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hier--soir · 8 months

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

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

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mind if I sit here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

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

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

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

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

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

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

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

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

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

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

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

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

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

He hums, smirk broadening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You heart is in your throat all over again.

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

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

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

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

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

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

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alonetimelover · 2 months

Text

pairing: Newey!reader x Lando Noriss

fc: Sydney Sweeney

summary: When Redbull - the team she supported since being a child - didn't want to let her design the 2023 car, she needed to find someone that would. Here came McLaren, which she brought back to life. And maybe she helped one driver, too. Not only behind the wheel.

warnings: swearing, misogynistic comments

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mclaren

liked by ynnewey, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 693 302 others

mclaren Look who's here at the Bahrain Circuit 💋 ynnewey

view all 19 302 comments

ynnewey hello, admin! please take more photos of me when they turn out like this!!!

⤷ mclaren ON IT, BOSS

⤷ landogirly not admin being in love with yn

⤷ mclaren don't act like you're not

maxverstappen1 Traitor.

⤷ ynnewey go away, maximilian. don't you have a test to do?

⤷ maxverstappen1 Done and ready to beat you

⤷ ynnewey it's a long game, babes

⤷ maxverstappen1 We'll see about that

oscarpiastri need to work on that manicure

⤷ ynnewey only if you do one with me

landonorris that's not papaya

⤷ ynnewey I'm learning, landoooo. give me some credit

⤷ landonorris you're new(ey) to it, i get it

⤷ norizzlann that was so bad lando

⤷ formula1fan93 norizz lando at his best

landogirly why is nobody talking about max and yn flirting in the comments?????

⤷ ynneweyfan flirting?? they've been friends for years. and Max is in a relationship

⤷ maxfan93 well, they did date when they were younger

⤷ landogirly NO WAY???? WHY DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT IT??

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f1gossippage

liked by landogirly, ynneweyfan and 14 392 others

f1gossippage YN NEWEY was seen arriving at the McLaren Technology Centre after the rather disastrous Bahrain Grand Prix.

view all 5 201 comments

landogirly yn newey in you we trust ��🙏🙏

landonorizz please please please we need upgrades

ynneweyfan yn yn yn our saviour

formula1fan93 can she really upgrade them from those engine failures? it's like building another car

formula1fan99 i so want upgrades because without them max is going to be 20 sec in front of everybody....

hater9 working in that?? yeah sure

⤷ ynneweyfan have you heard of changing rooms? and something called working clothes? and maybe, just maybe thought about not commenting on people's appearances?

hater59 you think she'll help you, McLaren? suuuure

hater83 yet another failure

hater99 what is she even going to do? powder the side of the car and put mascara on it?

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mclaren

liked by ynnewey, landonorris and 301 302 others

mclaren Home race week! And look who is back in the paddock?! Our favourite ynnewey is back with her magic!

view all 30 101 comments

mclaren oh, look! lando and oscar are here, too... hello, boys

ynnewey I'm blushing, admin... where are you??

⤷ mclaren wherever you need me

⤷ ynneweyfan SIMP!

⤷ mclaren ynneweyfan and I am PROUD OF IT

landonorris it's an honour to be remembered when the YN Newey is in the paddock

⤷ oscarpiastri and they even included us in photos!!!!

⤷ ynnewey more enthusiasm, boys

landonorris YN NEWEY IS IN THE PADDOCK????? NO WAY !!!!

⤷ ynnewey that's better, thank you

oscarpiastri HAVE YOU SEEN HER??? QUEEN !!!

⤷ ynnewey you're winning this round Oscar

⤷ landonorris boooo

landogirly MOTHER IS BACK

landogirly mother please say you bring podium worthy upgrades

⤷ ynnewey 👀

ynneweyfan is this yn newey fan account?

⤷ mclaren duh

maxverstappen1 Who are you supporting with that boring outfit?

⤷ ynnewey go away you and your RB merch

⤷ maxverstappen1 Gladly. P1 is awaiting

⤷ landonorris now even a moment without you

⤷ maxverstappen1 Cry about it, I won't see it from the front row

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ynnewey added to her IG story!

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ynnewey

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 409 392 others

ynnewey P2 and P3 after quali and P2 and P4 after the race???? im so proud of my papaya boys!!! oscarpiastri my favourite rookie and landonorris the menace that you are (stop stealing my phone) CONGRATULATIONS 🎉🎉🎉🎉

view all 73 011 comments

oscarpiastri wouldn't be possible without the upgrades you and the team brought us!

⤷ ynnewey now i need you on the podium, i cleared mys storage to take LOTS of photos

⤷ oscarpiastri protect your phone from lando or it's gonna be his face only

⤷ landonorris i have a very nice face to look at, thank you

maxverstappen1 Not even a photo or a word about my win? Are we friends?

⤷ ynnewey people are bored max, go away winning somewhere else

⤷ maxverstappen1 Nah, I like beating your boy

comment deleted

⤷ maxverstappen1 Nah, I like beating your 'papaya boys'

landonorris podium in our home race! LFG BABYYYYYY

⤷ ynnewey please stop taking selfish on my phone

⤷ landonorris i know you love it

landonorris all thanks to you and the team

⤷ ynnewey stop it! or im gonna blush

⤷ landonorris you'll match that pretty lipstick

ynneweyfan WE ARE BACK BABY !!!!

ynneweyfan YN YN YN THE QUEEN THAT YOU ARE

landogirly lando podium after this disastrous beginning of the season???? we are so back

landofan92 so we're not talking about all this flirting in the comments??? my boy is smitten

maxfan93 the way that Max praised YN's job saying that no team has been closer this year to overtake him and make him lose positions

⤷ ynneweyfan he knows what's up!

landoynfan WHY ARE YOU NOT TALKING ABOUT MAX'S DELETED COMMENT? WHO IS HER BOY?????

⤷ landogirly only one true answer - Lando

⤷ ynneweyfan please be true please be true please be true

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f1gossippage

liked by ynneweyfan, landofan02 and 51 202 others

f1gossippage New F1 power couple unlocked? Today, fans spotted McLaren driver, Lando Norris, and McLaren designer, YN Newey, at the Max Verstappen yacht in Monaco!

view all 13 202 comments

ynneweyfan OH GOD

ynneweyfan I don't want to believe rumours and those photos could be taken in an unfortunate moment but my delusion is taking me places

landogrily LANDO HAS GAME TO PULL THE YN NEWEY???

landofan93 is that really them?

f1fan92 is it even legal? don't they work together?

⤷ landofan93 it all depends on company policy, i think

maxandynfan i love how max is their third wheel or the wingman

⤷ ynneweyfan YES! simultaneously being her ex??? i love when people who loved each other once can still manage being friends

⤷ ynsmybestie yn said multiple times that Max is her first love and she could never stop loving him. max said the same about not being able to forget your first love but converting it from the romantic to almost domestic

⤷ ynneweyfan yes! and the way Kelly and P love her is undeniable

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landonorris and ynnewey added to their IG stories!

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Watch: Oscar and Lando take the lie detector test! from McLaren YouTube channel!

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ynnewey and landonorris added to their IG stories!

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ynnewey

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, landonorris and 602 393 others

ynnewey 💐🫶

view all 50 292 comments

danielricciardo my photos made it to the dump, i know that's right

⤷ ynnewey couldn't resist really, danny

maxverstappen1 IT IS CONFIRMED ?!

⤷ ynnewey this is the most excitement you showed in the last few years

⤷ maxverstappen1 Because you didn't update the situation to me!

⤷ ynnewey Muffins?

⤷ maxverstappen1 😊

oscarpiastri second post in a row to make an appearance 🤗 are you playing favourites?

⤷ ynnewey shhhh, someone might get jealous

landonorris nice flowers

⤷ ynnewey thx!

landogirly STAY CALM STAY CALM STAY CALM

landogirly STAY FREAKING CALM

landogirly MY WIFE IS SOFT LAUNCHING??? AND IT'S NOT ME?

landogirly cannot believe that lando bagged a baddie like yn

ynneweyfan EXCUSE ME

ynneweyfan orange flowers ✔️ cutie patootie boyfriend ✔️ slightly spicy mirror photo ✔️ THIS IS WHAT I CALL THE SOFT LAUNCH

liked by ynnewey and landonorris

hater94 oh so now oscar can be sure to be forgotten on new upgrades, eh?

hater03 don't you work together?

hater93 now we know how and why you got the job

⤷ landonorris Hard work, sleepless nights and unimaginable amount of hours studying, understanding and perfecting all the concepts to upgrade our cars to fight for podiums? Yes, this is exactly how and why YN got the job.

⤷ landogirly LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK!!!

