirked, “It wasn’t all me now. I can’t take all the blame.”

You let your skirt drop, smoothing it down as you stepped away from the bookcase, looking back up at him.

“I suppose not. There was effort on both ends here.”

“There was.”

You nibbled at your lip, the unspoken words just at the tip of your tongue, “Michael-“

“-27. We’re in the same block.” His eyes searched yours.

Room 27? Why-

“Did you want to get a drink?” Michael blurted, shifting on his feet awkwardly as though you hadn't just fought and angrily fucked against a bookshelf.

You looked at him closely. There was no sign of insincerity in his eyes.

He was offering an olive branch.

You let a smile wash over your face, enjoying how his own came to match it.

“Sure."

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neopuppy · 1 year

Text

Take My Breath (M)

pairing. alpha Jeno x female omega reader

genre. trapped in an elevator AU, a/b/o, pwp, M/F

warnings. profanity, explicit smut.. filth, pre-heat, dubious at first(consent given), ‘stuck’(ridiculously unrealistic), slick, oral, unprotected sex, anal, multiple orgasms. minors DNI.

word count. 7000

“A coffee shop in the lobby? The fact that this place even has a lobby?” Your friend lets out a low whistle glancing around. “Not to mention the amount of unclaimed Alpha real estate around here. So many bare naked fingers. What God did you save from immortal death in a past life to snag this place?”

“I told you, I’ve been on the hunt for months. It was worth the wait.”

“A new place isn’t the only thing you’ve been hunting for months.” One of her well-kempt eyebrows bounces, nudging her chin toward the line that’s formed filled with Alphas dressed in various work attire. “There’s no way you won’t end up mated living here.”

“I’m not trying to mate anyone.” You say uninterested. It’s true, really, you could care less to have some Alpha prancing around your new place, making a mess of crumbs and leaving remnants of his scent behind to ruin your peaceful atmosphere.

“You can try to deny our nature all you want, but your Omega instincts will handle your stubborn attitude. You just wait and see.” She says with a wink, leading you to start up another discourse over how you have learned to control your Omega’s feral hormones. A call of your name from behind the coffee bar leaves your lips parted, holding up a finger before her face as you stand to pick up your drink.

“Hold that thought, I’m not done with you.”

“Yeah yeah. Go grab your coffee you grouch, you need it.” She laughs teasingly, making eyes at a few handsome Alphas in line.

“This isn’t my drink..” You say, turning the label on the cup to face you. “Jeno?”

“That would be me.” A firm chest grazes your arm, sliding into the space by your side as he reaches for the cup still lingering at the tips of your fingers. “I believe I grabbed yours by mistake.”

The Alphas scent swarms around you first, as rich and warm as a field full of lavender, calming enough to relax your tense muscles, loosen brain-aching invisible strings keeping your scalp tense, slowly stumbling back mindlessly.

“Oh my God!” The Alphas deep rumble reaches your ears faintly, gathering you with his scooped arms before you can hit the floor.

He’s strong, flexing under your waist as he sets you back to your feet and maneuvers you with speed to stay up. “Are you okay?!”

Concern softens his speech, stroking up and down your arms with wide large palms that shiver each nerve down to your fingertips. “Almost hit your head there.”

The Alphas cheeks bunch up, steadying you with his hands clasped on your shoulders. “Probably my fault for popping up by your side out of nowhere.”

“Is she okay??” Your friend interrupts, breathlessly as if she’d rushed over, patting the top of your back. “What happened?”

“Ah, I’m the one to blame.” The Alpha says apologetically, directing to your drinks sitting side by side. “I grabbed the wrong drink, think I bum rushed your friend here.”

“Oh, that’s okay Alpha, she can be such a klutz.” She replies flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes with no shame at the handsome man standing before you who barely gives her more than a second of eye contact.

“It was definitely my fault.” He nods to you, lifting one of his eyebrows inquisitively. “It’s not everyday you accidentally steal a pretty Omegas drink.. I’ll have to be more careful next time.”

“Any Omega could only wish to be lucky enough for you to be the one to make that mistake, Alpha.” Your friend says, raising her pitch higher to sound helpless, making your stomach churn full of nausea.

“Jeno.” He says, slowly taking in your facial features. “You can call me Jeno.”

Jeno grins, leaving a $20 dollar bill by your coffee that’s no doubt begun to lose its warmth. “Next drink on me, for making you wait, and nearly knocking you unconscious.”

He nods again, waving goodbye with a controlled smile to contain how endeared he feels watching your glazed eyes follow his every little move. “See you around.”

“Now that Alpha has ‘problem’ written all over him.” Your friend chimes, nudging an elbow into your side with a smirk. Snatching up the bill left behind to wave in front of your face. “Sexy, generous, sweet? and that scent? If you don’t fuck him...”

The rest of her sentence fades out, too deep in thought as you inhale the remnants of lavender and hints of crisp grass left behind. Morning dew, moist, steamy, trapping you in a sauna filled with little to no oxygen.

Jeno wasn’t going to be a problem, no not at all. You only wish he could be just a problem, because problems can be solved. A simple equation to figure out, nothing you couldn’t handle.

A problem wouldn’t have you chewing at your nails, rasping your fingers on any surface to distract away every thought of him. Long showers to numb your senses were out of the question, quickly rinsing off to skip using your favorite body washes, tickling at your nostrils with the small bit of lavender laced through the ingredients.

The Alpha had become quite a hassle for you over the next few weeks, the largest daily nuisance with a smile plastered on his face every time he caught you gawking at him, destroying your sleep schedule for a mere glimpse of his stupid long eyelashes and disappearing iris. Truly succumbing to your pathetic Omegan desires even as you berate yourself along the way.

His damn enticing scent left you breathless just from passing each other in the hallways, his ridiculous strangled raspy vocals greeting you a ‘Good Morning’; the worst most suffocating scent melting out of his pores like scolding lava after an AM workout. God you hated it, that’s what you kept repeating as you slapped your bedside table alarm at 5am.

Who wakes up at 5 in the morning? You, of course, to retrieve your mail that you could have easily grabbed the day before, but that would mean missing the Alpha strutting in panting for his life, pouring sweat down his chest as if he’d just finished a triathlon, and his damn addicting delicious scent. His holy mouth parting open when he throws back his head to inhale a bottle of water as he kicks his way through the lobby double doors, swallowing the sweet nectar down in the most obscene of ways.

The Alphas chest juts out, firm and defined by the hands of the Devil himself, you’re convinced, with the sole intent being to ruin you.

“Morning.” Jeno said, tipping his head, somedays adding a wink with his smile. Today he waves as he passes by, biting on his lower lip while you force a smile back and release something akin to a laugh, a dumbed down giggle.

It’s sick really, because you think you’re getting away with it. Dressed up in your cutest outfits at the crack of dawn, hair done, and a full face of makeup on playing a casual bit every morning just for one minute of bliss.

Ever the perfect Alpha, Jeno’s either clueless, and as dumb as he looks with a big goofy grin or smart enough to know exactly what you’re playing at. If he knows what you’re up to, he has the decency to check your mate and keep up the game, especially when he makes an effort to keep the elevator door open for you for an unnecessarily long amount of time as you debate with yourself to get on or not.

A tingle up your spine lifts your foot, hanging mid-air as your heartbeat reaches your ear. Pounding a way between your eyes similar to a warning to stay back, do not enter. Danger ahead.

Unfortunately, your Omegas always had a taste for danger, dropping your feet to skitter onto the lift and squeeze yourself into a corner with your chin tucked into your chest. “10th floor please.”

The Alpha sports his charming smile, pressing the 15th floor along with yours. He leans back on the railing, cleaning off droplets of sweat cascading from his forehead down to his chest with a small towel, nothing but a pair of snug running shorts covering his body, leaving too many inches of his creamy smooth skin visible.

“Off to work?” Jeno clears his throat first to break the silence between you as the elevator doors shut, slowly lifting off the lobby floor.

“Oh, I work from home.” You speak too abruptly, realizing coming up with a lie would have been a better choice and his lip tweaks upward at one corner, nodding, seemingly pleased by your answer.

“Same, usually I’m just hopping out of the shower when it’s time for my first Zoom meeting.” Jeno turns toward you, making no effort to hide his gaze taking in your figure from your shoes to your face. “I definitely never look as nice as you.”

“Oh..” nervously, you toy with the ends of your hair, reaching to push some behind your ear as you wearily glance at the red numbers above. 4th floor. “You always look good Alpha..”

The compliment comes out more whispered than planned, igniting heat to burn behind your cheeks. Gripping onto the railing behind your back to stabilize yourself. That damn lavender scent, that fucking scent you’ve desperately avoided. Stupidly beginning to regret entering such a confined space with the man driving you up a wall.

“You think so?” Jeno sways a bit, coughing to cover up inconspicuously wandering over your outfit of choice today; silently grateful you opted for a short skirt instead of those ludacris snug shorts that rode up your ass last week. “Every time you see me.. I’m rushing around covered in sweat..”

He sighs, the back of his head bumping against the wall softly. The elevator becomes more suffocating with every minuscule move Jeno makes, wafting his natural drug inducing aroma around the tight space. “I probably smell awful.”

He shows off a relaxed smile, neck arched back exposing the column of his throat, the girthy bob of his Adam’s apple. “I know how sensitive Omegas can get about an Alphas scent.. The whole purpose if us living on opposite floors. You would think they’d designate separate elevators for us to use too.”

Jeno’s gaze flickers up, darker and heavier than you’ve become used to, licking at the roof of his mouth as he watches you squirm and furiously glance toward the changing red numbers.

The Alphas nose twitches over and over again, you hear him sniffle, stifling the sound of his throat clearing again as he leans back with his palm gripped tighter onto the railing framing the elevator. Silently observing your intakes of air grow more shallow. “Is everything oka—“

You know he can smell it, even with your thighs tightly clenched together, even through the thin layer of cotton covering your crotch, your scent has consumed the air around you. Embarrassment flares your cheeks with fire, ducking your chin to your chest to avoid any chance of stealing a look in the Alphas direction. There’s no way to deny the leak of slick flowing from your core this time, no room to escape and scurry to your safe sanctuary away from your stupidly ridiculously hot neighbor.

Another raspy clear of his throat has you incoherently slamming your palm flat on any button to get off on the next floor. A tickle of dewy mucky air, lavender melting from dripping wax reaches your nostrils past the overbearing scent of your arousal, and fear darts up your spine; the first instinctual thought you have to run, get away, run as fast as you can despite your Omegas resistance.

“Wait!” His tone blares even deepr, strangled from a dry throat that’s been used up during his run; echoing out as your foot slams down to jump through the opening elevator door. Gliding much too slowly, painfully inching open, you push against the powerful mechanism with weak wrists urging it to open faster.

“F-Fuck!” Choking out a curse, your ribs crush between the opening, held in place by the space that’s halted from opening right as you’d begun to make your escape.

“Oh my God..” the Alpha sounds far away now with your upper half trapped on the outside of the elevator. The hallway around you is empty, dark, and not a floor you’ve ever stopped on before. “T—the door!” He stammers from behind you, audibly gulping what must be a thick wad of saliva to quench his throat. “It’s stuck!”

“Wh—what?!” You shriek, slapping your palm against the steel wall of the elevator, stinging your heated skin with the shrill chill radiating off of it.

“You’re..” The Alpha swallows again, the sound of his leather sneakers stepping forward. “You’re stuck.”

“What?! Open the door!” You scream now, anxiety increasing rapidly as you scatter to move only to let out a pitiful groan from the dig of metal pressing deeper against your ribcage. “Open this door right now!”

“It’s not opening! Why did you run out like that!” He sounds frantic now, followed by fingers slamming against a button repeatedly and an annoyed grunt. “I can’t believe this.”

“You can’t believe this? What about me! You can’t be serious right now! Quit fucking around and get me out of here!” A slam of your foot follows, kicking at the ground petulantly to emphasize your anger; only drawing up a string of curses from the typically well-mannered Alpha.

“Could you..” He sighs, moving away to a corner further off, sounding distant once again. “Could you not do that?”

“Do what?!” You bark, stomping once again, clueless to how your skirt flares up fanning your aroused scent right into Jeno’s face. The Alpha having to take another step back until he’s pressed flush against the wall.

“Please, I can’t..” He sounds anguished, slowly dropping down to his knees out of your sight. “Your..”

“What?? My what?!” A flush of heat itches up your chest, because you know what it is. As much as you want to lie to yourself that there’s no way the Alpha can tell already, you know the truth. A sad whimper breaks from your lips when you feel the heavy trickle of slick squishing out from your clamped together inner thighs.

Jeno’s next breath comes out choked, strained and thick, feeling trapped himself by your heated arousal filling up the small space. Unable to rip his gaze away from the sheen that’s rivered past your knee, forming a spot of wetness at the tops of your knee-high white socks.

“Alpha please..” you wheeze out, swallowing a lump down your throat from the swell of heat over-taking your limbs. The pressure against your sides more bearable than the coil of fire bursting it’s way up your insides. The mere humiliation of knowing the vulnerable position you’ve landed yourself in gushes more slick from your hole, pushing its way through the soaked through material of your white cotton underwear.

Jeno’s mouth feels empty of any moisture, swallowing over and over again with a rough drag of his tongue at every corner seeking saliva. He can’t fight it, dropping his head back with a roll of his eyes to savor every note of your heady scent. Every sweet lick of aroma fanning it’s way through his senses tastes delicious; sugary and succulent like some forbidden dessert he should never be allowed to take a bite of.