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landonorris

liked by ynnewey, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 680 202 others

landonorris nothing soft about us

tagged: ynnewey

view all 78 201 comments

ynnewey what is this caption???

⤷ landonorris come to the living room and find out

⤷ danielricciardo LANDO! you're a baby! STOP IT

⤷ maxverstappen1 That's disgusting.

ynnewey Loooooove youuuu 🫶

⤷ landonorris nah, I love you ❤️

maxverstappen1 You are very welcome. And now stop smooching near me, that's disgusting

⤷ ynnewey boooo

danielricciardo little lando has a girlfriend 🥹

oscarpiastri Favourism!

⤷ landonorris oh shut up

⤷ ynnewey You're still my favourite, Oscah

⤷ landonorris excuse me???

landogirly HARD LAUNCH

ynneweyfan the hottest couple on the paddock

landofan93 yn looking like a goddess she is

liked by landonorris and 1 309 others

landofan84 not him getting a girlfriend before me

landofan02 bagged a baddie and is going to throw it at our faces at any point he gets

⤷ landonorris you are so right

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#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris social media au #lando norris one shot #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff

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gootarts · 9 months

Text

as of 8/3, the most recently updated version of this post is here (it's a reblog of this exact post with more info added)

as a lot of you know, limbus company recently fired its CG illustrator for being a feminist, at 11 pm, via phone call, after a bunch of misogynists walked into the office earlier that day and demanded she be fired. on top of this, as per korean fans, her firing went against labor laws---in korea, you must have your dismissal in writing.

the korean fandom on twitter is, understandably, going scorched earth on project moon due to this. there's a lot currently going on to protest the decision, so i'm posting a list here of what's going on for those who want to limit their time on elon musk's $44 billion midlife crisis impulse purchase website (if you are on twitter, domuk is a good person to follow, as they translate important updates to english). a lot of the links are in korean, but generally they play nicely with machine translators. this should be current as of 8/2.

Statements condemning the decision have been issued by The Gyeonggi Youth Union and IT Union.

A press conference at the Gyeonggido Assembly will occur on 8/3, with lawmakers of the Gyeonggi province (where Project Moon is based) in attendance. This appears driven by the leader of the Gyeonggi Youth Union.

The vice chairman of the IT union--who has a good amount of experience with labor negotiations like these--has expressed strong support for the artist and is working to get media coverage due to the ongoing feminist witch hunts in the gaming industry. Project Moon isn't union to my knowledge, but he's noted that he's taken on nonunion companies such as Netmarble (largest mobile game dev in South Korea) by getting the issue in front of the National Assembly (Korea's congress).

Articles on the incident published in The Daily Labor News, Korean Daily, multiple articles on Hankyoreh (one of which made it to the print edition), and other news outlets.

Segments about the termination on the MBN 7 o' clock news and MBC's morning news

Comments by Youth Union leaders about looking into a loan made to Project Moon via Devsisters Ventures, a venture capital firm. Tax money from Gyeonggi province was invested in Devsisters in 2017, and in 2021, Devsisters gave money to Project Moon. The Gyeonggi Youth Union is asking why hard-earned tax money was indirectly given to a company who violates ESG (environmental, social and governance) principles.

Almost nonstop signage truck protests outside Project Moon's physical office during business hours until 8/22 or the company makes a statement. This occurs alongside a coordinated hashtag campaign to get the issue trending on Twitter in Korea. The signage campaign was crowd-funded in about 3 hours.

A full boycott of the Limbus Company app, on both mobile and PC (steam) platforms. Overseas fans are highly encouraged to participate, regardless if whether they're F2P or not. Not opening the app at all is arguably the biggest thing any one person can do to protest the decision, as the app logs the number of accounts that log on daily. For a new gacha such as Limbus, a high number of F2P daily active users, but a small number of paying users is often preferable to having a smaller userbase but more paying users. If the company sees the number of daily users remain stable, they will likely decide to wait out any backlash rather than apologize.

Digging up verified reviews from previous employees regarding the company's poor management practices

Due to the firing, the Leviathan artist has posted about poor working conditions when making the story. As per a bilingual speaker, they were working on a storyboard revision, and thought 'if I ran into the street right now and got hit by a car and died, I wouldn't have to keep working.' They contacted Project Moon because they didn't want their work to be like that, and proposed changes to serialization/reduction in amount of work per picture/to build up a buffer of finished images (they did not have any buffer while working on Leviathan to my knowledge). They were shut out, and had to suck it up and accept the situation.

Hamhampangpang has a 'shrine' section of the restaurant for fans to leave fan-created merch and other items. They also allow the fans to take this merch back if they can prove it's theirs. Fans are now doing just that.

To boost all of the above, a large number of Korean fanartists with thousands of followers have deleted their works and/or converted their accounts from fanart accounts to accounts supporting the protests. Many of them are bilingual, and they're where I got the majority of this information.

[note 1: there's a targeted english-language disinformation campaign by the website that started the hate mob. i have read the artist's tweets with machine translation, and they're talked about in the second hankyoreh article linked above: nowhere does she express any transphobic or similarly awful beliefs. likewise, be wary of any claims that she supported anything whose description makes you raise eyebrows--those claims are likely in reference to megalia, a korean feminist movement. for information on that, i'd recommend the NPR/BBC articles below and this google drive link of english-language scholarly papers on them. for the love of god don't get your information about a feminist movement from guys going on witch hunts for feminists.]

[note 2: i've seen a couple people argue that the firing was for the physical safety of the employees, citing the kyoani incident in japan. as per this korean fan, most fans there strongly do not believe this was the case. we have english-translated transcripts of the meeting between the mob and project moon; the threats the mob was making were to......brand project moon as a feminist company online. yes, really. male korean gamers aren't normal about feminism, and there's been an ongoing witch hunt for feminists in the industry since about 2016, something you see noted in both the labor union statements. both NPR and the BBC this phenomenon to gamergate, and i'd say it's a pretty apt comparison.]

let me know if anything needs correction or if anything should be added.

#project moon #limbus company #obligatory text post tag #that's all i've got for now. highly encourage y'all to not open limbus until they make a statement

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dilftaroooo · 4 months

Note

Request: True form Sukuna claiming his offering in front of her village.

im gonna write this as a drabble :3

★tags/tw: uhh implied cannibalism + cervix fucking + sukuna is pretty misogynistic + fem!reader + discrimination against humans(?) idfk + true form!sukuna + loss of virginity

You delicately sit in the middle of the stage, introducing yourself to the slew of men and women scattered about like spilled salt on a kitchen table. Your legs are spread to present to them your blooming flower--still pink and untouched. It twitches under the many watchful eyes of diverse emotions--horror, confusion, lust, envy. They all poured down on you amid a lethal storm, droplets pounding your skin and soaking you thoroughly. You turn your head to avoid the plethora of wicked gazes. The feeling is overwhelming.

Behind you lies a demon. A great being, an entity that holds more power than anyone close or far. His teeth are sharp, his eyes are beady, and his stomach is hungry for the innocence of a fresh maiden. The people of your village brought you here. They made sure your scent was pleasant and that you were garbed in the cleanest of silk--your uchikake was adorned in floral patterns reminiscent of the trees that bloomed near your home.

They knew you'd be deemed a perfect offering for Sukuna-sama, the King of Curses--you're a sweet girl with a pure body, your breasts are full and your thighs are plump. They were sure if their King ever grew bored of you, he could easily dispose of your youthful frame by savoring your flesh and keeping your skull as a precious souvenir. Innocents always taste sweeter than most.

Though your legs were spread, they weren't spread enough for Sukuna as he already gripped your thighs with a strict pressure you weren't unfamiliar with. The squelch that leaves your pussy parts as he further widens your limbs was a sound everyone managed to capture. You're wet and slimy and maybe somewhat aroused. Your King is an attractive beast with a chiseled chin and a beguiling grin. Intricate, onyx lines surface the apex of his taut muscles and the sight makes you clench around thin air. You ponder on what he'd look like if he were a mere human such as yourself.

"All of you!" He starts, his voice booms through the premises and you're surprised by how powerful the echo is despite not being in an enclosed space. As expected, everyone gears their eyes toward the four-armed monster in preparation for his next words. "I want you mortal freaks to watch me fuck this girl you were so kind to offer me. If it hadn't been for this young duckling I would've already slaughtered this putrid village and watched my militia of curses swallow you whole."

He's quick for his size as he brings you onto his hefty lap, and from there you already feel one of his cocks coat itself against your wet slit. He's huge and lingering at the back of your mind, you wonder if you would die at first thrust. His tip is an angry red, livid from the languid teasing performed by its heaving owner from rubbing it across the length of your weeping cunt. It isn't long before his playful ministrations are seduced into slamming inside you.