“Alpha..”

Jeno’s eyes snap open, his eyelids sticking together from humid sweat. The heat radiating from your flesh filling up the elevator similar to boiling sun on the hottest of summer days. “Help me, please.”

He thinks you sound near seductive.. purposely trying to wreck his brain, each call of his title more sinful than the last. Floating closer on his knees until trembling fingers reach out, just hovering near your ankles, he curses quietly, unable to pause the tremor of excitement and fear coursing through his veins.

“Help you..” Jeno’s dry throat cracks, breaking each syllable of his speech with a gritty rasp. A strong tone of lust behind his response as he timidly reaches to drag up the backs of your calves, electrified by how soft your cotton socks glide under the tips of his fingers.

“Alpha.. please… help me out of here.” Another tortured plead makes Jeno’s neck stand straight, tickled by the sound of slick bubbling out of your underwear. The seat of your panties directly before him, clinging the your heat for his hungry gaze to devour. Puffy and needy, so fucking needy already.

“How..” Jeno swallows, latching onto your flexed calves as he drags his thumbs to stroke the wet patches that have gathered between your knees. “How am I going to get you out of there?”

He can’t think clearly anymore, consumed by the pornographic vision before him. The devastating sounds of your whimpers and sighs; sighs of relief that follow each barely there second of skin on skin contact as his thumbs rub slick in circles on the insides of your knees.

“Smell so good..” Jeno continues, head dropping forward close enough to feel his breath hit the backs of your exposed thighs. Jerking and shivering when he takes a deep inhale from the lewd display of wet pouring it’s way out like a broken fountain between the small triangular gap at the top of your locked together thighs. “How can I help you..”

Jeno squeezes up your knees, switching to grip the fronts of your thighs. “You’re shaking so much.. Is Alpha making you nervous?”

“Alpha, please..” it's a natural survival instinct taking over at this point, unsure what you’re truly begging for anymore. For help? For help with what.

“I know, I know.” Jeno swears, pressing his cheek against the back of your thigh. He huffs, warm breath fanning where slicks has begun to cool between your legs, foggy-headed as he blinks roughly to straighten out his vision. “Alpha will help you, gonna do what I have to do..”

Jeno thinks he means that, he wants to believe he means that despite his palms staying glued to your smooth thighs. Despite his fingers digging into the soft sensitive fleshy meat squishing against his touch. “You have to relax for me..”

He swallows again, eyes rolling up, grateful for how unaware you are of his current state of misery. He’s trying, trying so hard to neglect his Alphas voice screaming at him to fuck, take, and claim the Omega presented before him.

“You have to listen to me.” His eyebrows furrow together, stuck on the amount of slick leaking from your hidden hole. It’s obscene, more than he’s ever seen even from the Omegas he’s taken care of during their heat. “We have to work together alright?”

“Okay Alpha..” pathetic, God you sound so pathetic. Jeno wants to take a deep breath but your arousal makes the walls feel as if they are closing in on him. Even so, his hold on you feels comforting, knowing an Alpha cares this much about your wellbeing, enough to reassure you that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to help you. Whatever it takes.

Jeno tries to think, forcing his gaze away from the elevator light bouncing off your shiny thighs. “Phone! Do you have your phone?”

He regrets asking when you let out the saddest broken whine, stomping your foot again. “I always leave it on my bed when I go grab the mail.”

Jeno does his best to not imagine the other helpless sounds you can make, he does his best to control the shake passing through his fidgety fingers, to ignore how sweaty his palms have become against your hot skin. “I’m thinking, just.. be patient with me.”

He hums, rolling his eyes to himself each time he pictures you bent over by the lines of mail boxes, because of course some genius coined a brilliant idea to have the Omegas on the bottom row. How convenient to leave you without a choice but to bend over, ass swaying in the air as you peep through your mailbox, a small task you always took your sweet time to do.

“Why don’t we try talking..” He suggests, sighing with the side of his head resting on your covered buttcheek. “Get your mind off of being stuck.”

“It’s kind of hard..”

“Just try.” He says, squeezing your thighs for reassurance. “I’ll start, when did you move in? I think that time I grabbed your drink was the first time I’d ever seen you around here.”

Jeno’s right, you think trying to do the math, fuzzy brain as you attempt to recall anything other than the Alphas brawny figure.

“Uhhh, I think..it’s been ab—about a month.” You stutter, growing more dizzy with the effort used to respond.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Jeno gulps, sighing for the hundredth time and he takes a purposeful deep breath to inhale your syrupy scent. He imagines this is what drowning in quicksand must be like, a futile attempt to free himself from the impending situation at hand. Arousal circles around him, catching small whiffs of hidden traces of his own scent laced between yours, and his expression turns worrisome.

“Maybe you’re right..” The Alpha groans, nestling his cheek against your bottom. “I don’t think I can do this.. you smell too good..”

“Do what??”

“This— I..” Jeno trails off, kneading your buttcheek as he continues to smother his face against the other. “I can help you relax another way.”

His hands work like instant magic, loosening the tight ridges up your spine, calloused fingers bury into plump flesh too aggressive to feel like a massage but good enough to lose the tension in your neck. “Jeno, this isn’t—“

“Shh, keep calling me Alpha..” his fingers sneak under the material of your underwear, pushing one side up to wedge between your bottom while puckered lips drag down the back of your thigh. “Helps me relax when you call for me like that, all pretty and vulnerable.”

“Alpha, I don’t think you should..” Jeno grunts, smearing his parted lips in slick. His rough hands grip onto your butt with a new ferocity, working the meaty flesh between his fingers furiously.

“It’s working, your muscles are unwinding.” He reaffirms, hanging his tongue out to catch the drip of slick leaving your covered hole. “Once I calm you down.. it’ll be easy to get you out of there. I promise.”

The reply you give him comes out more gargled, building up through your gut, erupting as more of a pleading whine. “So nice.”

Jeno cooes, sliding his hand into the small space between your thighs. The thick of your slick seeps through his digits, trickling down past his wrist. “You know..”

The Alphas raspy vocals vibrate down your limbs, bubbling saliva up your throat. He hums, continuing to massage between your thighs, making a bigger mess. “I think your Omegas been trying to send me a message. Somehow we ended up together like this, after weeks of this back and forth..”

Jeno sighs, cupping your core from behind to press against the bubble of slick in your panties until it pours out around him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“Alpha..” you say woozily, drifting in and out of heat trying to take over your last bits of semblance. “Don’t.. don’t do it.”

“No?” He sounds shattered, expression most likely fallen apart in despair. His palm digs into your heat harder, creating insufferable friction against your entrance. “Are you sure about that?”

The question hangs in the air, echoing in your head as if to taunt you. Are you sure about this? Not at all, but with your ankles crossed together and Jeno’s palm sticking to the seat of your underwear, you feel uncomfortable only because it’s stopped his ministrations; both of your breaths coming to a halt as the air around you pauses, breaking only after you let out a pitiful cry.

“We shouldn’t..” it hurts you to say out loud, more than you’re willing to admit. Fuck it hurts, and not in the way you wish it would.

“What’s stopping you?” Jeno whispers, gritty as if his teeth have started to grind together. Mouthing at your underwear hanging on for dear life to your ass, he bites at the cotton, teething it up to meet the other side that's been shoved into the crevice of your bottom. “Tell me what you need me to do, I’ll do it for you baby.”

He finishes with a searing hot kiss left on your exposed buttcheek, kitten licking the area after. An index finger pushes at your slit, gliding up and down through the fabric. “Eat your pussy so good, bet you’ve never had your ass ate, have you? A pretty Omega like you deserves to be worshiped and devoured.”

“Alpha!” You wheeze, choking on the saliva collecting in your throat. Jeno growls, sucking the fat of your ass between his lips while prodding your panties into your awaiting entrance. It’s torturous, kicking your crossed feet on the floor.

“You feel so good, pussy just begging for cock.”

Jeno pecks a few more kisses on your ass, pushing off the balls of his feet to stand, he grips your hips. “Don’t be nervous, Alphas gonna take care of you.”

Hips press flush to your backside, pushing his thick covered girth between your cheeks. The visual of it depraved, a hopeless Omega trapped like this, bent into a position presented for the right Alpha to make use of. To take what’s rightfully his, and Jeno can feel flames soar up his chest at the thought. Slowly beginning to roll a menacing circle of his hips against you.

“Tell me you don’t want this…” Jeno coughs, swallowing down a wad of dry air. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop if you say it again.”

For emphasis he draws back, burying his hard length between your buttcheeks, the width of it making your head spin.

“Don’t..” You stammer, head drooping down with a cracked cry. “Don’t stop!”

Jeno’s throat nearly rips open from the growl he lets out next, angrily ramming his hips against you. “That’s right, Alphas gonna fuck you good baby. Fuck you so good, won’t ever want another dick inside of you again.”

Jeno can feel it, he’s gone, high as a kite off your crazed arousal placing him under an unbreakable spell. He can’t hold it back anymore, rutting into your ass painfully, he feels possessed, seeping his nails into your naked hips. The skin breaking under the roughness of his jagged freshly trimmed fingernails. The hurt from it unwavering when all you can focus on is how tantalizing his clothed cock feels just rubbing against you.

“Alpha, fuck..” A hiss passes from your lips after attempting to grind back, reminded of the ridiculous predicament you’re in. Jeno’s unrelenting grasp holding you still despite the aggression behind each snap of his hips.

“God, want me to cum just like this, don’t you?” He pants, head rolling side to side as he blearily glances up, blinded by the bright lights above. “Can’t imagine how good you’re gonna feel for Alpha.”

Jeno riles himself up, ranting to himself about how you’ve soaked through his shorts. Slick even reaching his midsection, dripping down the front of his thighs more with each slam of your lower halves. “Bet you’re so tight, such a good Omega. Ready to please.”

“Y-yes!” scratching down the door, you shriek, head shaking from the overwhelming amount of friction. The Alpha could say anything to you at this point, anything at all and you’d agree, ready to drop to your knees and fulfill his every command.

“Fuck.” Jeno spits out, jerking back quickly to free his size, a thick protrusion shoved between your inner thighs not a second later. “FUCK!”

Thrusts speed up, panting like a thirsty dog behind you as he chases an orgasm. “I’m— oh fuck, ah fuck.”

Jeno hunches forward, fisiting the stretched out material of your underwear in one hand as he pushes his length past it using the ruined cotton to rub against himself. He shouts through gritted teeth, coming to a stand still as hot spurts of cum pour out onto your lower back.

“Please, Alpha.. please!” You squeal, feeling even more congested and stuck. The tip of his nose buries into your spine, nodding slowly as he catches his breath, tracing the curves of your hips between his fingers.

“I know, baby.” He hums, nosing a trail down your back as he falls to his knees. “Such a greedy Alpha.. need to apologize.”

Jeno tugs your underwear off tediously, eyebrows twisting together the more he unveils your center. It was hard enough to deal with covered up, but the sight of your ripe hole convulsing nearly knocks the wind out of him.

“Fuck, I knew it.” The Alpha licks his lips, waist dipping in as he leans forward to drag his nose up and down your gleaming slit. The sweetest high coils a way up behind his eyes, blurring from the scent of lust. “Such a perfect Omega.”

Jeno’s eyes wrinkle shut, lapping a strip up your cunt, the width enough to cover the expanse of puffy flesh. He’s immediately animalistic, stretching his jaw wide to wolf down the entirety of your center as promised. His tongue darts out, licking at your clit with precision that sets your knees to fall weak, sliding lower in your stuck position.

The moans of anguish and desire you let out only push him to work faster, burying the end of his nose into your pulsing heat as his tongue works in rapid motion to flick and stimulate each nerve, pointing the tip to thrust against your clit with power and have your head snapping back with a shout.

If you could only see him, you know the Alphas face is covered in slick. Snorting your release up his nose like some drug, he’s filthy, down right disgusting and unashamed letting out the nastiest sounds of pleasure. Every strained vocal cord reverberates between your cunt, rolling tremors up your spine.

“Alpha..” fat tears roll down your cheeks, whining like a pitiful horny mess, unable to do anything besides cry harder and beg to cum.

“Gonna cum from fucking my mouth? wanna taste you pouring down my throat.” Jeno rumbles, sinking his long tongue deep inside your pussy with a rough wiggle. He grabs onto your ass, pulling you apart to run his face side to side with ease.

The sensation shoots chills up your thighs, wobbling up to the tips of your toes as you cum, clamping around Jeno’s tongue putting work in to make you lose your mind. Determined mouth forces a space for himself past your resisting hole, despite gagging from the amount of slick that breaks out of you. Hinging his jaw wide, he keeps at it, chasing after your heat when you drop lower landing on your knees painfully with a shout.

“Alpha! c-can’t!”

Jeno slaps your ass, resounding like a whip cracking on skin to accompany the ear shattering scream you let out. Lowering with his sweat covered stomach on the floor, he sends your spine rigged, laving your wrinkled rim between deep huffs of breath.

He pulls back only to circle your rim with two fingers, the pads of hard skin encouraging your ass to bounce and ripple the more he teases, swishing saliva around to slowly drip a wad of spit on your hole; the Alpha gasps for air, rolling his eyes back when your ass convulses under his digits grazing the tender skin.

“Bet you’re even tighter back here..” Jeno has to silently praise himself for taking time to please you, throbbing between his legs with the dirty mess of cum he’s ruined his shorts with, he growls again, biting up your buttcheeks, soft enough to leave small indents without breaking skin. Three digits bundled together swipe between your freshly used pussy, painting his fingers in the sea of slick to spread around your rim.

“Will you let Alpha fuck you back here sweetie?” Jeno cooes, always shifting to a gentle tone when asking the filthiest things of you. Lazily nodding against the ground, he notices how much you’ve relaxed, fully laid out flat upon the grimy floor. “All these holes for me right? Only for Alpha to use, turn you into my good cocksleeve.”

He sighs, sucking on the plump mound of your buttcheek as the pads of his fingers trace around your hole, watching you twitch for a minute. An experimental prod has your knees dragging off the ground, ass shoved out for the Alpha to have you spread apart fully. He groans, pushing two tips of his fingers inside.

“Fuck.” Jeno salivates, slowly inching in as he sucks and nibbles on your butt. “Slutty fuckhole taking my fingers so good baby.”

He squeezes another in making you scramble to grab onto anything, the sudden movement pushing you back through the door without realizing, too entranced by the fingers fucking into your ass, stuffing you full from every end.

“Yes yes yes Alpha, anything.”

Jeno could care less about what you’re spewing, hawking another glob of spit at your tight hole, he digs into the second knuckle spreading his fingers apart until your lively shriek arises again. “Can you cum like this for Alpha? I know a nasty pretty thing like you can do it.”

The Alphas teeth gnaw at your ass, fucking his fingers in and out with power until your hole finally gives and loosens. Even then he knows this won’t be enough for you to take his cock. “Tiny little hole can barely handle my fingers.”

He mutters, hazy from watching your rim clamp and pulse around his digits. “Cum for me, let me feel that asshole tighten up even more.”

Jeno’s lewd words bow your back, pushing down onto his digits as the build-up of release bursts out of you. The sound of slick raining down on the floor breaks your mind, plummeting down into an empty thoughtless space.

“See,” and suddenly Jeno’s hovering above you, able to slide you free from the trap you’d fallen into before moving you onto your back. “Always trust your Alpha to take care of you.”

Your Alpha.

Your Alpha who stayed true to his word, freeing you from the dangerous situation you’d put yourself in just to avoid the object of your wet dreams.

Jeno lets out a cute unsatisfied sound, wiping stains of tear tracks off your warm cheeks. “Such a pretty Omega, didn’t get to see your pretty face cumming for me.”

The Alpha cups your cheeks, refocusing your mind for a minute to take in the high blush on his cheeks covered in pools of slick. The smile stretching his face is much too endearing for what he just did to you and everything else he plans to do. Jeno shoves your cheeks together, setting your lips to form a pout for him to chew on. His perfect teeth dig into the fat, biting between heavenly kisses that have you seeking more; reaching to grab at his toned stomach, the tips of your fingers slotting into the hollows of muscle.

“Taste good everywhere don’t you?” Jeno preens, mauling your mouth with another ferocious kiss. He likes this game, the way you’ve become nothing but a dumb pile of putty in his hands to ruin time and time again, allowing him to remold you into the perfect Omega.

The Alpha nods your head for you, shifting between your legs as he wraps a palm around the base of his shaft, he points the tip, directing it to slide between your slick drenched walls. Jeno doesn’t bother with prepping your pussy, can’t be bothered to, not when your entrance sucks around his cockhead begging for him to fuck you full. Pressing his forehead to yours, he pushes through with a powerful thrust.

“Oh, that’s it.” Jeno nods, circling his hips to accommodate his size. The stretch rolls your eyes to the back of your skull leaving nothing but white behind, tongue hung loose with a silent scream like a damn animal, and he thinks you really are perfect. So fucking eager to take your Alphas cock, so willing and slutty.

“Always so pretty,” He huffs, hoisting up the back of your thigh to push against your chest. His gaze dragging down to watch the space where you connect, slowly grinding in and out, mesmerized by how wet you still feel after cumming twice. Amazed by how heavy the slick trickling down his balls feels; pouring down to make a sloppy mess between his ass. “You know how pretty you are, don’t you baby?”

The Alphas eyes lock with yours expectantly, thrusting shallowly with his neck tight, holding his breath in fear of his lungs giving out on him, collapsing from overuse. Growing more hoarse and ragged as time ticks away.

“N-no..” with shaking lips, you stutter, scratching pink and crimson lines along his sturdy broad shoulders. No doubt caking layers of skin and bits of blood beneath your nails.

“No???” Jeno’s eyes sharpen, the iris wide and coated in a sheen. “What do you mean no?”

His next thrust arches your back, shaking your head in reply as words evade you. The Alpha taking the opportunity to fuck you faster, smacking against your center at a brutal pace. “Wanna cum?” Jeno bites out, pushing your knee to your shoulder to grab your chin. He forces you to face him, blaring you with a gaze full of fire.

“Pleasepleaseplease!” Nodding rabidly you cough between wads of spit, half choking on the amount that's gathered around the insides of your mouth.

“Who’s my pretty girl?” Jeno’s expression turns serious, glaring straight into your eyes as he asks without slowing down, snapping into you at a punishing pace. “Are you my pretty baby? Come on, tell me.”

Between whimpers and cries full of anguish you nod, letting the Alpha use your body to get off. His hips beat down on you harder than ravenous ocean waves, landing with loud smacks of sweaty flesh on flesh. Each vein lining his cock pulsing against your insides louder than your own heartbeat. “Wanna hear you say it.” Jeno groans, reaching his other hand between your lower halves to rub figure-eights on your clit.

“Alpha, wa-wanna c—cum!” You plead, too desperate under the Alphas burly frame to have a coherent thought. “Please!”

Jeno stops, pressing down on your clit hard. “Only pretty girls get to cum, what are you? Hmm? Come on, tell me baby.”

Overwhelmed emotions shoot through your limbs, clenching your eyes shut as you repeat that you are Alphas pretty girl.

“I’m your pretty baby,” you whine, slapping at his shoulders with zero strength. “Please! I’m Alphas pretty Omega.”

“That’s right,” Jeno grunts, furiously fucking you with his two of his fingers squeezing inside of you nestled alongside his cock drilling in and out of you, thumb pressed down on your bundle of nerves dropping your jaw open in a silent scream.

The Alpha fucks you through it, stilling to keep his cock inside of you even as slick squirts out around his palm, pushing his fingers up against your insides until you thrash and push at his shoulders with tears covering your cheeks. He’s fast to maneuver you, cupping your hips and using all of his thigh power to lift you off the floor, quietly promising he’d get you cleaned up after this.

Jeno gets you up on the railing, ass half-hung off with one leg perched on his shoulder making use of your flexibility. Fisting his cock, he dips the tip back to your entrance, stopped by your palm smoothing down under his navel and a pained hiss. “Sensitive,” you let him know, ducking your chin in a bashful manner.

The Alpha nods, pressing closer to capture your lips with a comforting kiss. Stroking his length between your folds to gather a mixture of cum and slick, he scoots lower, circling your rim with his cockhead coated in the sticky mess you’ve created. Dragging his lips across yours, he mumbles what sounds like ‘Can I?’ nodding even if you’re not sure what he’s asking for, he pushes in slowly, the first few inches have you flailing, reaching around yourself for anything to grab onto to endure the initial pain.

“Hurts..” you whimper, stuffing your nose into the Alphas scent gland for more of his calming lavender, instantly easing the stinging pain as he buries in another inch.

Jeno nods, kissing the side of your forehead. “You can take it.”

To his credit he tries, he tries to keep a steady pace, thrusting in the rest of his length with harsh breaths as he stays still and lets you get used to it, but he’s too close to cumming already. Jeno wraps and arm around your waist, huffing out heavily falling into a jackhammering speed. Unrelenting ruthless thrusts clap against your thighs and ass, booming out the slap of your plump flesh colliding with his hip bones.

“Fuck, fucking shit it’s tight.” The Alphas chest caves, feeding your ass every inch of his fat length. Each thrust sloppier and messier than the previous the nearer he comes to reach release. Jeno picks up his brutal pace, oblivious to your cries growing louder the more he stretched your ass with an unforgiving breach.

“Cum for me one more time baby,” Jeno shouts between his clenched teeth, dropping from your waist to bury three fingers inside of your cunt, thrusting in at the same hard drilling pace as his cock; fast and so hard. He lets out a loud cry, cracking from his throat with another snap of his hips. Thumb rubbing at your clit pushing you over the edge with another expert flick of his wrist.

“Alpha! Oh God Alpha!”

Blinding heat slams your chest back to the wall, fucked by what feels like a beast as Jeno reaches his breaking point. Screaming out a roar when your ass locks around him and slick bursts out onto his stomach. He growls, pushing the entirety of his engorged length inside of you, thrumming as he fills you with a never-ending load of sticky white ropes.

A string of curses and what can only be recognized as gibberish spill from his mouth, latching onto your throat littering searing kisses up to your jaw. He nuzzles, nibbling up the bone to your ear. “My pretty Omega.”

The elevator door slams shut startling you both, lifting your heads up in a daze as if you’d just woke from a fever daydream.

“10th floor.” Jeno says, eyeballing the red lit up number as he sets you on your feet.

“Take me home Alpha?” You say weakly with your face hidden in his chest. Jeno smiles to himself, scooping you up with ease. The display of power doing nothing to quell your heat, but silently promising you that this isn’t over yet.

“Let’s get you home.”

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zoewrites · 1 year

Text

Your Price (Joel Miller x F!Reader) 18+

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, smut, alcohol, prostitution, dirty talk, daddy kink, pet names, rough blowjobs, cumplay, grinding, overstimulation, size kink, creampie, unprotected sex, negative attitude towards sex work, rude grumpy joel

Wordcount: 4k

Even from a distance, you could sense the ever-present air of grumpiness that exuded from Joel Miller’s being. And it made your heart beat faster. He sat alone at the bar, his narrowed eyes fixed on the glass of whiskey in his hand. He only ever raised his head to flag down the bartender for more.

Since his arrival in the community last month, you’d heard plenty of gossip about the man. That he was a dangerous smuggler, having committed unspeakable acts of violence - and not just for survival-

And that he was cold to even those who had reached out and tried to help him settle in-

And that he seemed to revel in his reputation as a tough, unapproachable man, only ever softening for that daughter who “wasn’t actually his daughter.”

“Ungrateful son of a bitch,” Your friend had described him in a huff after a particularly unpleasant encounter down at the stables, “He’s damn lucky that Tommy is his brother…”

But all the rumors did was fuel your curiosity and crush. There was an undeniable allure about the mysterious older man. The combination of his rugged looks and the intimidating energy surrounding him made him undeniably attractive to you, drawing you in despite the barriers he put up. On the third fill of his glass, you decided it was your chance to approach him.

You sauntered over across the busy saloon, taking a seat beside him. Not a shred of acknowledgment upon his face as you cleared your throat, leaning in slightly.

“Hey cowboy,” You smiled, taking a sip of your drink, letting it fuel your determination.

Joel turned his head to glance at you, his eyebrow raised but his expression remained guarded.

“Mind if I-”

“M’not interested.” His low voice shut you down and he turned back to his whiskey.

You felt a pang of frustration at his immediate dismissal. But you also felt another kind of pang, one that settled deep down within you as you finally got a close-up look at the man. His features were weathered, with grey patches in his beard and lines of experience framing his eyes. It made you wonder what all he had seen out beyond the walls of Jackson where you’d spent most of your life.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” You maintained your composure, smirking at him.

“I know who y’are, what you do,” He grumbled, still not facing you.

“Do you?” You questioned, curious as to what exactly he knew. It was true you had a bit of an… “arrangement” going on with some of the men in the community. You were a pretty girl who liked attention, and in a town where bartering was the new monetary medium, what was wrong with receiving a little… “compensation” for your time? You had no shame, it was a win-win for all involved.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his jaw clenched even more and his thumb and index finger met the bridge of his nose, sighing in annoyance.

“Long day?” Not one to give up easily, you egged him on.

“Long week. S’Why I’m here. Trying to relax.” He punctuated the end of his sentence by setting the glass down and glaring at you.

“And how is that working out for you?” He watched as you swiveled your bar stool towards his, stretching your long legs out and crossing one over the other, giving him your full attention. The way his eyes flickered to the exposed skin on your thigh where your dress rode up didn’t go unnoticed. In fact, it ignited something in you.

“Was workin’ real nicely till you interrupted.” You were indeed beginning to understand why he was so disliked.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow, “Because you were lookin’ real lonely over here to me.”

Joel scoffed.

“But maybe I could help you.”

“Help?” He frowned.

“With relaxing,” You teased, leaning in a little closer, “I’m good at that kind of thing.”

You maintained his eye contact as you slowly wrapped your lips around the straw of your cocktail. You swore you could see redness bloom on the apples of his cheeks when he shook his head. The craving was building, you wanted to see this man come undone.

“Jesus Christ, woman.” He murmured under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear over the rowdy Friday night crowd.

You shrugged innocently, turning your stool back to face the bar. You began to wonder if he really was as impossible to crack as everyone said. But he was still sitting so close that you could feel his body heat against your right side. And you could smell the leather of his worn jacket. You swallowed hard as the two of you sat in silence. Just as you were about to excuse yourself and give up for the night, he cleared his throat.

“How much?” Joel asked quietly and you felt your eyes narrow in disbelief, surely you’d misheard him.

“Hm?”