You weren't even spared a moment of reconsideration for your hymen was already snapped into two, disintegrating upon impact. It would have been a shame to experience your deflowering with a prominent tummy bulge if it wasn't for how much your mind and soul revere the beast overlapping your weak presence.

You were his and he was his own as he violently hammered himself down to the hilt. You bathed him in the blood of a former virgin while he hits that bruised cervix within you. Your back is against that sculpted chest you worship dearly and his sweat rubs off on you is strong with his pheromones.

"Sukuna-sama," You mewl because he's so deep in your pussy that you can't fight back the urge to call out his name. He responds with a finger to your clit and a hand on your breast, making it his duty to circle a thick finger around your nipple.

"I don't remember granting you permission to speak now, did I?" His tone is dark enough to make you believe you've done something utterly wrong but your apology comes out in a series of wanton moans. He chuckles at how the pathetic always act so miserably.

"But since you're clasping around me so tightly," Burgundy red orbs glare at the side of your left cheek, previously moistened with tears of pain and gratitude. "I'll let your sheer idiocracy go. I don't think any of the past wenches you humans throw at me grip my dick this hard. I assume they were used up til they were nothing but a gaping hole." Then he frowns.

"They must think poorly of me."

Sukuna cherishes the screams rushing out of your throat as you take him inch by overbearing inch, stretching you out to accommodate his length and girth. You're nothing but his plaything.

You practically forget the crowd casted in front of you once you hear subdued chattering coming from multiple voices, all laced with different tones with different perceptions. You feel like a common whore.

Throughout, Sukuna never kissed you. He believes he should not taste the lips of a revolting human for it'll taint his palate. He just fucks into you as you bounce like some ragdoll abandoned by a little girl. But if life has fated you with the opportunity to become Sukuna's, your King's, toy, then may you not change the inevitable.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna x reader #tw:cannibalism

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snowsinterlude · 4 months

Text

how to tame a brat. (incel coriolanus x reader)

summary: where coriolanus snow plan to tame you backfired terribly, but at least those sweatpants served to get him fucked.

based on this!!

c.w: incel submissive!coryo, dom (implied) fem!reader, masturbating (male recieving), degrading (misogynistic phrases and coryo being a little bitch <3), incel boyfriend, misoginy, p in v

your sweet and pretty boyfriend, coriolanus snow, was the biggest misogynistic bitch you knew. which was a shame, he's so pretty it's embarassing to hear the ugly things he has to say about you.

then, scrolling through his phone, he saw a trend- well, not exactly a trend, but more like... a video of a blonde girl, saying how weak she felt when she saw her boyfriend wearing grey sweatpants and etc. and then there was another video of a movie, a woman writing 'whore' on the mirror with her lipstick while the legend said something like 'me when i notice myself looking down his pants when he's wearing grey sweatpants', and of course, all the sluts on the comment section agreed, saying that all of them agreed with the video, calling themselves whores and etc. and what is best than to go and tame the beast you were following the videos description?

so now, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black compression shirt, he entered your room, only to be find by your giggling smile as you laid eyes on his pants.

"what's the occasion for you to be wearing such revealing clothes?" you asked, giggling as you called him over to bed.

"decided to try something different"

"because..?"

"because i'm trying to see if i can tame a bitch with a dick" he said, looking down on you as he standed next to your bed.

you arched your brow, your smile getting wider as you giggled to him, your laugh getting louder until the moment he got on top of you.

"what's that for, coryo? the only bitch i know here is you, baby" you said, hands travelling to his stomach and fingers travelling up and down his defined waist. "you're always so eager, aren't you, baby?"

your voice echoed through his senses as he grinded on you, your legs wrapping around his waist because of his hands as you talked to him as one talk to a dog, baby voice and everything.

"have i been a bad girlfriend?" you pouted, making fun of his face while your hand runned through his hair like he was a pet and he growled at you.

"stop being a slut and just take it like all those other bitches do"

"what other bitches? you were a virgin before me, baby" you kissed his lips, changing positions.

and that was when it hit him. he couldn't tame you. you were always the one taming him. and you were right, the only bitch in this relationship was you, pretty, sweet and beautiful you. with your plump pretty lips degrading him, your sweet scent filling his senses and your degrading words going straight to his dick.

as your hand pumped his cock, he tried his best to hold in his moans, eyes welling up, all teared up as his blushing cheeks seemed to heat up from shame, your pretty pussy grinding on his cock while you're at it.

"tell me, coryo" you begin, and he looked at you, clear crystal eyes tearing up as he thrusted his hips upwards, wanting to fuck you already "how long are you going to pretend that you're not a bitch?"

"i'm not a bitch, stop it!" he said, groaning as his hand gripped on your waist.

"oh but you are, baby. you're always in heat for me, that's why you're always calling me a bitch." you said, sweet lips kissing his temple. "you can't stand the fact that your dick is always up for me, so you decide to treat me like a slut when in reality you're the one who's my slut."

"no, that's-" he cried out from pleasure at the second you teased his tip, passing it through your slick while his body squirmed, his hips thrusting upwards again. "please, y/n, just let me cum inside you"

he begged, breathless as his tears rolled down. you kissed all of them, at least, all you could kiss.

"so you're admiting you're a whore?" you teased

"no, i just- please, please, let me just enter you" he begged, lips trembling as they brushed against your boobs.

"ownt, who would know coriolanus snow would be so eager to be fucked?" you teased, finally pushing him in as you held back a moan. no matter how many times you had sex, his cock was always so big and heavy for you, throbbing and twitching inside you as you kissed his tears. "c'mon, baby, admit it."

"o-okay. okay, just please- please let me cum." he begged, pulling himself deeper inside of you, and then you were bouncing and he was grabbing your boobs, and he hated being under you, he felt like a... like a bitch.

"use your words, baby. you can do better than that." god, you were terrible. you were such a meanie to him that he couldn't stop crying on your neck, kissing, biting and sucking on your skin as you bounced more and more. "uh-uh, baby, you gotta use your words, not your teeth"

your thumb entered past his lips, making him suck on it as he cried and moaned on your thumb.

"c'mon, coryo, my beautiful snowflake," you started, riding him with love and lust. "tell me, who's the bitch in this room?"

"ngh, it's me. it's m-me" he said, all dumb and pretty to you.

"mhm, good boy. keep going. who's the slut here?"

"it's me. it's me. i'm sorry, babe. it's me" he said, moaning like a bitch as your walls gripped him, his hands grabbing your hips and keeping you still while he fucked himself into your cunt.

"good boy, good boy! god, you're so pretty when you're not throwing a tantrum baby." you said, looking at him and moaning on his lips, scratching his back. "you're the best, baby. the best bitch i've ever had."

and those words were enough for him to cum inside you, rope after rope as you came around his cock too, kissing his lips and forehead while your thumbs caressed his cheeks.

"you happy now?" you asked, his dick still buried deep inside you.

"mhm." he nodded, breathlessly.

then, after all of that and a good warm bath (that ended up with another round, this time with his mouth eating you out) you put him to change the sheets – something he claimed to be a woman chore, but was too fucked out to remember – to new ones, and then you cuddled with him while caressing his hair, his head resting on your arm.

#tbosas x reader #tbosas smut #young president snow #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #incel coriolanus #incel corio #x you #coriolanus x reader #x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #dom reader #sub!character

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ssahotchnerr · 6 months

Note

aaron hotch where she gets hurt during a fight with a unsub and she gets really clingy, and everyone at the bau noticed. and when coming in one morning she overhears someone making fun of her to aaron because of it. she hears him laugh and walks away, and begins avoiding him.

turns out it was a fake laugh and he yelled at the guy who was brave enough to make fun of her infront of him. and he didn’t mind her clingy-ness and was glad he made her feel safe.

unwilling to part

cw; fem!reader, no established relationship/mutual pining, officer makes a mildly misogynistic comment and is just an asshole overall, small angst to comfort wc; 1.4k

your injury had been mild - as mild as it could be within your job title. some bumps and bruises, a black eye was most likely in your future. the surprise of the attack had been the worst of it; leaving you spooked, especially when your gun tumbled out of your hand and slid across the floor away from you.

but that's what backup was for, and the situation had been resolved almost as quickly as it started. aaron had heard the fight commence from his position down the hall, the loud clatter of your weapon, and to your rescue just as fast as you could blink, pulling the unsub off you and slamming his front into the nearest wall, forcefully restraining him.

due to the shock numbing your mind and body, the next few minutes were a haze. you vaguely processed aaron crouching beside you, his concerned expression or his hands cupping your face, nor did you hear his repeated question if you were alright.

all you could do was hold onto him, and he let you.

the team and a few officers had crowded around, providing quite the audience. but aaron hadn't seemed to mind; allowing you to cling onto his side until you came back to the real world, your fingers clutching onto his fbi vest. one of his own arms had been around you, escorting you to the medic, to the waiting suv, up to your hotel room. he even relayed the instruction to please call him if you needed him at all throughout the night - he'd be at yours within the second.

the following morning you had been the last one ready, soreness delaying you. your muscles ached as they pulled in every direction - simply getting your shirt on had been a tedious, and painful, task.

the jet was scheduled to leave early afternoon, allowing the morning to be spent at the pd, settling what was needed before returning home.

you could hear ongoing conversation from inside the conference room the bau had been inhabiting the past few days, but before you entered, something in your gut told you to remain put and listen.

you heard aaron first, finishing his thought. "- to be put into evidence, and the rest can be sent over to our technical analyst in quantico."

"gotcha." someone answered, another officer you presumed as the voice wasn't familiar. there was a quick shuffle of papers, a quiet thud of something being put into a box, before he voiced his next thought. "they'll let anyone into the fbi these days, won't they?"

aaron's composed voice followed, "sorry?"

"that agent who got hurt last night." at the mention of yourself, your face immediately burned - his tone not setting up for a positive. "thought you all were 'posed to be tough. with the way she was attached to your hip," he laughed, "fuckin' annoying if you ask me, that was nothing. should've stuck to an desk job if that scared her."

aaron had the heart to chuckle, and your heart dropped right to your stomach, your feet moving to their own accord as you hurried away, not craving to hear more.

tears pinched at your eyes and your body swarmed with heat, full of embarrassment and most prominently, betrayal.

what made it more painful, you could recall on one hand instances where you have heard aaron laugh (a mild exaggeration, but the point still stood) and laughing at you, was now one of them. what also didn't make sense then, the entirety of last night. even as you parted ways at the hotel room, aaron's expression, had been unwilling to part. maybe you read into it wrong, but you could've sworn that's what those brown eyes of his you loved so much indicated.

so for the rest of the day you refused to make eye contact with him, moving swiftly away if he approached, choosing to sit as far away as possible on the jet. even when you all had entered the bullpen, you beelined straight for your desk, eager for the busyness to be your next excuse to avoid contact. but, it was only a matter of time until aaron had trailed down to check on you.

"hey."

you ignored him, acting like the paperwork in front of you was suddenly the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.

aaron's brows furrowed, his question low. he had been quick to notice your clear avoidance earlier in the day, yet another reason why he wanted - needed - to make sure you were okay. "are you alright?"

"yeah, i'm supposed to be, aren't i?" you stated bluntly as you looked up at him, your tone a bit more harsh as you intended.

aaron had the audacity to look perplexed, the confusion in his tone almost convincing if you hadn't known better. "no? someone twice your size blitzed you, disarmed you-"

you slammed your file shut - causing heads to lift and look in your direction. you got up from your seat, not wanting to remain in his presence. "don't bother. i'm better suited for a desk job anyway, right?"

"wait, no." aaron moved in front of you, stopping you from moving forward. he understood immediately, or so he thought. "you heard that?"

"a black eye doesn't affect my hearing, does it?" you snapped, tears brimming your waterline.

aaron sighed deeply, his eyes playing up the shame you're certain he felt. "i'm sorry he-"

you nearly let out a laugh at that, interrupting, "sure. that guy was a ass, but don't you dare apologize for him. what about you?"

aaron's eyes widened in surprise. "me?"

"you laughed." your anger immediately dissolved, hurt filling it's place instead. it was written all over your face, making aaron's heart plummet. "i thought... look, i didn't mean to embarrass you in front of everyone if that's what i did. and i know, in and out of the field we're supposed to be objective and i let my emotions or whatever that was get the best of me. but if i can't do that, then you shouldn't have let me depend on you like... that. despite popular belief, i am tough. i can take rejection."

aaron opened his mouth to respond, but paused, as in his peripheral he noticed all the heads still turned in your shared direction. it was probably best to do this in private. "come with me."

just as last night, his hand found the small of your back, leading you up into his office, closing the door behind him. you went willingly, but remained by the doorway as he walked a bit further inside, your arms crossed.

when aaron turned to you, his eyes were sad, but compassionate.

"i did laugh," more tears burned behind your eyes at his confession, until he provided clarification. "at his idiocy. you sadly missed the good part, i believe it's safe to say he's now highly appreciative of you and the work you've done. check your email, i'm sure a thank you, if it's not already there, will be in your inbox shortly." a small laugh came from his chest. "you can even ask prentiss, she can vouch he left with his tail in between his legs."

your defense dropped, hands falling to your sides in realization. in aaron's character, of course that made more sense.

"oh god i'm sorry," your hands rose to your face, momentarily hiding in humiliation. "i heard... so i thought-"

"exactly, you heard what you heard." aaron's hands grabbed yours gently, pulling them away from your face and allowing you to see his understanding, kind one. "and given what you did hear, i wouldn't expect any less of a reaction. i also would've given me the cold shoulder." a small, closed smile formed on his lips.

"no, i'm so stupid-" aaron shook his head, stopping you halfway.

"you aren't. and despite what we do, you're still only human. you reacted appropriately." his voice softened, rather adorably at that. "i wasn't embarrassed either. i'm glad - honored actually - you can depend on me when you're frightened or need further support. trust me, you can cling onto me all you want." a faint blush tinted his cheekbones. "and i'll never push you away."

his hands squeezed yours, swinging slightly with solid emphasis. the gesture, caused you to just now realize he was still clutching onto them, unwilling to part.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

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mistydeyes · 8 months

Note

141 members (price,gaz,soap and Simon ) reaction where reader and the group are in the common area together chilling And one of the members is teasing them and instead of entertaining him she scoffs rolling her eyes saying “bitch” while flashing her hand in a shoo motion and being sassy?

You don’t have to write this if you don’t want to ..I’m asking for a lot tbh 😭

thank you for requesting! i could 100% see gaz and soap being the absolute worst especially when you want to relax. they're like your annoying little brothers who just keep bothering you when you want to be left alone.

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summary: After a 36hr mission, you just wanted to enjoy some tea and scroll on social media. However, Gaz and Soap disrupt your evening and decide to pester you with their abundance of questions.

pairings: platonic!Taskforce 141 x fem!reader (codename: Sweetheart)

warnings: swearing, soap and gaz being ur annoying teammates

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

After a much-needed shower, you made your way to the common room. You rolled your tense muscles as you filled the kettle with water and waited patiently. As you watched the water boil, Ghost joined and gave you a casual head nod. Part of you was glad he wasn't one for conversation, especially following the arduous mission you had just completed. You returned the gesture and back to your now boiling water. "There's enough for you, Lt," you commented before searching the drawers for your favorite tea. However, as you reached into the empty tin, you groaned. "Fuck," you mumbled before Ghost turned to you. You held up the tin disappointedly, "Someone finished the last bag." "Probably Soap," he responded and you threw it the tin in the recycling. You sighed before grabbing some decaf chamomile, a close second to your favorite lavender earl grey blend but far from the same.

As you sipped on the lackluster tea, you sat down on the worn couch. You hoisted your legs up, pulling out your phone to scroll through some mindless posts and videos. It was a necesssary reprieve and you were enjoying your enrichment time. However, it was interrupted by Gaz and Soap loudly entering the room. "Fuck me, mate," you could hear Gaz exclaim, "why'd you talk me into the gym and then a run." To your disgust, the room filled with the smell of sweat and musk, most likely from Soap. They continued to talk and you recognized the familiar sound of water bottles being filled before they made your way to you. "Evening Sweetheart," Soap commented and gently moved your legs off the couch to sit.

"Not in the mood, Soap," you mumbled as you adjusted yourself and he laughed. "141's sweetheart has an attitude," he chided and you rolled your eyes. "Why do they call you 'Sweetheart' anyways?" Gaz asked, joining on an adjacent chair. "Some fucking guys in my squad thought it was hilarious," you replied, with an emphasis on your last word. You hated the callsign, something that followed you throughout basic and into selection. Your all-male squad thought it was a great idea to call you the group's sweetheart and the name stuck. The misogynistic atmosphere was one of the downsides to the job but you tried to ignore it the best you could. "I bet they thought she was a barrack bunny," Soap joked and you put down your phone to shoot daggers at him. Gaz even hit his leg lightly but the petulant sergeant continued.

"So tell me, Bonnie," he asked in a sarcastic tone, "were ya one?" You scoffed at his question and you swore you could feel your eyes roll. You took a moment to internalize your anger before replying. "Don't have to be such a bitch about it, Mactavish," you replied coldly before gesturing your hand in a 'go away' motion. Before he could bite back at your response, Ghost interrupted. "Get a shower, Soap, you smell like shit," he responded and everyone realized he had taken a position at one of the tables in the room. "Steamin Jesus, Lt." Soap responded in shock, "you really are a ghost." "He's right, you smell like a sewer," you added with a smirk and you could tell he was feeling more self-conscious. "I swear I'll find out," Soap responded before quickly walking off to the showers.