“Your price.” Oh? Oh. Your heart slammed against the walls of your chest.

“Oh really?” You couldn’t control the teasing grin that spread across your face, you had Joel Miller right where you wanted him, “Now you’re interested?”

“Forget it,” He muttered and went to stand.

“Hey, wait,” You reached for his arm, eyes shining bright with delight, “Yours or mine?”

You passed by Joel’s home most days on your walks to the greenhouse or the stables. You'd always hoped to catch a glimpse of him out on the porch, sometimes talking with Ellie, sometimes strumming a guitar. Though you’d never spoken to either, it always felt like you were being let in on a little secret, getting to see just a glimpse of who Joel was underneath that cold exterior.

And now here you were, standing on that very porch, following him inside. It was tidy aside from a few pairs of boots and some comic books strewn about. Better than you were expecting for a single father and a teenager.

“Your kid out for the night?” You'd asked, letting your fingers dance across the mantle of the fireplace, eyeing a drawing she must’ve done for him. It suddenly felt so intimate, being let into his private world.

Joel shot you a look that said ‘of course she is.' That he was offended you would ever even consider the possibility of him bringing you here if she wasn’t out. He made it clear he didn’t have you over to simply ogle the ornaments on the shelves.

After locking the door, he stood at the entrance, looking down and fidgeting with his gloved hands. You began to wonder if he was nervous. What a sight, the gruff and tough Joel Miller…. timid in your presence.

“Well…” He began and then trailed off.

“Well…” You repeated and stood behind the couch, letting your hands rest on the backing as you leaned forward, giving him a full view of your cleavage in the low-cut dress another man had gifted you.

“Dunno how this usually goes…” He admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck and shrugging his jacket off, leaving him in that wrinkly plaid button-up, “D’you uh-”

“We can do whatever you want,” You assured him, giggling at his sudden apprehension, “Come sit.”

He ambled over, a little confused as to why you were still standing behind him until he felt your hands move over his shoulders, rubbing at the tense muscles. You applied a gentle pressure, digging in with your palms, and he couldn’t help but let his head fall forward as you worked.

“You’re so tense, Joel,” You whispered against his ear, fighting the temptation to bite at it, and all he could do was groan, “Let me help.”

As you progressed, kneading at his flesh through the faded fabric, you could feel his muscles gradually loosen and his breathing become deeper. Slower. You wondered when the last time, if ever, he’d been touched like this. When was the last time he had someone help ease the ache, helped bring him some peace? He made a sudden noise that pulled you out of your thoughts.

“There.” He sighed as your fingers worked in circular motions at the base of his neck.

“Here?” You smiled, pushing harder, and the sound his throat made sent a flood of heat throughout your entire body. His deep moans had you tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to ignore the hot throbbing between your legs. “See I knew you just needed someone to help you relax.”

You could practically feel the pain and frustration leaving his body as his large hand covered your own, pausing your movements.

“Sit with me.” Joel’s voice was husky, the deepest you’d heard it tonight. He let out a heavy exhale when your hands left his body and you rounded the couch to straddle him. His thighs were strong and sturdy beneath you, giving you a nice seat.

His large hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you in, and you let your own hands trail up his solid chest and into his hair. You ran your fingers through the messy wisps of gray. Finally, they wrapped behind his neck and you pushed your lips to his.

It started slowly, a little hesitant on his part until you reached down to guide one of those large hands on your lower back down to your ass. Then it was more.

You never enjoyed the taste of whiskey until you tasted it on the tongue he had inside your mouth. He groaned, low in his throat, and it made your head spin. His hands squeezed at you through the fabric of your short dress and you pressed yourself closer, feeling him harden beneath you. You kissed him deeply then, sliding a hand lower as you did. Your tongue dipped into his mouth at the same time you curved your fingers over the shape of his cock, feeling the swell of it under his jeans.

When you pulled away breathlessly, Joel chased you with his mouth until you were too far out of reach, slinking down to your knees. You gazed up at the entirety of him, at the hard rise and fall of his chest, at the way his glossy eyes stared you down as you made quick work of his belt.

“Starting to feel bett-” Your taunt was cut short by the surprise of his thumb in your mouth. One of those large hands slid down his thigh and up the side of your face, pressing his thumb inside, the pad of it resting on your bottom row of teeth. He pushed down and forced your mouth open. You trembled at his sudden dominance and the vulnerability of it, feeling your pussy grow wetter and wetter. You were glad you were already on your knees because your thighs shook and his pupils blew wider.

Joel’s other hand met your face, framing your cheek. He slid the roughness of his fingertips down against the shape of your lips before pressing another thumb inside your drooling mouth. His eyes grew darker and he leaned in like he was inspecting you. He then pushed both thumbs down on your tongue, pushing back until you gagged.

“Gotta make sure there’s enough room in there for me, baby.”

You whimpered as he pulled your mouth wide.

“But you take cocks all the time in here, don’t you? Bet you’re a pro by now, huh?”

He let you go, giving you a chance to catch your shaky breath.

“Does that bother you?” You hissed, playing into it, “That this is what I like to do?”

“That you like bein’ a slut?” Your heart pounded at his words. You’d heard it all before but never the way Joel said it.

You answered by eagerly reaching back out for his hands that had gone back to resting on his thighs. You pulled both thumbs back into your mouth and sucked. You swirled your tongue around them, getting nice and sloppy, letting your drool run down onto his wrists, giving him a show of how good it felt to have something big and solid in your mouth. He let you have your fun for a moment until he was pulling them out again and you couldn’t help but whine.

“Fuckin’ needy girl,” He groaned under his breath as he rubbed your spit over your lips, playing with them until you were absolutely aching to have him down your throat. Your trembling hands traveled to the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. The noise he made when you finally got a hand around his thickness was guttural and you wanted to hear more. Fuck, you knew he’d be big. You stroked him slowly, wanting him to ache just as badly for it as you were. It was already so hard, the head wept with pre-cum as you fisted him the way you knew men liked.

You hated to let go but you needed him to use you right fucking now. You rested your hands on your knees and parted your swollen lips, presenting your face for him to take. Joel slapped the tip against your mouth. You tried to lick out at it but he pulled away, smirking when you whined in complaint.

“Please,” Your eyes squeezed shut, your cheeks burned in embarrassment when you realized how quickly he had you beneath him, yearning for a taste of his cock. But god, this was precisely what you’d been craving since the moment you'd seen Tommy going around and introducing him that very first day.

“You gonna beg for it, sweetheart?” He held what you desperately wanted in his hand, just barely out of reach, teasing you so meanly. Want quickly squashed any embarrassment and you didn’t care how pathetic it made you sound when you mewled out for it.

“Yes,” Your voice was meek, “Daddy, please let me suck your cock.”

His eyebrows raised, “Daddy, huh?” He brought his cock back down your face, smearing pre-cum down your chin, “Ya call ‘em all that?”

You shook your head fervently. And it was the truth. None of your usual encounters had ever had you this strung out before they even started fucking you, none that you would’ve ever even considered calling “daddy.” None of them ever had you on the verge of tears with need like this.

“Say it again,” He ordered and you could actually feel the arousal dripping.

“Daddy,” You moaned sweetly and something in him broke. All hesitancy, all the apprehension within him was gone. He finally rewarded you as he thrust inside your mouth. You heard him hiss above you as your lips wrapped around him. God, he was so big. Bigger than you’d taken before. But as you’d made clear by the events of tonight, you loved a challenge. You moved your hands to curl around the back of his calves, holding yourself steady as he pressed deeper inside.

"Shit," He cursed, "Fuckin' look at ya, such a pretty little cockslut.” Saliva dripped down your chin and all you could do was take it as he started fucking your face in earnest.

You were gagging but it only made him go faster, his fingers thread through your hair to pull you back and forth. The noises you were making were depraved and you’d be surprised if you weren’t dripping onto the wood floor beneath you with how wet you were. He used you like a toy, barely able to breathe, barely able to keep your eyes open, but you tried your hardest because the sight of him looking down on you in awe as you took all of him, calling you a whore… it was beautiful.

He lost himself in it, throwing his head back, making those delicious noises. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he pulled you in hard one last time, holding you right there, pressed up against his base. You forced yourself to breathe through your nose, to not break, to surrender to him as his cock pulsed against the back of your throat.

Tears were rolling down your cheeks by the time he’d finished ruining you and pulled out. The filthy choking sob you gave when he did set him over the edge, releasing ropes of cum over your tongue and chin.

“Daddy too big for you, baby?” Joel groaned, sounding wickedly amused as you gasped, attempting to regulate your breathing. He pulled you back up into his lap and you crumpled against him. He brushed stray hair from your tear-soaked cheeks, cooing something about being a good slut. He wiped his cum from your face, holding it to your lips for you to lick from his fingers. His cock twitched again as he watched how desperate you were despite being this wrecked already.

“Y’alright girl?”

“More,” Your throat was burning so your plea came out as a weak, hoarse whisper. Your thighs rubbed together unconsciously, the throbbing was almost unbearable at this point and he knew it.

“More?” His laugh quickly turned to a groan as you gathered the strength to pull your sopping panties to the side and shifted in his lap, dragging your hot pussy against the length of his shaft. Your clit ached from the friction and you slid an arm around his neck to give yourself the leverage to start rocking your body back and forth on top of him.

“This pussy’s fucking starved baby, thought this whore would be satisfied, taking cock on the regular.” He tutted. “S’fuckin’ crying for it.”

A loud wail tore out of you as you increased the pace, about to cum before he ever even got inside you. But he stopped. Hands at your waist, halting you just before you reach your peak and your pussy clenched hard around nothing.

“Joel, no…” Your head fell in despair, too far gone to care about anything but needing to cum. He lifted and situated you above the head of his thick cock. ‘Yes, yes, yes’ is all you could think as you realized what he was doing.

You both gasped, mouths against each other, stealing each other’s breath as you sank down onto him. You took every last delicious inch, letting it stretch you until you were fully seated on him.

You couldn’t control the tears that ran down your face from how fucking full, how fucking good it felt having him breach the deepest part of your cunt. Your mind went fuzzy when you looked down to see where you were joined, seeing how his slick cock split you open.

“Look at you, baby,” Joel mocked you when he saw the way your mouth gaped open, “this what you needed? For me to fuck you stupid?”

“Daddy,” You babbled, fluttering all around him as he held you down still, molding your insides to his shape, “P-please, please, please.”

“Fuck yourself on me, use it, baby, let daddy see you cum.” He growled, his southern accent so deep, “Show me how pretty you and this pussy are when you cum. Must be good, the way you’ve got all these men lining up to share ya.”

A high-pitched squeak left your mouth when his hands finally released you, letting you move. They went to lift your dress up over your head, exposing your bouncing tits for him.

With your nails scratching sharply into his neck and shoulder, you raised then lowered yourself again and again and again. The obscene squelching sound and his glazed eyes on your tits brought you right to the edge once again.

“There you go,” his fingers dug hard into your hips to help you move once your thighs started shaking uncontrollably.

“Joelllllll,” You hiccuped, bouncing yourself harder and harder, chasing what you needed.

“Thought I was daddy,” He panted, his hands moved back to your ass and he gripped at you, slamming you down on his cock.

"D-daddy- fuck! Fuck!" You held onto him for dear life, your muscles turned to jelly as he thrust into your weeping pussy, letting him take over fully, just like he did to your mouth.

Then your cries went silent, mouth went slack, breath ragged. You came hard around his cock, harder than ever before, squeezing him until he was gasping against your lips. You swore you could hear him whimpering before you could only hear your ears ringing. Your entire body shuddered with white-hot pleasure.

“Cum in me, cum in me, cum in me,” You chanted through the aftershocks as he continued to rut into you, so fucked out of it you couldn’t even hear your own voice, “D-daddy, please, please, please...”

And then he was filling you, hips bucked up and cumming hard until he physically couldn’t anymore. He was at your ear, desperately moaning for you as you twitched around him, squeezing him, “Nghhhhh… hah, fuck, baby.”

His skin was burning, his eyes screwed shut and jaw clenched, pulsing so hard in your cunt, overstimulating you almost to the point of pain. Almost.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, this pussy…” He gasped, equally as overwhelmed as you felt when he slid out.

“Oh my god,” You held onto him tight, your bare tits pressed up against his still-clothed chest, just breathing him in as you attempted to calm yourself.

“Let me see it,” He exhaled heavily.

“Hmm?” You shook, face buried into his neck, feeling his sweat on your cheek.

“Need to see it leaking out. Show me.” He rasped.

You whimpered at his order when you realized what he wanted. He didn’t give you any time to regain your strength, he simply flipped you over the arm of the couch. He groaned as you bent yourself over the edge, widening your legs to give him a full show of just how good he’d fucked you.

“Spread yourself for me, baby.” He breathed, his chest still heaving.

You did as he said, your hand reached underneath you, spreading your lips apart. You keened at the feeling, so overstimulated that you could barely handle your own delicate touch. His eyes followed the cum dribbling out of you and down your thigh.

“Fuck, that’s it, just like that.” Joel watched as he pulled his pants back up, buckling his belt. He reached out, sliding a hand down your lower back, making sure you stayed just how he wanted. You felt so incredibly naked in front of him like this.

“Fuck… can’t believe I just came in you… fuck,” He groaned as realization dawned on him. The spell broken.

“M’clean,” You moaned, head still fuzzy, “n’safe, I swear.”

He just sighed.