You returned back to your scrolling as the room fell silent again. You could feel Gaz looking at you and you took a moment to put your phone back down. "What Gaz?" you interrogated as you met his gaze. "What's the real story behind your callsign?" he asked, almost nervously. You laughed a bit before you responded to his question. "Just some assholes from the Army," you said plainly, "at least they were more creative than you. What kind of a name is Gaz anyways?"

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goldsbitch · 3 months

Text

Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Lando can't stand Y/N, the first female driver in F1. He also can't stand not having her with her clothes on.

warnings: please don't be offended by weak ass feminism debate, swear words, minors do not interact, just generally don't take this one too seriously, smut (that's what we came for)

He radiated stupidity. Reckless, annoying, careless and just plain stupid. Blood boiled hard and fast in Y/N when he entered the room. Cocky smile, as if he was the shit. And those poor fans did not even realize, because his PR managers worked around the clock to stop the scandals getting out and to remain his bubbly, down-to-earth image he seemed to hold in general public. Now, she never doubted his driving genius. It was honest respect on that part. No, this was about everything else. Even the way he grew his "so called" beard annoyed her.

She radiated arrogance. Being the first female driver on the grid had everyone looking differently at her, as it would be the opposite if she was just another rookie driver. He could not stand that. It felt strangely misogynistic. But what sent him to levels of annoyance he had not discovered prior to meeting her, was how she did absolutely nothing about this. Danced around as if she did not see it. But Lando could see through her, she was a calculating bitch that knew exactly what was happening.

It's not like either of them got it wrong really. Lando had his personality that did not correlate with the desired persona the public wanted him to maintain. For as long as he remembered, he had to be a grown up, missing his young adult experiences completely. Sometimes, it just got the better of him. Lando was not exactly proud of that or anything. Y/N was indeed calculating. But it would be hard to argue that she could have chosen not to do that - yet, the world was simply not ready for any kind of female driver to enter the grid. She had to be smarter than an average rookie. There is a possibility that this was all just in her head, but it was hard to prove it at this point.

They avoided talking to each other like they would avoid the plague. Lando felt like all the years of media training lead to the moments where they shared the interview room. Their disenchantment with each other was not exactly a known thing, they were deceitful enough to do keep it between themselves. Well, the more observant drivers and members of their team were well aware of the truth. There was not a single member of the close inner circle that would dare to speak about how when these two had to share the pre race interviews, it would be the driest interview of them all. Frankly, drivers dreaded that. Daniel would be the one to try and break the ice. George found it mildly amusing. Max could not give two shits about them.

And to the luck of everyone involved, there was Lando, set next to Alex Albon, who was sat next to Y/N. He sighed heavily before taking hold of the microphone.

First interviewer asked about the lasted updates on Y/N Aston Martin car. The second one went to Lando, with a request to address the bad strategy the team had on the last Grand Prix, which he answered very diplomatically.

Third interviewer asked Y/N on whether the talks have started regarding her contract for the upcoming season.

"Yes, we are talking about that. I love racing and I'm planning on staying here," she laughed lightly. "I want to be here to...possibly to inspire and attract young girls, same as those like Fernando was a role model to both Alex and Lando. The female audience of F1 is growing and that is absolutely amazing. And perhaps now will the female fans have an opportunity to cheer for one of their own."

"May I have a question?" Lando entered the chat. His tone was indicating fire being lit within him and him intending to spread it wide. The game was on. Y/N tensed up. Alex smiled nervously.

Both Lando and Y/N shot a look at the interview moderator, who was prepared for many scenarios, but not this one exactly. Once Lando received an unsure nod, he continued. "We both know the numbers, we sit on similar meetings. The percentage of female audience is now nearing almost half, is that correct?"

"Well, we are nowhere near that - more like 30-40%"

"Right. And this trend has started prior to you joining the grid, right?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Are you saying that the female viewers did not have anyone to connect with before that?"

"I'd be brave enough to assume so. Where are you heading?"

Alex wanted to stop them, he shot looks to multiple people who had the power to end this. Members present from both teams woke up from their slow mundane afternoon. But the conversation was too fast for anyone to interrupt.

"So, what was the motivation of the female viewers to watch F1? Why were they watching?"

"Um, well the sport is fascinating and can capture one. The quality of our media teams has risen greatly, social media and-"

"Yes. So are you saying that young boys and teenagers were watching this for a different reason that girls and any other genders?"

"Like I was saying, it might be hard to connect. Young boys and teenagers can relate and even imagine themselves as the future F1 driver."

"So why do, in your opinion, little girls and female teenagers watch races? Are you saying that prior to your start, their reasons were less valid? Less noble? Does miss misogyny over here think that female audience is now validated due to her representation in the sport?"

The room went silent. Y/N took a deep breath and without missing a beat she replied.

"I'm sorry, there must have been something foul in your cornflakes this morning. After all, even in these progressive times, some of the people involved did not get the memo about the way how to interact with the fanbase in a healthy manner. It must be hard hard to think straight and not draw over-the-top conclusions when one's mind is stuck in an endless cycle of "Hello, gorgeous" and "Sure, I'll text you back.""

Alarmed looks were shared accros the room. Alex tried to laugh it off. The moderator ended the discussion. The pair kept staring at each other, until their prompted their exits orchestrated by their team.

Asshole. Obnoxious idiot. She wanted to slap him. The social media was on fire, this topic clearly resonating among fans. It was clear the opinions were divided and this was just not good to have on your track record. She was mad at herself as well. Got caught up like a fly to a spiderweb. He won this one. She'll just have to beat him during the race or shoot him in the leg at the next opportunity.

"Stay true to your beliefs" was the caption under his newly posted photo. Smiling as ever. Some photographer with under-appreciated talent managing to capture him in the perfect light. Total thirst trap. Her PR team was figuring out how to salvage this, but everyone knew Lando stuck a good one this time.

But that was not the opinion of the McLaren media team, who really did work their butts off the last few months. This was not good, as his haters were currently busy pointing out holes in his argument, making Y/N the hero they wanted to have. PR team picked the photo of him they had in store in order to play it safe and nonchalantly. Lando got a big threatening talk right after the press conference. McLaren was not letting the word misogyny be connected to their brand. He defended himself for a while, but at the end agreed to avoid bringing these subjects to light prior to the knowledge of the team. In his eyes, she won. He got her free attention. The nickname miss misogyny was not going to stick. The only thing this brough him was a headache and built up anger.

She was bursting with anger and was not about to leave it in for herself. "You can stick this bullshit up you ass, Lando."

"Don't assume I like the same things you do," was his immediate response.

Confidentiality. That was the only thing she believed he could uphold. Both of them had too much to loose.

They were bad for each other. Bringing out the worst traits, putting others in discomfort and creating drama out of nowhere. But the once the night covered the daily routines and worries, the truth would start crawling out. Once the chequered flag got packed up after a race, it was time for a parade of red flags to begin.

It was suppose to be a one time mistake. Party that go out of hand. Club bathroom sex that was better than they'd be willing to admit. They never spoke of it. Nobody knew.

Like magnets they circled towards each other on the quiet nights on the road. Always her place, never his. As if she'd make the effort to come toward him. Like he would ever let her invade his private safe space. It worked for them, transforming the anger into rough bites and hickeys. Lando enjoyed leaving them on her, just at the line where he knew she'd have to think about how to cover them up and made sure she never made any mark on him. Hate fucking, that's what that was.

Once again, his hot breath cut through the crispy Monaco night air coming from the opened window of her bedroom. He had her handcuffed to the bed side and legs wrapped around his toned torso. He was driving her crazy, not letting her stay on top this time, robbing her of the pleasure of watching him submit to her moves and direction. He watched attentively, making sure he changed his tempo whenever she was about to climax. She was not one to enjoy delayed gradification, not when this obnoxious idiot was watching her and having fun with it. One thing he had to admit was that she was fucking hot, mainly in the way how she able to carry herself around. From the first moment he had the misfortune to see her in person, it had been the one thought unable to leave his mind. What did she look like when she was just about to come? Was she the one to make any sounds? Did she like it rough or soft? Would she be able to dominate him? During the day, he let his frustrations out verbally, during the night he thrusted into her as if there was no tomorrow. Like a drug addict getting his hit. She was even more mad at him when he was fucking her. Because it was just so good. They had the same rhythm and their bodies spoke in a language no one would have understood anyway. So she just surrendered. It drove her crazy, not being on the top. He licked and bit her nipples and did forbidden things - like stopped fucking her out of nowhere and buried his head in her waist, slowly twisting his tongue around her clit. When he felt like she adjusted to that, he continued back with thrusting in her. He moved so fast that she started get dizzy from the motion, the heavenly kind of dizzy. Lando watched her like and animal would observe his prey. Not often did he manage to get completely under his control, but tonight was one of the precious days he'd be recalling in the shower days after. He delayed his own orgasm for as long as he could, but there was a point where he just gave in and released him into the condom. There was always a hint of disappointment in the joyous moment. His darkest wish was to have her walk the day after with his cum dripping out of her. She was his little work slut, his nemesis, his Vegas girl.