“Joel, I promise. I never let them do this.” You tried to move but his hand held you in place. You didn’t know if he believed you or not but it was true. It was your rule. You were always safe. Your heart pounded at the thought of how different it had been with Joel, how easy it had been for him to take full control of you. Breaking your rules without him even realizing it. You didn’t regret it one bit though. And you hoped desperately that he didn’t either.

Joel didn’t reply, only asking what he owed you. You almost forgot what the hell he was talking about.

“Don’t worry about it,” You sighed as he let you back up, stretching in exhaustion. There you went breaking another rule. They always paid you. But with Joel, it felt like you should be the one paying him.

“Tell me what I owe you,” His features hardened.

“Joel, I-...” You were taken aback by his quick shift, “It’s fine. I wanted this, you don’t have to-”

“That’s not…,” He ran an exasperated hand through the tousled hair you’d just had your own hands in, “I wouldn’t have done this, otherwise.”

You wiped at your thighs with your discarded panties as you tried to make sense of his frustration, the dizziness still in your brain making it difficult. You wondered if you should feel insulted by his statement.

“Jesus, it’s not a big deal,” You pulled your dress back over yourself before facing him, “Get something from the Outfitters or whatever. I don’t care.”

“You should leave. I’ll get you your payment but you need to go now,” He backed away from you, avoiding your eyes.

Before you could begin to try to wrap your mind around what had just happened, the sound of the front door being unlocked had both of your heads shooting up in time to see Ellie.

“Joel! I forgot-” The girl stopped hard in her tracks as she took in the scene of you and Joel standing awkwardly in the living room. It was silent between the three of you as she made no attempt to hide the way she was staring you down. Your face warmed again as you mentally thanked whatever God was out there that she hadn’t entered a minute earlier.

“What the fuck is going on?” Ellie turned to Joel, her brow furrowed.

“Ellie,” He scolded her language but failed to attempt any lie about who you were or what was going on. And you took this as your cue to escape because you had nothing to offer.

“Yeah…I’ll, uh, see ya,” You grabbed your bag off the coffee table and it took everything in you to walk and not sprint out the door.

#joel miller x reader #tlou fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller daddy #filth #smut

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blasphemecel · 1 month

Text

Michael Kaiser — Mean

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.4k TYPE: Fake dating, This is not fluff or angst but a secret third thing (with a cheerful ending) WARNING(S): Depersonalization/identity issues

The first time you meet Michael Kaiser, you get a bad impression.

Yeah, sure, he doesn’t have the most stellar reputation, anyway. You’ve met all sorts of unpleasant people in your life and he manages to disappoint even when the bar is so low, the only way to go lower is through digging.

You don’t exchange a word with him, but rather you have the misfortune of having to listen to him talk throughout the entire meeting. He starts countless arguments, some valid to an extent. You can tell he’s just doing this because he’s addicted to the sound of his voice and speaking to people like they’re unimportant specks of dust all while commanding their attention. There’s no point to his fussing either because he ends up signing the same contract you do.

Waste of your goddamn time — he might as well have not signed it and saved you the trouble, since the ordeal ends up lasting three hours because of him.

Maybe you should’ve not signed it yourself, but your PR manager was salivating at the idea of fake dating as a publicity stunt, especially with Kaiser who’ll be posing with you for a photoshoot in a few months, so you said ‘whatever’ and here you are. In this predicament with an insufferable man you imagine you won’t get along with, which already predisposes you to never giving him a chance.

___

The first time you speak to Michael Kaiser, you unsettle him.

It’s unlike him to feel disturbed, let alone at the slightest thing. He’s met all sorts of sickos, so he considers himself unflinching in the face of anyone who has anything off about them.

But he’s fifteen minutes late to the ‘date’ you’re supposed to use as a tool to subtly launch your fake relationship and he’s expecting a scolding. Kaiser spots you and heads in your direction, taking the seat in front with a shitty smirk and an ingenuine, half-assed apology on his lips.

What he gets in response is a blank look — almost… unimpressed, which naturally someone like Kaiser takes as a challenge and already sets the tone for the rest of the conversation — and it’s as if you’re staring into his soul. Then in an instant your expression flips to convincing joy, your warm smile contrasting his snide one, and you say, “Let’s act like we’re really stoked.”

A chill runs down his spine. On a logical level Kaiser knows you’re faking it, but it looks real, and that’s what he finds freaky. Also, the speed.

“Let’s not,” he says. “You’re weird,” he adds after you don’t respond.

You don’t react to this information either and settle for maintaining your smile.

The barista decides to spare him from having to look at you while you don’t say anything. He’s pretty sure you’re doing this deliberately, to torture him. When you attempt to order something, he talks over you and asks, “Can you give us one of those shitty milkshakes with two straws in them?”

She stares at him in bewilderment. “We don’t sell those,” she says eventually.

“Can you make one?”

“No…”

“You’re scum,” you tell him, dropping the happy facade. Again, the quickness strikes Kaiser as disturbing. Then you give her a valid order, and he asks for water since they offer that everywhere and he can’t be bothered to read the menu. After the barista leaves, you say, “I could have lactose intolerance.”

“You could. I could be trying to kill you.”

“I don’t know if a milkshake would be enough to kill me.”

“Maybe I was trying to give you a stomach ache,” he concurs.

You don’t dignify that with a reply either.

Kaiser tries to speak with you again, “I really fucking hate milk.”

“Then why’d you do that?”

“To embarrass you, of course,” he says, like he’s revealed to you the natural order of things.

“Hm.” You consider this new information. “I’ll definitely think of a way to get back at you.”

The lukewarm threat seems to amuse him more than anything.

Then you proceed to have a hostile few hours together in public as instructed. You end up throwing napkins at his face.

Kaiser isn’t good at pretending to be in love. The only such image he seems capable of projecting is one of a middle schooler who’s failing to find a balance between playful and mean. Though it also doesn’t matter to you because you mostly teeter on the edge of mean, slightly left of apathetic. Nothing really matters to you.

___

For your second court-ordered date with Michael Kaiser, your manager tells you to get caught holding hands with him at a park after the cafe meeting doesn’t spark much controversy. The notion itself has you scrunching your face, but you don’t complain about it or voice your opinion.

Again, he’s late picking you up by a not negligent amount of time, leaving you to stand in front of your building, motionless and impatient.

Instead of announcing his presence in a more acceptable manner, Kaiser blares the car horn until you realize it’s him. After you crawl inside the passenger seat, you turn to look at him and see that he looks very pleased with himself. It’s obnoxious.

“I hope we die in a car crash,” you greet.

“We won’t.” You don’t know why, but his brain interprets this as an opportunity to brag. “I’m an excellent driver.”

He’s not. Somehow you make it to the park without getting into a catastrophe — which, as established, you wouldn’t have minded.

You exit at the same time and Kaiser frowns at you by the time he circles his way around to you. You don’t care enough about what’s bothering him to raise a questioning eyebrow let alone ask, but he tells you, “I was going to open the door for you and then offer to help you up. You ruined everything!”

You roll your eyes. “How gallant.”

“Get back in,” Kaiser says, pointing (as if the gesture will be enough to convince you to play along). “Let’s redo it.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I have a vision for these kinds of things, that’s all.”

“Your vision is trashy and uninspired,” you reject promptly.

Kaiser seems to be the first person in the world who finds your attitude funny rather than objectionable because he grins at your response. But he’s more so looking at you like you’re a bug he finds fascinating in comparison to the rest, without any real respect or acknowledgement.

“I admit maybe it was a bit cliche,” he says. “Would’ve made me look good, though, if someone caught it on camera.”

You smile that ghoulish smile again and grab his hand like you were told. His fingers are cold and yours even more so, making the grasp clammy and uncomfortable while you begin your stroll. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to talk about with him. Soon enough, you scowl, both the silence and the sensation of getting touched proving too much for you to hide your displeasure, even though Kaiser seems content with letting the silence fester.

“Oh? Why’d you stop? I’ve started enjoying your creepy masquerading.”

“I’m disgusted,” you say.

“Disgusted,” he repeats. “By what? Me?”

“It’s making me sick. Who knows where your hand’s been or what you’ve done.”

Albeit visibly offended for the first time if the lack of an annoying smirk is anything to draw judgments from, Kaiser drops it first. Your arm hangs by your side again, limp.

“Let go, then. Or do I need to do everything myself?” That’s quite a dramatic sentiment coming from a man who has done nothing all day besides a short drive and taking a few steps.

“But my manager said-”

“Who cares? I think my manager’s lucky I agreed to this bullshit in the first place,” Kaiser says. “By the way, my hands haven’t been in any sewers or anything to warrant this reaction, thank you very much.” He must be the type of person who only ever says thank you as if being grateful is some big joke.

“I’m not being literal. I know who you are and what people say about you. My disgust is conceptual.”

“Flattering.” Kaiser’s pleased again with the mention of this tidbit, like the mental image he’s getting of you searching him up gives him immeasurable amounts of satisfaction. One thing you’ve come to notice about him since your last outing is that he’s shameless. “You’re not special, though. Lots of people know who I am.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re scum.”

“Do you usually talk to people you barely know in this way or is it preferential treatment? I’d love preferential treatment, but the other option is amusing too.”

“Usually,” you say in a monotone. “That’s why I don’t speak much. More so supposed to be looked at rather than heard, and so on.” You finish off your explanation with a flippant gesture. That’s what it’s like for you — ‘shut your trap, it ruins your appeal.’

“Well, I-” there’s an emphasis on the word ‘I’ because Kaiser always thinks his opinion matters, “-think your worldview is pathetic and embarrassing. What’s the point of being looked at if no one will listen to you? How can you be fine with that?”

Fair point. You concede in your head, but don’t commit to agreeing with him out loud. “You’re not special either. Most people gross me out.”

“You hurt me this time.” He’s sneering, though.

After a while of walking, you find yourself sitting on a bench next to him. A few pigeons strut around near your feet, bobbing their heads back and forth, almost catching a groove. “If I had any bread, I’d feed them.”

“I’m not surprised you’d feel interested in such a commoner’s activity,” Kaiser says, as if he is somehow superior to you for not wanting to participate in this.

“Vile,” you say, voice still neutral. You’re not looking at him either, attention glued to the birds.

He doesn’t know which part of it you find dismaying — was it the class shaming or what? “So you like pigeons, but you hate humanity. You’re one of those.”

“I don’t hate humanity,” you say. “But nature is repulsive by default. It’s not amoral. When we’re cruel and ugly, that’s a conscious and opportunistic decision. Every day CEOs throw their employees and workers under the bus for more profits. Someone’s getting murdered as we speak. We’re faking a relationship to attract brand deals. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

“Get a hobby instead of thinking about stupid shit like that. Caring about how ugly and bleak everything is won’t get you anywhere,” Kaiser… advises.

“Look at the pigeons.” You’re watching the one with the missing claws, wobbling and struggling to get around. “Humans domesticated them and then abandoned them. I love flora and fauna. They’re interesting and exist much more differently than we do.”

“Does that mean you like my tattoo then?”

“Not everything needs to be about you. It’s not like people will forget you exist when you don’t force yourself to be at the center of conversation.”

This stings him the tiniest bit. Either you’re probing into an insecurity or he’s reading too deep into what you’re gathering from your conversations with him. “If I wanted to have a pseudointellectual conversation, I wouldn’t ask a vapid model to psychoanalyze me.”

“Your opinions are unoriginal and stereotyped just like your ideas about romance,” you say, finally turning around to face him again with those haunted eyes. He’s unamused now, clenching his jaw and all. “A stupid athlete wouldn’t be my first choice for a ‘pseudointellectual conversation’ either.”

“You look down on others and judge them, so what makes you so different from all those ‘scum’ you hate? How are you exempt from your own standards?”

Do you realize you’re displaying similar behaviors to those you’re scolding him over?

“Well, there’s a simple explanation for that,” you say. Kaiser is expecting an argument or something, but you kind of floor him with your follow-up. “It’s called hypocrisy. I’m probably just as disgusting as the average person.”

“Your life must be miserable if you look at everything through this lens. What was the phrase, rose colored glasses? Yours must have shit smeared over them.”

You shrug then make a 50/50 motion with your hand. “My life’s neither good nor bad. I’m indifferent on the subject.”

“Uh huh.” Kaiser considers this, then his lips twitch up, and then his smile broadens — it’s snide and smug again, and you come to the realization that he probably doesn’t know how to smile in any other way — before he inches a little closer to you. Not enough to brush against you, but enough to count as an attempted provocation. “I think people like you shouldn’t be considered alive. Legally speaking. And if we’re being figurative, you’re obviously already dead.”

You frown at him, since he’s kind of right. The fact that Michael Kaiser has the capability to discern truths you don’t want to hear rubs you the wrong way.

“Speaking of birds,” you start, deciding to change the topic, “you remind me of a peacock.”

“Wrong.” He’s pouty now. You find the expression cute, but when you catch the thought you throw up in your mouth a bit, so you ignore it. “I’m clearly a swan.”

“The fact that you have a preference when it comes to what animal you’re considered is sad.”

“And you’re entertaining. Let’s hang out again soon even if those sorry fucks don’t suggest it.”

You find it bewildering how he calls his PR manager’s input a ‘suggestion’ and seems to think he can do whatever he wants. Which, maybe he does, seeing the way he conducts himself. You’re also tempted to tell him to make up his mind on whether he enjoys your company or not, but there are more important matters right now. “We’re not supposed to do that, I don’t think.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Why this desire all of a sudden?”