Y/N never wanted to cuddle afterwards. She appreciated that Lando always swiftly got up and left without a word. Because what if he had spoken, what if the oxytocin started flowing in and she'd loose her guard and get herself in even bigger of a mess than this little game was. She was the first female driver. There were things she had to prove to the world. Fucking one of the other drivers was not one of them.

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molsno · 5 months

Text

I find the notion that trans women's oppression is at least partially based on a systemic hatred of men and masculinity troubling for many reasons. the biggest reason, of course, is that misandry is not real no matter how you attempt to label or define it. but moreover, it's just flat out wrong.

it is true that many forms of transmisogyny consist of some form of misgendering. however, it's ludicrous to call it misandry just because the underlying implication is that the trans woman in question is really a man; if that were the case, then cis men and trans men would be subjected to the same oppression on the basis of their manhood. but no, the misgendering is always simply a cover for something else - something far more insidious.

if a trans woman is loud, outspoken, and argumentative, then she's accused of demonstrating her "male socialization". she's told she's guilty of "mansplaining". when a trans woman is jealous or clingy with her partner, she's accused of expressing "male entitlement" over them, and being "manipulative" and "controlling". when a trans woman is attracted to cis women and talks about her desire to have sex with them, she's accused of being "creepy" or "predatory". she's told she's being "misogynistic" by reducing women (cis women, or "real women" as is usually the implication in this scenario) to just their bodies and valuing them only for their worthiness as sex objects.

if you think about it, though, these arguments mirror regular old misogyny pretty closely! if a cis woman is loud, outspoken, and argumentative, then she's a "bitch", she's "bossy". she's told she needs to "know her place". when a cis woman is jealous or clingy with her partner, she's accused of being "crazy" and "obsessive". and indeed, when a cis woman is attracted to other cis women and talks about her desire to have sex with them, she's accused of being "creepy" or "predatory"!

so why, then, if these statements are really a form of misogyny, does the justification for them hinge on trans women's supposed "maleness"? the answer is simple: biological essentialism. this ideology, in no small part popularized in feminist and queer spaces by terfs, states that "biological males" are predestined by their very nature to prey on and dominate "biological females". and since trans women are "biologically male", it follows then that they are wolves in sheeps' clothing. any presumption of innocence or harmlessness is discarded, and trans women's actions are painted in a new light.

if you accuse a trans woman of being an infiltrator in women's spaces due to her supposed "maleness", then what you've effectively accomplished is the subjugation of an underclass of women. trans women are not considered deserving of respect, compassion, or dignity whatsoever. if you paint a trans woman as a threat to other women, then you can drum up as much outrage and violence against her as you want, and she will have no recourse. and the simple fact of the matter is that the easiest way to do this is to draw attention to her alleged proximity to "maleness".

perhaps you might be thinking that proximity to maleness being used as a justification for oppression implies that misandry actually is real. after all, aren't women of color, butch lesbians, and even black men also subjected to violence due to their perceived proximity to "maleness"?

I understand how one could make that mistake, but that notion fails to engage with the actual material reasoning behind the forms of oppression these groups face: they pose a threat to the cishet white man's absolute dominion. the root of these disparate but related forms of oppression, biological essentialism, is inherently a white supremacist, misogynistic, and conservative ideology. its purpose, much like its ilk, eugenics and phrenology, is to establish a hierarchy in society that places cishet white christian men at the top by asserting that they are inherently biologically superior to all others in every respect.

if you observe people's behavior, you can see that this ideology permeates almost every level of society. cishet white men are elevated to positions of authority without question; their motives are never scrutinized and criticized in the same way that trans women's are, or any of the other oppressed groups mentioned above. if one of these men is misogynistic, if he views women as mere sex objects to be controlled to suit his liking, he will not be punished for it; he is exercising the right that has been given to him by the society people like him have created through centuries of colonialism. even in queer spaces, men are regularly coddled, their misdeeds forgiven or excused for no real reason other than that many queer people have not questioned the assumptions they've internalized.

the notion that trans women are oppressed by misandry is laughable, really, because we are constantly made aware that, due to biological essentialism, TME people will always trust a man over us.

#my writing #transmisogyny

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saintmuses · 3 months

Text

❝𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙝𝙪𝙢 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙣 𝙜𝙪𝙣 𝙡𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙮❞

Pairing:

Thomas Shelby x Advisor!Reader

Summary:

When Oswald Mosley flirted with Thomas’s political advisor, he could not hold back the green monster thus crossing the boundaries he had sworn was set in place between themselves for her sake.

Warning(s): Soft SMUT. Age gap (Reader in her mid-20s and Thomas in his early 40s). Spanking. Fingering. Major power imbalance. Thomas being sweet on Reader. Possessive!Thomas. Implied misogynistic only because of her job and obviously Oswald Mosley. Infidelity. Minors, dni! Note: I’m not well-versed in English politics in 1930s, and women during that time rarely had positions in politics especially as a career.

Word Count: 1.9k

Thomas Shelby’s gaze caught the figure sitting by the fireplace, his breath was caught in his lungs at the sight of her pretty presence in the armchair. However, he could tell she had her neck craning backwards laughing with a small smile painted on her face as she was speaking to someone in front of her.

He frowned, curiosity creeping through his veins as he wondered who was talking to her, making her laugh like that.

His teeth grounded as his jaw clamped together, the color of green rushed through his veins as the creature rattled in its cage of his mind when the figure stood up, stepping out of Y/N’s way as she stood up from the furniture as well.

Oswald fucking Mosley.

He stood under the alcove, waiting for her to make her way down the hallway. His ears prickled at the sounds of heels tapping against the granite floors, every footstep were increasingly louder as she neared the alcove.

He was mentally praising his luck for the separation of offices due to his position as a member of parliament. He could pretend to put a front in public; the one where he was not a backstreet gangster who grew up poor, a soldier who had to do things no one should ever have to do in the name of the war, the one where he was a politician, but he dropped all pretense once the door was close temporarily.

When she walked past him, unaware that he was waiting for her, his hand snapped forward, fingers enclosing her bicep gently before hauling her behind him as he stormed down the hallway. Barely paying any mind toward bystanders who were still lingering in the hallways.

He wanted to punish her, for breathing in Mosley’s direction, for giving him a very brief but sweet laugh, for even entertaining him despite the fact she did not like sleazy men like Mosley.

He just wanted to punish her for giving her time to someone else when her time belonged to him.

Even though they had not crossed the line other than innocent stolen moments, longing stares and little sweetheart comments that were not made to be condescending. To her he was Mister Shelby the member of parliament, but to him, she had become his everything.

Oswald made a mistake in bringing in a powerful force to improve the Labour Party campaign in order to gain votes, someone who would make him fall in love with her instantaneously.

She had left once after her goal was completed. He had tried to do the right thing by keeping her at distance, but he ended up offering her a position as his advisor in that hallway to hire her due to his selfish desire of keeping her close again. The emotions he felt at the idea of not seeing her again held a threat against his conscience.

Oswald was right that she could help save the political party, but she ended up more than saving it, she saved him by giving him air to breathe, to make him feel alive since Grace’s death

She saved him.

And he was not going to let someone like Oswald Mosley or anyone else take her away from him.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mister Shelby?” She asked, nearly icily as she was trying to keep up with his pace as he stormed down the hallway towards his office.

He knew what she was doing when she called him by the government name along with the position in the rank, reminding him of their circumstances, despite being nearly unprofessional with her words.

“You,” his voice deeper than usual and harsh against the quiet hall. “You are my problem.”

She huffed impassionedly. “Mister-“

He interrupted, not allowing her to form a reprimand against him. “I have been very patient with you, Y/N-,” he spoke, abruptly turning to face her once they neared the door that led to his office. His icy eyes glinting with feral before it retreated. “You say I’m your superior, right?” He waited for her to nod at him. “You do what I say in terms of what I want, correct?” He asked with his gritted teeth. His eyes were blazing with fury, not thinking straight in his head as his emotions threatened to boil over.

Despite his inner turmoil, he pushed her gently to his office, turning to her after closing the ornate door, locking it with the key.