“It’s what I want.” What impeccable reasoning. “I think I can make you enjoy yourself,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. Not for your merit or anything stupid.” Kaiser offers what you’d describe as a flamboyant hand wave in the air, demeanor laced with complacency. “I think it’d make me feel really charitable and generous if I can manage to add something to your depressing life. Give me a chance to try.”

“Word of advice,” you scoot away from him to the point the edge of the bench is digging into your ass and it honestly hurts, “you’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude. How you phrased it disgusted me again.”

Kaiser finds your favored terms interesting. Everything is sickening and disgusting and vile and scummy from your perspective. Deep down for reasons he doesn’t want to ponder, he can relate.

“Great. You’ll come around soon,” he promises, with the confidence of someone who thinks this is a game he has a high chance of winning.

___

Kaiser makes it a point to inflict his presence onto you as much as he can afford to with your schedules, even though there’s no need for it. Not that you refuse him either. He’s kind of interesting to keep around, in his own Kaiser-ish way.

Earlier today he invited himself over to your house. He’d decided you need to come up with a story about your ‘relationship,’ but didn’t wanna discuss it through text messages. Apparently he has an interview coming up and wants to be prepared in case they ask him about you.

“How did we meet?” you ask, sitting on the other side of the couch and leaning against the armrest, away from him.

The answer is immediate: “I saved you from a burning church.”

You question what other fantasies this man could probably have because that’s the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. Your voice somehow remains flat despite the bewilderment when you ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s flashy and dramatic.”

“But if anyone searches it up, they’ll see there haven’t been any… burned churches?”

“You’re such a killjoy.” Kaiser sighs. “It makes it sound mystical.”

“No it doesn’t,” you say, rather flippant about the entire thing. “It makes you sound like a pathological liar.”

“I like your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, but I’m not kidding about this.”

“Then what do you think it should be?” Kaiser asks. Obviously the purpose of this inquiry is to criticize your choice of scenario — even you can anticipate such a predictable move.

You roll your eyes and then look away from him in contemplation. You hadn’t really thought about it, since you don’t do interviews, and therefore you don’t need to concern yourself with hypotheticals on the matter. “Some kind of party, maybe. Post-match celebration?”

“Makes sense,” says Kaiser. “Doesn’t compel me, though. Boring.”

With a hum, you try to imagine what would both appeal to Kaiser and sound realistic. Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s swayed by practicality. “I went with someone else, but you swept me off my feet so hard, you stole me away from them.”

“I guess it sounds plausible enough while still having an element of fantasy.”

“Is the idea of me liking you the ‘element of fantasy’?”

“Yeah… That’s why I want it.”

You didn’t expect such a response. It has you looking at him weird. You do so often anyway, but now you do it for longer as if trying to glean something. In response Kaiser tells you to take a picture since it’ll last longer. The reply seems extraneous and distracting, and that only makes you feel more suspicious of him, which is weird since you’re not sure what you’re even inferring.

___

Officially it’s your fifth date with Kaiser, unofficially it’s the tenth. This time you’re holding up a frog in your open hands.

He doesn’t know what the point of all the nature-themed outings is — maybe to make him seem down to Earth in the public eye since he’s become notorious for how insufferable he is? Either way he doesn’t care, and he’s not the type to wander at landscapes, but your affinity for ugly animals is kind of cute.

The frog isn’t some special one either. No crazy colors or anything, just a regular green tree frog (according to your expertise). You let it jump onto your palms, since apparently touching their skin is bad for them or something. Kaiser scrutinizes it in distaste, staring down into its big eyes while it croaks. “So you can handle a disgusting amphibian, but you can’t hold hands with me.”

“I see you’re still thinking about that.”

“Well, it was insulting. And besides, it’s never happened to me before.”

“You’re not so bad. I don’t think I’d vomit if we brushed against each other anymore.”

Kaiser seems curious but nonetheless pleased with this development. “Why the change of heart?”

“Because you listen to what I say,” you tell him.

He somehow resists the urge to piss himself laughing at the sound of that. “Your standards are so low. It’s so sad that it’s funny,” he says. Maybe he would’ve dedicated some more time to teasing you over it, but he comes to a realization which immediately lifts his mood. This must mean he’s in your good graces somewhat, and not many people seem to fit there, so that makes Kaiser special to a degree. Right?

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“Who would’ve thought someone who looks the way you do would come out like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you were one of those kids who, like, shoved sticks and leaves in mud and called it a potion.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

Kaiser lets out an annoyed sound, tired of elaborating. “It means I think you’re strange.”

“Hmm, I bet you do,” you say. “There’s a quote I like: ‘It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.’”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s the kind of message you love. What’s it from?”

“Interesting story,” you say. “This is Jiddu Krishnamurti’s most famous quote, but it doesn’t appear in any of his books. Allegedly he said it to some other guy.”

Kaiser blinks and nods, maybe trying to keep a pretense of having the slightest concept of what you’re on about. “Whatever, got it. I can’t remember the last time I read a book. Maybe I’ll check him out.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be interested in that type of thing,” you say, staring at him as if you’re trying to figure him out.

“Actually, I am. Can you stop taking every chance to insult me?”

“I’m not. At least not on purpose… So, what are your hobbies, anyway? You never told me.”

“I practice. What do you take me for?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “That’s it?”

Kaiser opens his mouth to justify himself even though there’s no need to be defensive — maybe it’s that he feels like he’s lacking in some department after you bring your attention to it with your little response and generally Kaiser hates to be insufficient. But before he can argue and try and talk himself out of whatever perception you have of him now, an interruption happens.

The frog, which had been lazy and content with merely existing in your grasp, springs without any warning. It leaps out of your fingers and lands on top of Kaiser’s head.

Today you learn Michael Kaiser screams at an ear-shattering frequency when he’s startled. Soap opera level of shock and overreaction.

___

It is when you’re eating at a trashy place for lunch that Kaiser’s looking at his phone, which you find rude since you’re supposed to be spending time together and whatnot. He eats like a pig, too, not graceful at all — you wonder what his fans would think if they saw him with crumbs over his mouth and sauce on his chin. Good material for a public embarrassment campaign, you think.

But it’s in that moment that he finally wipes himself with a tissue and reaches out to all but shove his phone in your face. “Look, we’re so hot!”

You grace the picture with a dismissive glance before looking back down at your meal, disinterested. You already know enough about Kaiser to assume he’d get a kick out of power couple fantasies. And other power fantasies. Really, you find it pathetic.

It was something out of the photoshoot he was showing you, his favorite you presume. Even someone like Kaiser, who has conventional features, isn’t perfect when it comes to these unreasonable standards. He’d been way too stiff next to you while he posed and though his face is symmetrical, his expressions tend to stray to one side, and obviously it’d been corrected.

There’s a mismatch between you on the covers and your image in the mirror. Maybe your brain is exaggerating the disconnect, but every time you see them, it’s like staring into an airbrushed, distorted amalgamation. In other words, you prefer avoiding both the edited products and your reflection whenever you can.

“We don’t look like that,” you say, offhand about his enthusiasm as you are with most things.

Kaiser scoffs and then very blatantly tries to compare between whatever version of you he has on his phone and the you in front of him. There’s not a single good thing you can say about his decision — it’s making your skin crawl just knowing it’s what he’s doing.

“Close enough,” he deems after careful examination.

“I don’t think it’s me.”

“It’s quite literally you.”

“I don’t think anything is me. Like I’m just what I see. My perspective, my point of view. You get what I’m saying?”

“No?” Kaiser says, laughing at you and your apparently strange affliction.

“Well if not that, you have to admit things captured on camera aren’t real.”

“What are you talking about,” Kaiser asks in a flat tone, which leaves it as something less than a question. A few more snickers escape him and he’s grinning at you like a bastard — if at first he regarded you as a slightly more fascinating bug than the rest, by now you must be his favorite, the rarest… A tree lobster. “You make no sense.”

“It totally makes sense. Imagine we’re having sex-”

“What kind of stupid come-on is that?”

“It’s not a come-on, I’m explaining. So, imagine we’re having sex-”

“In what position?”

“Whatever you want as long as it works for the scenario. Anyway, imagine we’re having sex-”

Kaiser laughs harder and then attempts some seductive sort of expression which doesn’t land with you. “I’m imagining it,” he informs.

“Shut up and let me get to the point. Imagine we’re having sex and I’m recording it-”

“Wow, I didn’t take you for such a pervert? Not that I hate it.”

“-so I’m looking at you through the camera lens. The phone’s between us. I’m not, like, in the moment with you. My mind’s absent, it’s all digital. So if you think about it we’re not even really having sex.”

“... You’re losing me even more,” Kaiser says after some contemplation, finding the fantasy unpleasant all of a sudden with this new spin to it. A moment passes during which he takes another big, possibly exaggerated bite, but he at least has enough decency to chew and swallow before adding, “I think you just have a problem.”

You roll your eyes, wondering if he even entertained the thought, but shrug since it doesn’t matter in the end. “Why are we always talking about how I’m weird? If anything, you're eccentric, not me.”

Kaiser wrinkles his nose in offense at the notion and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture in the air. “No. I’ve turned out totally normal. Don’t put me at your level.”

A lot of curiosities spin around your head concerning Kaiser’s behavior whenever you meet and you’re yet to find an answer. What does he want? Clearly he’s comfortable with and used to wanting, but what is it? Attention? Money? Fame? Status? All, none? Will it ever be enough? Is it even the kind of hunger which can be satiated?

Who is he when he’s not playing this ridiculous character?

“I can’t get a read on you,” you tell him.

“Well, you’re socially inept. I doubt you can get a read on anyone.”

“So are you.”

Kaiser feigns hurt over this. He does that a lot. Maybe he finds it hilarious, maybe the performance is all for shits and giggles — who knows.

“I want to dissect your head,” you say after a while of silence.

“Really? That’s what you wanna do with me?”

“Mhm. With a scalpel. I’d make an incision around your temple maybe.”

“My beautiful and demented angel, is that your way of saying you wanna get closer to me?” The sentence comes out mocking with a paper thin smile, but there’s a sense of admiration in it. What for? You raise an eyebrow in visible confusion at the… nickname, but Kaiser doesn’t elaborate. To take away from the tension(?), he announces, “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth,” pointing at your mouth all amused.

___

Kaiser had an ulterior motive in accepting that deal. Though wording it this way makes it sound like some calculated, opportunistic, sinister scheme, when in reality it’s nothing beyond immature and a little humiliating.

Of course, in true Kaiser fashion, when looking to meet someone, he goes straight for the most convoluted option. So when the stupid idea came up, he agreed, even if he put on a bit of a show at first and acted irritating. Confessing to wanting friends is so embarrassing. He’d rather shoot himself at point blank or perhaps commit an act of auto-defenestration than admit the real reason for participating, much less in front of you.

Despite the jabs, you’re also not bad at all. Calm and uninvolved in anything that upsets him and without any expectations towards him.

At first he found your indifference derogatory, but as the months have passed by, there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he could’ve been some random guy off the street and you would’ve probably treated him the same. In front of you he is neither on a pedestal nor someone to be knocked down on his knees. More Michael than he is Kaiser.

Things have been teetering on a dangerous edge lately. His mind is wandering off towards you again, more and more often each day. Like maybe he’s excited for the next time he sees you or something else repulsive in a similar vein, a giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Is this what it would’ve been like to be a little boy with a crush?

Generally he prefers not to socialize with background characters. So he doesn’t know why it’s while he’s having some benign daydream about you that some newbie he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of decides to interrupt him. Besides, it’s inconvenient, he was supposed to be leaving and this guy is blocking the changing room door.

“I heard you’re banging a model,” he says, as if they’re good pals or some shit. Kaiser is also mostly immune to annoying locker room talk since all the other psychotic men he knows are too busy being as fanatical as him to waste time on something as useless as objectifying someone to pass the time, yet here this lowlife is.

Kaiser regards him with a judgmental side eye — for a second too long, almost television-style — and tries to move and sidestep him. “Why do you care? Pathetic cuck.”

“Woah, don’t be like that. I just thought it was funny. I’ve heard about that person before, would’ve thought it would be more of a hit it and quit it type thing. Yet here you are, still together.”

The emotion that zaps him is almost disorienting. Kaiser bruises easily, but it’s all about him. There’s never been much room for anyone else in his mentality of suffocating self-absorption, a depressing way to try and compensate for anyone who’s ever wronged him. Right now, though, he’s feeling anger on someone else’s behalf. A borderline exotic situation.

“So I was curious if that thing about loonies being the best at fucking was true? I’m assuming it is ‘cause I don’t know why else you’d stay with a schizoid.”

In the heat of the moment, when he’s pissed off, Kaiser is not the most poetic wordsmith. Thankfully politeness and civility are sensibilities which elude him. Without a second thought or any regret, he makes use of his water bottle still in his hand and dumps the entire contents of it over his head before elbowing him out of the way while he’s still confused.

___

You really don’t want to be having this conversation.

For fuck’s sake, you’re on break. And isn’t that supposed to mean relaxation? Yet the other model for the shoot today has been bugging you with unpleasant questions, putting you on the spot.

“Isn’t he a narcissist, though?” she asks, refusing to let go of the topic no matter how unresponsive you’ve been.

“I guess? Maybe. In a way…”

“You’re sooo… I don’t know. Like, you don’t even sound sure about what you’re telling me.” She narrows her eyes at you, leaning in a bit closer. “Aren’t you scared of him? Or is it ‘cause you’re so sheltered, you don’t know not to mess around with guys like Kaiser?”