“Yes, but-“

He interrupted her grabbing her wrists with gentle strength, “then bend over the desk.” He maneuvered her towards the wooden furniture, clear of documents and little knick knacks.

A look of surprise flashed across her facial features. “Mis-” she started, but he did not let her finish.

“Bend. Over. The. Desk.” A growl rumbled in his throat as he glared down at her since he towered over her.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

He was going to make her acknowledge the connection between them. However, he will back off if she truly did not want this.

And Y/N would not do anything if she did not want to.

He swore on his father’s makeshift grave that he could see her lips trembling slightly as her eyes dilated in soft desire before turning away from him to face the desk. He inhaled slowly when she slowly bent her upper body over his desk, pressing her chest into the furniture with her palms placed flat on the dark wood above her, curling her fingers around the edge.

He breathed heavily as he looked at her, bent over the desk and obediently exposed, like a prize. As if he was in a trance, he reached out and dragged the hem of her skirt upwards until the sight of the curves of her flesh were revealed peeking out in her light-colored underwear, not without gliding his fingers across her smooth skin, making her tremble. He tucked the hem of the fabric into the waistband.

Fuck.

He could feel himself hardening in his trousers at the sight of her bare skin. His eyes flickered to her face. She was looking forward now, though he could still see the side of her face from his position. Her cheeks were flushed prettily.

He lifted his right hand, and he hit the right cheek with a loud crack in the silent of his office. Y/N’s body jolted forward beneath him at the contact with an unexpected, guttural moan.

Something inside of him snapped.

He was like a man possessed - he couldn’t stop, addicted to the way her soft, pliant flesh felt underneath his calloused palm. It was truly the first time he had touched her skin other than shaking her hand in Mosley’s office when she was introduced to him.

One coming right after the other, causing the flesh of her ass to reverberate from his palm.

After the last one was landed with a sharp heavy smack, he heard her letting out a grunt as her thighs shafted together in response to his aggressive ministrations.

Breathing heavily, “is that it?” She asked, turning her head back toward him with defiance glinting in her gaze.

Oh, she was challenging him. She looked delicious, all bent over with her skirt flipped over her waist.

His eyes narrowed at her, flicked his wrist to slap her fabric covered cunt, not too hard but still nice and sharp. His lips curled into a smirk when she whimpered in surprise, thighs clamping together.

It didn’t deter him as he eased her thighs apart slightly, pushing her underwear to the side, revealing her pretty cunt to his hungry gaze before sliding his index and middle fingers into her warmth. Roughly dragging his fingers back and forth in response to her own breathing patterns as moans and little whines emitted from her throat. “If I ever catch you allowing even so far as encouraging Mosley to flirt with you, I will kill him.” He did not give a fuck if Mosley was an important politician or not, he will find a way to put a bullet through Mosley’s body and bury him with some believable cover story about his unfortunate death.

Thomas removed his fingers, towering over her body slightly grinding his hardened cock into the curve of her ass, reaching around to her face and shoved his fingers into her pliant mouth. “You’re mine,” he growled, the words sounding more of a threat.

His other hand gripped her flesh when he felt her lips closing around his fingers and sucked them to clean her arousal off his skin.

She moved, pushing back at him while flipping her skirt back over her ass until he stood a step back to give her space when she turned to face him with a defiant expression on her face.

“Fuck off, Mister Shelby. I am not yours. I am not one of the whores you like to fuck.” She hissed, eyes flashing with anger.

He chuckled coldly, looking at her with disbelief in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you let me lay hands on your arse, but it’s crossing the line when I want to bend you over, fill you up with me cock while making you mine? Eh? Got that bit twisted.”

She glared at him with hostility in her pretty eyes. The ones he would see in his mind whenever he could sleep without the sounds of bloodshed from the Great War.

He sighed, raising his hands to cup her jaw, brushing the pad of his thumb against her cheek. “Trust me, I haven’t fucked anyone since I’ve first laid eyes on you. My only companion is my hand.”

“Not even your wife?”

He gazed down at her, sliding his thumb from her cheek to her lips, brushing against them softly.

“Not even her,” he said throatily after pulling his thumb away from her soft pliant lips. “I have been patient with you, willing for you to come to terms with your feelings that you and I fucking well know you have for me.” He said lowly, his fingers gripped her jaw slightly as a reflection of his statement. “You wanted to come back after shaping up the political party, accepting my job offer, despite knowing that I crave you in that hallway. You still walked back into this godforsaken place, and this is the consequences of our own actions.,” he whispered before using his hand, he grabbed her face, pulling her into a filthy kiss and she reciprocated in return with a whine, lips biting tongues tangling, battling for dominance.

He listened to every word she said to him, ignoring the harsh words from Arthur, his brother. Lizzie, his wife at this point in the name only. Michael and Polly who berated him every chance he got. Arthur. Polly. Lizzie. Linda. Michael. He ignored the words spewing from everyone filled with contempt despite following his words as if they were the law. Except her, her words were soft and firm if needed to be.

He did not care about anyone else, about what they want. Not while he was feeling this way for her.

He cared about what she wanted because her wants became his wants, and he knew that his wants were somewhat becoming her wants too

His wants were consuming his thoughts in the moment, his jealousy destroyed the control he had over his desires which brought them to the moment in his office.

“Say my name,” he murmured, a command etched in his words after he released her lips from his.

He heard her exhaling softly, her eyes were gazing into his. “Tommy.”

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinders #cillian murphy x reader #thomas shelby #cillian murphy

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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months

Text

Tim Testing

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After transferring to the Mid-Wilshire division because of toxic male officers harassing you, you find yourself partnered with Tim Bradford. When you are injured during a Tim Test, you hide the injury so he doesn't think less of you.

Warnings: angst to fluff, misogynistic comments and actions toward reader (from police officers), reader is injured and passes out, Tim is a softie

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: This was such an amazing request!! Tim (and everyone at Mid-Wilshire) would be so welcoming after dealing with something like this, so I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

You knew from the beginning that it would be different for you, that being a female cop would have its pros, cons, and tough moments. What you didn’t expect was the men who were supposed to be your equals harassing you and making each moment far worse than it should have been.

Between the crass comments about how your uniform fit, questioning whether it was your time of the month whenever you tried to stand up for yourself, and their inability to trust you in the field, you learn your place quickly.

“I’d like to request a transfer to a different station,” you tell your commanding officer.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because there is no respect, no trust in this station. Looking over my shoulder while I’m trying to work, and having to defend myself against the very people who are supposed to have my back is exhausting and it makes me unable to do my job.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he slides a form to you. “Your decision. Though showing how weak you are by moving around every time things get hard, or your feelings get hurt isn’t plausible.”

“And you had to ask why,” you mutter, snatching the paper off his desk and walking out to fill it out in private.

“Hey, princess, before we leave on patrol I need to know you don’t have your gun at the front of your belt,” someone calls. “Don’t want to risk getting killed by your poor aim.”

You remain silent, which makes them quit or spurs them on to push you further. As if your day isn’t going poorly already, they take your silence as a weakness.

“Just her gun? You should be more worried about how her attitude changes if her bra rides up or her hormones spike,” a second voice adds.

“You’re on your own today,” you reply. “I’m on desk duty.”

“Finally, someone put you where you belong.��

The men laugh as they walk toward their shops, and you take a deep breath as the quiet settles over the station. Once your paperwork is complete, you take it to the captain. You can only hope it goes through quickly before you get fed up and quit forever.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your commanding officer yells your name as you walk in, intercepting you on your way to the locker room.

“Your transfer just came through, you’re expected at the Mid-Wilshire division for roll call first thing in the morning; today’s PTO while we complete the paperwork,” he informs.

You accept the paper he hands you and pretend not to hear as he adds, “I hope they know what they’re getting into and have the patience to deal with you.”

Smiling as you empty your locker, you hope things are looking up. Although, you know it will be hard to open up to new people and trust new cops, even if they are different than your previous team.

✯✯✯✯✯

Entering the Mid-Wilshire station, you cross your fingers that transferring was the right decision. Sergeant Wade Grey is your new commanding officer, and your day (and your future) relies on this meeting going well.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask, knocking on his open door.

He looks up, smiling as he beckons you inside. Saying your name, he opens a folder and compliments your arrest record. “I was surprised to hear you asked for a transfer, it seemed like you were doing well at your previous station.”

“The environment was making it difficult to do as well as I know I can, sir,” you answer.

Grey nods. “I can understand that. Our people are good, though, so I expect you will fit in well and succeed in all you do here.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“And you can drop the ‘sir,’ we’re not as formal as some other stations.”

Blinking in surprise, you look away from Wade when another cop enters the small office.

“Sergeant Bradford, I’d like to introduce you to your new partner. I will warn both of you this is likely a temporary partnership, but one I trust will do you both some good.”

You smile at Bradford, who tilts his head to the side as he looks you over. It’s clear that he isn’t thrilled about having a partner, having grown used to working alone since becoming a sergeant. As long as he doesn’t treat you like a boot, or worse, like a girl who doesn’t have what it takes to be a cop, you can survive working with him for a few weeks.

What you don’t see, though, is that Tim can look at you and tell you’re a good cop. He reviewed your paperwork and arrest record with Wade yesterday, and he’s impressed by you. You’re good, but you have the potential to be better with the right help. And, for some reason, Wade is convinced that Tim can give you the push you need to be your best.

“Okay, let’s go,” Tim says, turning away as Wade tells you to have a good day.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim acknowledges that you’re not a rookie but warns you from the beginning that you still have something to prove.

“I know you’ve been a cop for a while, but I haven’t seen you in action. Your records are admirable, but I need to see proof that you’re still that good,” he explains. “So, I will test you and challenge you while we’re riding together, but don’t view it as starting over, more like proving grounds than qualifications.”

You nod, remembering something Wade muttered about “Tim Tests,” which you’re sure are unique to Bradford.

“I understand. I’ll do my best, and I want to learn to be better.”

Tim doesn’t reply, and you raise your guard, unimpressed with how shut off he is with you. In general, your past has made you wary around men; after Tim’s insistence that you have something to prove, you are determined to hide everything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. You will do whatever it takes to show you are a good cop, worthy of respect.

Slamming on the brakes, Tim yells, “We’re being ambushed; what do you do?”

“Radio for backup, stay in the shop, stay low, and fire only if necessary,” you answer, nearly robotically, as he catches you off guard.

Tim eases back onto the road, ignoring you once again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Just before your scheduled lunch break, something which you haven’t actually enjoyed in far too long, Tim parks between two old warehouses.

“There’s a suspicious package in the gray building, you’re riding alone and need to check it out,” he explains. “Radio any information as you find it.”

You switch your radio to a private channel with Tim, accepting the call as you exit the shop and enter the building. It’s dark and wet, but you refuse to accept any comments or disdainful looks from Tim if you fail this test, so you will find the package and impress him as quickly as possible.

“7-Adam-9, located suspicious package: brown paper bag situated between steel beams,” you radio.

“Dispatch, requesting additional information,” Tim replies.

You sigh, moving forward to look at the bag because you can’t touch it. When you move, the beams sitting upright in the warehouse shift. Stepping back a second too late, one side of the heavy structure hits the back of your shoulder, shoving you forward into the crate holding the package.

Pain radiates through your shoulder as you move to the side, pulling yourself away from the mess you made with a sharp inhale.

“7-Adam-9, false alarm. Suspicious package is empty. Code 4.”

“Copy 7-Adam-9.”

Taking a step toward the door, you hiss in pain as the pain moves from your shoulder around to your ribs, where you fell against the crate. It seems likely that you broke something or at least got a deep bruise, but telling Tim would be like admitting that you’re weak. So, as you level your expression and cover your pain by walking normally, you decide to hide your pain.

Being labeled weak or incapable, or as before, giving Tim a reason to view you as less than is not an option anymore. Buckling your seatbelt, you press your lips together to keep your pained sounds muted, and the feeling of the seat on your shoulder makes you count down the minutes until you can get out of the shop.

✯✯✯✯✯

As the day goes on, your pain grows in intensity. Each breath causes immeasurable pain, and your stomach turns when you move your shoulder in any direction.

“Wade’s going to ask me, so how’s your first day going?” Tim asks, turning down a residential street to respond to a noise disturbance.

“Fine,” you answer quickly, clenching your jaw to stay quiet.

“Good,” he replies, though his voice sounds different. “Glad you found a station that works for you.”

You can’t tell if his comment is passive-aggressive, implying that you are the issue rather than the station you transferred from. The overbearing pain you’re feeling makes it nearly impossible to care.

“You take point on this one,” Tim offers as he parks by the curb.

“Yes, sir.”

Asking questions and explaining the city’s noise ordinances to the tenant, you’re momentarily distracted from your pain. The moment you turn to return to the shop, though, you’re reminded that your new position isn’t quite as enjoyable as you were expecting.

“Take us back to the station,” Tim says, tossing the shop keys to you.

When you raise your hand to catch the keys, your shoulder screams in protest, and you close your eyes momentarily to hide the pain.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

Nodding, you release a sigh when Tim climbs into the passenger seat, too easily convinced by your answer.

✯✯✯✯✯

After a quick meeting with Wade, discussing your new role, and signing a few documents, you head for the locker room. When you pull your shirt off, you glance in the mirror, surprised to see the size and color of the bruise; your entire shoulder, over to your neck and down around the front of your ribs, is a sickening purple. The yellowish tint around the edges is a sign that it will only worsen before it begins to heal. Attempting to raise your arm again, you feel something shift under your skin and step into one of the bathroom stalls, kneeling as you try to keep yourself from being sick. When you lean your head against the metal wall, the coolness is soothing, and as you finally let yourself acknowledge the pain, it becomes all you can feel.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim opens Wade’s door, furrowing his brows when he sees you’re not there.

“She left a few minutes ago,” Wade answers.

“Her car’s still here.”

“Must be in the locker room then.”

“Why’d she transfer?” Tim asks, stepping inside to close the door.

“I don’t know, Bradford. You’re going to have to ask her.”

Tim nods, turning away to search for you. He knocks on the locker room door, and when no one answers, he opens it and says your name. Once again met with silence, he steps inside and looks around. Your locker is open, but you’re nowhere to be seen. As he rounds the last row of lockers, he sees someone sitting on the floor in one of the bathroom stalls.

Tim says your name, knocking on the door. It opens at his touch, and he catches it before it hits your arm. Kneeling beside you, he looks across your face, pressing his hand behind your neck as he tries to find the source of your unconsciousness. His hand dips to your upper shoulder, and you groan, opening your eyes.

Tim ignores you as you wake, gently leaning you forward as he surveys the bruise where it’s visible past your tank top.

“Stay awake,” he says, moving you again. “Just your shoulder?”

You nod, and he demands to know: “Home or hospital?”

“Home,” you whisper. “But I can-“

“Obviously you can’t,” Tim snaps, his arms gentler than his voice as he lifts you from the ground.

✯✯✯✯✯

You stay conscious, fighting against the pain as you give Tim directions to your home. After getting you inside and as comfortable as possible, he leaves your side to gather a few things before returning. He gives you a glass of water and a few pain reliever pills, waiting until you’ve taken them to lay an ice pack across your shoulder. You take a deep breath at the cold before catching yourself.

“What else hurts?” Tim asks.

“My ribs,” you admit.

He leans you back gently, pushing your tank top to your sternum as he surveys the darkening bruise across your lower ribcage. Gently moving his hand across your skin, he doesn’t feel anything obviously broken, apologizing as you whimper at the pressure. Pulling the first aid kit he brought from your kitchen to his side, he places several cooling packets over your ribs.

Satisfied that he’s done all he can do for you, Tim moves to sit across from you, making himself comfortable in your living room.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m not leaving,” he answers quickly, “what if you collapse again?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tim silences, closing his eyes as he leans back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’ve heard that question dozens of times, but previously, it was asked in a much different tone. Always an accusation that you hadn’t handled something correctly or that you should have let someone else do whatever it was that needed to be done.

When you look back at Tim, his eyes are on you, and you shrug. His eyes narrow as his gaze intensifies, demanding your answer.

“The last station that I worked at made me nervous to tell people things, especially other cops. All of the guys that I worked with harassed me constantly, and they tried to convince me that I wasn’t a good cop because I was a woman. So, I have trouble trusting other police officers with personal things. During your Tim Tests, I thought that if I acknowledged something had happened, you’d see me the same way.”

“Which way?”

“Weak, incapable,” you answer, trailing off.

“They were bad people,” Tim explains. “They may have been okay cops, but no one deserves to be treated like that.”

You nod, licking your lips as your gaze drops to the blanket across your lap.

“Want to tell me what happened today?” he pries.

“The steel beams around the bag?” Tim nods, so you continue, “They fell. One of them hit my shoulder and knocked me forward.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you helped me. My last partner would have found a way to blame be.”

“Like I said, bad people. But you… you’re a good person and a good cop,” Tim continues. “I’ve known that since you walked in, but I needed to know that you knew. Getting hurt or being unable to do something on the first try doesn’t make you less of a person, or a cop. Being a woman doesn’t either. And if they didn’t see that, it’s their loss.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

“And my gain.”

You furrow your brows at Tim, but he leans back and closes his eyes instead of elaborating.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #requests #fem!reader #the rookie

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