Scared of him? It sounds ludicrous. At worst he’s whiny.

“He’s harmless,” you say. “Just a little rude and preoccupied with himself, that’s all. Actually, he’s an interesting and attentive person.”

She covers her mouth and lets out a sound of amusement, apparently now finding you more convincing and therefore dropping her worries. “He was saying you guys are suuuuuuuper in love with an interview.”

Not too engaged with the topic — since it’s about whatever lies Kaiser told the interviewer to entertain himself — you ask, “Is that what he was saying?”

“Yep. Didn’t you watch?”

“No.”

“Fine. Maybe he’s ‘interesting and attentive.’ I mean, I don’t believe it, but whatever. What about you, though? Do you like him, let alone love him? Can you even like anyone? I mean, shit, you know how you are. So, like, can you? Are you suuuuuuuper in love?”

You avert your eyes. “Yes,” you say. It’s true. You do like Kaiser well enough, probably more than you should. “And stop making assumptions about him and me.”

“What if I don’t stop? What are you gonna do?”

That’s… A very good question because there’s nothing you can do at the moment. Seems like a good opportunity to weaponize your reputation of being a deranged serial killer. “I’ll lick your eyebrows.”

You don’t know if your delivery is persuasive or not, but the idea you’d do such a thing must come off as believable enough because she makes a strange face before backing off.

___

You despise being in situations. And making decisions.

There’s a stupid PR meeting again. Your manager, who you think should move onto writing trashy novellas instead of administering poison to your career just because his imagination is overactive, proposed a new stunt. With the fake relationship running its course, you were discussing ways to publicize the ‘break up’ and he suggested a cheating scandal. Not to mention his great idea had you as the cheater — you swear he’s praying on your downfall at this point.

Maybe because you’ve been treated as some kind of fucked up creature incapable of thought and trustworthy decisions, something insentient, you would’ve went along with it like always. Even though you know you’d look bad, the point is to make noise, and it would be a scandalous story if not anything else. Another indignity doesn’t matter much on an endless list.

Then Kaiser in true Kaiser fashion declared that he wants to keep the relationship going. To you, such an act of flippant defiance is unthinkable.

But obviously this forces you into a position where you need to pick between your options. They’re all staring at you, waiting. Kaiser is smiling at you from across his seat like you’re in on a joke with him. Anxious, you say, “I’ll think about it,” and stand up to leave.

You’re sweating because somewhere within you wanna announce ‘Yeah, I wanna keep seeing Michael Kaiser,’ but it’s so preposterous.

Kaiser doesn’t chase after you (though it’d be his style to do such a thing solely for the drama), but he catches up to you by the time you make it outside of the building, approaching the parking lot.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, stop ignoring me. Heeeeeeey.”

God he is such an annoying pest sometimes. You turn around to face him, snapping, “What?! What was that about anyway?”

“No, what’s with you? What is there to think about? You don’t want to look like a clown in front of the world, do you?”

You’re looking at Kaiser again like you’re trying to figure out a mystery. He always wants things, but what does he want from you? There has to be a reason for this. Otherwise, he should’ve been fine with the separation instead of trying to prolong it.

“Listen,” says Kaiser, a little apprehensive at your silence and expressionless gaze, “I can tell you barely tolerate your shitty job and that you probably don’t like the moronic idea your anthropomorphized cyst of a manager came up with, so why aren’t you protesting it?”

Those are objective enough observations. However, “Anthropomorphized cyst…?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Kaiser huffs, irked. “And by the way the fake meek act isn’t cute at all. They’re making money off of you. Tell them to fuck off and die and stop acting like a hostage.”

“This is very inspirational and all, Kaiser, but how about you tell me why you wanna keep the fake relationship going?”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want that either, you can say we’ll settle for ending it instead of-”

You cross your arms. “Again, your attempts at a pep talk are adorable and appreciated, but you’re changing the subject now.”

“They’re not adorable. I’m right. Say I’m right.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent with a roll of your eyes.

Kaiser smiles snidely and clasps his hands behind his back. “Thanks,” he says in a sarcastic tone. Then you expect him to entertain your question, but he doesn’t, leaving you in an uncomfortable staredown against him and his stupid ‘beautiful glowing blue orbs’ ass eyes.

“Answer me,” you demand.

“Your unpleasant personality and reclusive ways have bewitched me.”

…

“… What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Kaiser says with too much attitude considering the situation. Like, he just spoke out one of the most absurd sentences you’ve ever heard.

“Do you have a brain tumor?”

The outrageous suggestion makes him scoff. “Really? You think I need a brain tumor to like you?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Should’ve let me operate on you when I offered.”

“You’re mentally disturbed,” he replies like the fact turns him on or something.

“So were you asking me out or what?”

“Yes? No? Yes. Yeah, fine, I am.”

“Do you search up ‘personality’ on porn sites?”

“Come on, be serious. I mean what I’m saying and I want to give things between us a try. Do you?”

You cringe as if admitting your feelings or overall being in touch with them in the first place is a physically painful sensation, but in your defense you think you might throw up. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow. My manager, I mean.”

Kaiser swings an arm around your shoulders, visibly pleased with the way this is all going. He sings, “That’s the spirit.”

What had he wanted from you? Affection and care, apparently. You think back on when you’d called him ‘disgusting’ and a foreign guilt overcomes you since you don’t usually lament the remarks you make during your misanthropic hissy fits.

Is it fine for someone such as yourself to also indulge in wanting? Hesitant, with shaky arms, you embrace him around the middle, the gentlest of hugs. Kaiser freezes for a moment as if he’s unsure what to do when he’s not the one initiating things, but eventually returns the gesture. Melts into it, even. Two existences brushing against one another, at first glance contrary yet perhaps similar in many ways.

When you finally pull away from each other little by little, Kaiser says, “Let’s elope now.”

You sigh. “You sure have a way of making everything sound way more exciting than it is.”

(He drives you back to your place, but still sucks at driving. Chivalrously, he avoids crashing the car, though.)

___

Yall I was drinking light yellow tap water for a few daysdo you think somethings gonna happen to me ?

Btw I hate this but it's finally finished after like around a month so whatever lol I' M FREE

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #michael kaiser x you

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 2 months

Text

Jay Halstead (& Platonic! Will Halstead): People You Love

Some stories just write themselves and that is what this one did. I’ve been in a writing mood lately and I have a whole list of ideas I want to go through. This isn’t super Jay x reader-focused.

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD and anti Will/ Natalie content

You took a sip of your drink listening to Will talk to his brother about his latest disagreement with Natalie. You had learned at the beginning of your relationship with Jay and first meeting Will that it was not a topic of conversation that you should chime in on.

Will wanted to be with Nat and there was nothing that could change that to his and her own detriment. You stirred the brightly colored liquid with your straw, listening to the ice cubes click against the glass. It was a sweet drink that Gabby had made for you. You were one of the few who frequented Molly’s that didn’t drink beer and only ordered mixed drinks. You had gotten hell for it from a few of the blue-collar boys, but Gabby had taken that as a challenge. There was always a new drink she had found for you to try.

You tried to hide your wince by taking a drink when Will went through some particularly low blows of the fight. The saying sticks and stones make break my bone never considered how cutting words could be. Especially from the people who were supposed to love you. “You want another babe?” Your eyes flashed between his eyes and your cup which you now found almost empty. You hesitate, but with the way Will is going, you will probably be here for quite a while yet.

“Yeah, just one more,” You agree. You watch him leave the table and make his way over to the crowded bar top. He wouldn’t have to wait if not for your drink, but he never complained. You heard a sigh and the loud click of a bottle being set more forcefully on the table.

“Alright, let's hear it.” You glance up at Will expectantly. You weren’t close but you had acquaintanceship because of Jay. You liked Will but it was hard to form a real friendship with someone when you felt like you had to edit everything you said because they couldn’t handle your honesty. Will had a strong alpha male confidence and ego. He needed someone who could call him to the carpet, but you weren’t willing to risk your relationship with Jay to be that for him. You tilted your head in question to his statement. “I know you want to say something, so let’s hear it.” You shake your head circling your straw in your cup again. The bangles that lined your arms clinked together loudly as they slid down to your wrists. “C’mon,” Will pressed.

“It’s nothing you want to hear.”

“But there is something you want to say.” His gaze held yours and he raised his eyebrows in question. There was a challenging spark in his eyes. He was looking for a fight. “You’ve been with my brother for almost a year and never had an opinion you wanted to share about any of my relationship problems? I doubt that. I’ve been trying and nothing has been working out. So, I’m up for a female viewpoint.”

“What you want is a fight. I like my relationship with Jay, I’m not going to ruin it by fighting with his older brother.” Will sits up a little straighter in his seat.

“Is that so? Well, this one can be on the house. No backlash or fallout. The way I see it-I asked, you answered.” You eye him up and down trying to determine the truth of his words and if he was able to abide by what he just offered. You looked at the bar. Jay was leaning leisurely against the bar top talking to Kelly Severide, Matt Casey, and Gabby. You could tell he was still going to be a minute. You look back at Will and nod.

“You and Natalie are never going to work.” Will blows out a breath and leans back in his seat before scoffing and shaking his head.

“You don’t-” You shake your head at him holding up your hand making all the bangles clank down to the bottom of your forearm, the loud noise effectively covering up his rebuttal.

“Uh-uh, you asked my opinion and now you're going to listen to it.” Will mouth turns into a firm line but he stays silent. “You two are bad for each other. I know you want it to work, to figure it out, for the little rainbows and butterflies to flutter down to fix all your problems. But it’s not going to happen. You two are bad for each other. She is bringing out the worst in you and from what I can tell- from the very limited time I’ve spent with you together- you are doing the same for her.”

“I love her,” You shake your head at the redheaded man in front of you.

“What you're doing to each other isn’t love Will. I know you care about her. Want what’s best for her but that doesn’t make it you. Love is finding each other's soft spots, their weakness. It’s learning and knowing exactly what could destroy them. It’s having all that power and choosing to protect them instead of bringing them to their knees.” You play with a bangle on your wrist twisting it, “I’ve been in a relationship where we picked each other to pieces, and I promise you Will that isn’t what you want.” You feel your eyes mist over with emotion, “It’s hard letting go but when you find someone that goes out of their way to protect you...When you would do anything to protect them...You will know that you’ve made the right decision.”

“I protect Natalie.” You shake your head at Will getting frustrated with his purposeful ignoring of the issues. “We just get heated sometimes, say things we don’t-”

“That’s what I am saying, Will. It seems to happen every other week with you too. Over stupid things that don’t matter.”

“Unlike you and Jay. Because I’m sure you too never fight.” Will shoots back and your frustration rises.

“Jay has PTSD. I’m more worried about protecting his mental health than notching up our day-to-day bickering. He gets in this headspace sometimes and it is irritating and frustrating because I just want him to talk to me. For him to let me help him. But he won’t. I didn’t understand at first. How could I? Then he had a really bad bout of it after a case. He didn’t hear me come in and I startled him. He pulled his gun on me. Pointed it right at my head.”

Will felt his own frustration turn into something churning in his stomach. He knew his brother struggled with PTSD from time to time. He knew that he had nightmares and that there were times when he was constantly on edge- hypervigilant. But Will had never been there to see the full extent of it. “When he realized it was me, I could see it all in his eyes. He was afraid that he could hurt me. That I would be afraid to be around him. If he had any idea how terrified I was, not that he would hurt me but that he would torture himself with it. Nobody can hurt Jay like Jay can. The fallout was awful. He struggled to get past it. I knew that it could never happen again.”

“So, what did you do?”

You looked at your arm and wiggled it. The bangles clank loudly together. “I made it so I can never sneak up on him again. When I went through my Bollywood phase and bought bangles my mom used to complain that the entire neighborhood could hear me when I walked around. I’m sure one highly trained soldier can hear it coming from a mile away.” You look over to meet your gaze with Will again. “Now when I see the signs, I wear them. That is what you do for the people you love.”

A look of understanding and respect is clear in Will’s eyes. You give him a smile and feel the threads of friendship beginning to form on the strong foundation of honesty and shared love of another person. “If you ever tell him that-” Will mimics zipping his lips before taking the last pull of his beer. You two sit in quiet understanding, and you can see Will marinating on your words. Whether they are thoughts about Jay or his relationship with Natalie you were unsure.

Jay returns a few minutes later, setting a vivid blue and green drink in front of you and two bottles of beer for the brothers. You eyed the drink thoughtfully, “Gabby said you had to try it. She called it sweet poison, I think.” You stir it before sipping through the straw. You could taste the rum. Gabby had a habit of being heavy-handed with your drinks. It was good though. You turned to look at Gabby and when she raised her eyebrows in question you gave her an enthusiastic nod. She fist-pumped her accomplishment before turning back to Matt. “That good?”

His strong hand found your thigh under the table, and you smiled at him. You caressed his forearm with one hand while pushing the drink closer to him with the other. “Yeah, try it.” He made a face at you but took a drink from the cup, not the straw. He merely shrugged his shoulders when you asked what he thought. “Yeah, yeah it’s always too sweet for you.” Jay looks over at his brother.

“You okay man?” He questions, Will was being too quiet.

“Yeah,” He runs his fingers through his curls, “I was just thinking... Might be a good time to get away for a while. Maybe do a week trip at Gramp's cabin. Fish and stock up on some more wood for the winter. You want to go?” The offer seems to throw Jay for a second. Between Will’s struggling relationship and Jay being busy with a heavy caseload they hadn’t had much time to spend together. Jay looks over at you and you smile brightly at him squeezing his arm.

“Yeah, I have some time saved up that I need to go through.”

#chicago pd #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you #jay halstead imagine #will halstead

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storiesofsvu · 2 months

Text

Decadent Desires Ch 3

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, minor political conversation, minor mentions of sexual encounters.

It was the sound of your coffee pot automatically brewing that originally roused you from sleeping, the beeping signalling it was done the reason you finally got out of bed. Traipsing down the stairs still in your silk pj set you yawned, starting to stretch out your body, dropping your phone on the breakfast bar before padding through the living room to open the blinds. The sun slowly rising through the sky and you deemed it warm enough to crack one of the windows, letting yourself actually get some fresh air on a work day. Wandering back to the kitchen you pulled down a coffee mug, adding a bit of creamer from the fridge before filling it with coffee. Right as you went to take your first sip, your phone buzzed on the countertop and you let out a huff, scooping up the device to a text from Heather.

‘You can work from home, it’s a low day.’

‘Thank god. I really didn’t want to put real clothes on.’

‘Well you’ll have to at some point. You’ve got lunch at Old Ebbitt Grill at two.’

‘Who am I schmoozing for you?’

‘Emily Prentiss.’

‘The fed from yesterday? What’d’ you need with the FBI?’

‘She asked to meet with you. You’ll have to discuss it with her.’ ‘Put it on my card.’

‘Alright. Thanks.’

‘Wear that Tom Ford blouse I like so much.’

‘The blue one?’

‘It brings out your eyes.’

‘I’m beginning to think you might have ulterior motives going on here...’

‘Enjoy your lunch.’

You dropped the phone back onto the counter with a huff, knowing you weren’t getting another word out of her on the subject. It wasn’t unlike Heather to send you in to do a certain level of dirty work when it came to getting other politicians to do what she wanted. It was technically part of your job, she would simply just suggest you use your assets in a way she couldn’t to get them to lean her way, and it almost always worked. Still, you couldn’t possibly imagine what a Section Chief from the FBI would want with your skill set, surely the bureau had their own type of publicists to deal with whatever kind of a situation this was.

You glanced to the clock above the stove to find it was barely eight o’clock and nearly debated going back to bed but you knew that was a bad idea and turned to your coffee instead. You thought about what to do for breakfast while you grabbed your work phone and laptop from your bag, setting them up on the breakfast bar before opening the fridge. You settled on some easy eggs and avocado on toast and restarted the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot, turning on an instrumental playlist on your phone to get your day going and your brain running.

Finished with the food, you refilled your coffee and settled in at the counter to start sorting through emails, shooting one off to Heather with reminders of all the upcoming week’s appointments, meetings and appearances. The rest of the morning felt rather dull, the anticipation of lunch piquing your curiosity more often than not, sending you down spirals rather than focusing on your actual work. You caught yourself leafing through FBI websites and any news articles you could get your hands on, and considering the status you held, that was more than the general public.

Finally around eleven thirty your brain couldn’t get through another email and you opted to jump over to the gym for a quick workout to distract yourself for a bit. You left more than enough time to shower, making sure you were fresh and styled, selecting the blue blouse Heather had recommended before finally leaving your house.

Old Ebbitt Grill wasn’t far, it only took you ten minutes to get there, especially considering the lack of midafternoon traffic. You’d been there a few times before, a standard choice for business lunches among the elite of Washington, close enough to Capitol Hill that it was convenient but just far enough away that it was slightly more away from eavesdropping ears. You pulled up the drive in front and were offered valet service that you accepted, passing off a five for a tip before heading inside where you were greeted by a young bubbly hostess.

“Hi,” you smiled back, “reservation at two, could be under Walton, Prentiss or Dunbar. I think it’s only for two.”

Her finger began scanning through the reservation look in search of one of the names, “oh! There you are.” She beamed up at you, “Walton for two. You’re the first to arrive, would you like to wait or be seated?”

“I’ll sit.” You laughed softly, “god knows I could use a drink.”

“Of course, right this way.”

You were led past the bar area to the dining room and directed to a green velvet back booth, white table cloth adorning the table. You slid in as the hostess scooped up the extra place settings and wine glasses,

“Can I get something started for you?”

“Uh… two waters and a glass of pinot grigio would be fantastic, thanks.”

With another smile she was gone from the table and you were left to settle in, glancing at your watch you realized you were practically twenty minutes early and let out a soft sigh. Punctuality was almost too much of your strong point, but at least you were never late for things. You scanned the menu quickly, sliding it off to the side to pull out a work file that you’d been putting off looking through, thanking the server that came back with your drinks.

When Emily entered the restaurant she wasn’t entirely too sure what she was getting into, it almost felt weird to be doing this during the day, especially on what was technically a work day. She’d gotten an out of office lunch and work from home afternoon approved so she didn’t have to drive back, and it was Friday so she just kept telling herself it was an early weekend. The hostess picked up right away that she was meeting someone and offered up your last name to confirm before guiding her through the room.

The moment they were through the bar Emily had eyes on you, neatly tucked into a booth, a pen in your hand and a file folder in front of you that all your attention was focused on. Your hair was pulled back off your face but most of it still down and loosely styled. The make up on your face was slightly more detailed than it had been when she’d met you at the office, a little heavier around the eyes, a slightly less neutral lip. Your outfit hugged your frame, accentuating your body perfectly, blue top dipping slightly to expose a tasteful amount of cleavage, black pencil skirt leaving just enough leg out to be admired, and of course designer heels on your feet. It was all accented with a silver bracelet, necklace resting on the swell of your chest and jeweled earrings to match your shirt. You glanced up at the movement coming toward you, a smile taking over your face as you greeted her.

“Agent Prentiss,” you smiled as she slipped into the booth, “or, is that a demotion? Should it be Section Chief Prentiss?”

“That’s way too much of a mouthful.” She laughed, “just Emily’s fine.”

“Alright.” You shot her a grin, flipping the file shut and capping the pen before you slid it back into your purse, “sorry, work never ends.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” While she was concerned she may have been late, she was happy to see that you were completely content on your own, and that you took work on the go, already another green flag in her book.

“Oh not at all, I have a habit of being insanely early wherever I go.”

There was a slight pause as the server came over to ask about drinks and Emily glanced towards you, your eyes flicked to your half empty glass and you thought about it for a second.

“You may as well bring another one.”

“Heather okay with you drinking on the clock?” Emily asked with a small grin.

“Have you met a politician who doesn’t?” You laughed, “you know… I think that’s the biggest difference between our branches of government, you’re usually armed. The only weapons we carry are our words and nefarious blackmail.”

Emily chuckled at that, watching as you took a sip, “well I took a half day.” She turned to the server, “I’ll have a sauvignon blanc please.”

A few moments later they returned with Emily’s wine and the two of you placed an order for a round of appetizers consisting of scallops, beet and burrata, calamari and the bread service. Conversation flowed easily enough, chatting here and there about the day, how the weather seemed to finally be warm enough to enjoy being outside, little tidbits about work. Emily found joy in the fact that you could keep up with her when she mentioned work, that it didn’t take an extra three tangents of explaining details for you to understand what she meant. By the time the food came out, the two of you were fully comfortable around each other and after a bite of a scallop, you decided to make the jump to attempt to get to the point.

“So, I know I’ve heard that the BAU’s in a bit of hot water right now, but I didn’t think you needed a full PR takeover. Don’t you have your own communications team for those kind of things?”

Emily stalled, quickly popping a piece of calamari into her mouth to spare her a few seconds to figure out how to start things. “Uhm….” She swallowed the food down, chuckling awkwardly, “that’s not exactly why I wanted to meet. Heather… recommended you for something else.”

“Ah…” You leant back against the booth, your elbow draping over the back of it, “I knew Heather had ulterior motives about today but I didn’t realize she was passing me off to utilize the extra skill set.” You chuckled, having now figured out exactly what Emily was alluding to, but you weren’t going to let her off that easy, you wanted to hear her say it. The corner of your lips twitched up at the way she tensed across the table from you and you went in with another tease and false lead. “You want to know what other PR teams I’m close with, whose assistants have loose lips or an axe to grind, dig up a little dirt on someone. Director Bailey? AG? Who’s the thorn in your side, hmm?”

The knot in her stomach burst at the latter part of your sentence, suddenly distracted she glanced up at you with a furrowed brow, “wait, you could really get in with the AG for me?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded over a sip of wine, “she thinks she’s a good friend, would you like me to do some nosing around?”

“No, no.” She waved you off, “that could get you in trouble.”

“Emily, believe me, with most of them all you need is a few too many glasses of wine, a little flattery, maybe a hint of an illegal substance and they’ll tell you whatever you want.”

She let out a low laugh, “I’m going to ignore that last part.” You chuckled as she picked up her wine, taking another sip while you scooped up another scallop. “You certainly have some kind of pedigree, don’t you?”

“I had a lot of ladders to climb to get where I am now, and a decent education and quick thinking always helps.”

“Was PR always the goal, or did you have your eye on Capitol Hill?” She asked and you nearly snorted.

“Where I am is where I want to be. Communications Major at UCONN, followed by a stint at Georgetown.”

“What does a ‘stint’ consist of?” She asked with a raised brow.

“Just a little law degree, never really intended to use it just wanted the knowledge.”

“Did you write the bar?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, taking another sip of wine, “passed with flying colours. Just never really saw myself as a lawyer, fighting in courtrooms isn’t my style.”

“So why bother with the extra three years then?”

You shrugged, “Heather paid for it. Said if I was overqualified for a role I could bargain for better pay.”

“Wow…” Emily’s eyes widened, “she must really like you.”

“We’ve known each other a long time. She always knew she wanted me working for her in some capacity and she needed someone who she could trust, someone who was going to know what they were doing and was right for the field. When you work for Dunbar you have to fit the brand. Now making sure that brand is upheld is my job, she had to start with someone.”

“You enjoy working for her? She’s a good boss?”

“Are you kidding me?” You laughed, “being on her payroll is better than any other politician in the country, maybe even the world. She has a much higher level of expectations that always need to be met, she knows quality, she knows class and she demands it out of everyone. So she supplements with extras to make sure we know how appreciated we are and to keep us loyal.”

“Sounds like she knows what she’s doing.”

“She always does.” You leant forward, bracing your elbow on the table so your chin could rest in the palm of your hand, “which is why I know whatever she suggested I help you with is exactly what you need. But I’m starting to feel like I have to sign an NDA to even have this conversation.”

Emily sucked in a deep breath letting out a sigh before reaching for her wine glass, “well… I am hoping for a certain level of discretion and the previous couple of times I’ve tried this it didn’t exactly work in my favour.” She glanced back across the table to find your head still perched on your hand, eyes full of curiosity as you looked back at her and she nearly gulped.

“Do tell… what is it you want from me Agent Prentiss?” Your voice was lowered, both an attempt to get her to own up and to make sure you weren’t overheard, “I work in PR, I know how to uphold an image and believe me, I know how to keep a secret.”

She swallowed down a gulp of wine before slowly beginning to speak, “I’m… looking for someone who is willing to spend a night or two a week together, could be friendly company, could be more if you’re comfortable. And I’m willing to pay.” She winced, suddenly stopping herself, “wait, that sounded bad.”

You chuckled softly, smiling across the table at her to urge her to continue.

“Basically, I’ve got a bit of spare time and extra finances. I need someone who understands I can’t always be around, that work can and will upend plans constantly and suddenly. Someone who values privacy. I don’t have time to do the whole dating thing, the strings that come along with that.”

“Casual intimacy in exchange for fancy dinners, pricey jewels and lavish vacations?” You murmured softly, your head tilting in her direction and she nodded, “well… now we’re finally on the same page.”

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

Your eyes slowly raked over her, taking in her beauty, a small grin on your lips as you nodded, “Mmhm.”

“And the stipulations that come along with my work?”

“Not an issue. As you know, I have my own career and working for Heather can be a twenty four seven, seven days a week job and similar to yours, it includes a lot of travel. Discretion is easily attainable and I know how to uphold a certain image.”

“Good.” She let out a low huff of a laugh, “the last couple of dates I went on before this were garbage.”

“Mmm… I think you likely got caught with the ‘professional’ babies… they don’t want to work; they just want to get paid for being hot.” You rolled your eyes, “they don’t care about careers, they want to be center of attention at all times.”

“And lord knows I don’t have the time or patience for any of that.”

Before you could reply your phone began a series of buzzes on the table top, your eyes flicking to the lit screen and you sighed, “hold on, it’s Heather.” You picked up the device to swipe open the text chain, half muttering to yourself, “bitch said I could work from home today but god knows I can’t go twenty four hours without having to put out a fire.”

“Duty calls?” Emily asked with a near grin, watching as you finished your wine.

“Unfortunately.” You cast a smile in her direction, “and right as we were getting to the good part, sorry.”

“No apology necessary, go. I’ll take care of this.” She gestured to the table.

“Are you sure?”

“All things considered; I think it’s my responsibility.”

“Right.” You laughed softly, popping your phone back into your purse as you slid out of the booth, “you have my number?”

“I do.” She nodded, “I’ll make a reservation for next Friday, we can do dinner and discuss this further?”

“Of course.” You smiled at her, “I’ll see you Friday Emily.”

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