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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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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

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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i don’t know if this is a weird request but it’s also my first one.

but i had the idea of abby coming home from a long shift at work, and she finds reader trying to make themself cum?

it just popped into my head and i need it to come to life 🙏🙏

No anon cause I love this trope so much, thank you for trusting me with your first request (ur doing great sweetie!)

(Hope you don’t mind an AU btw <3)

Word Count: 1600 (technically not a drabble ig)

CW: Doctor AU, Abby is a sexy doctor, Strap usage (R! Receiving), AFAB reader, Feminine nicknames used, cowgirl position, tried to keep it race/ethnicity inclusive, mentions of Abby trying to keep you healthy and sleeping well.

No Minors, Men, or general Cunts.

If you see spelling mistakes, no you didn’t. 💚

Abby is tired. And pissed off. But mainly she’s tired, with sore feet and a pounding headache, not helped by the wind howling outside the car causing the rain to beat down heavily on the wind screen. From having to prevent a kid with a broken arm from crying a flood as he called his mom to stopping the blood pouring out of a woman’s intimate parts in the emergency department. It was a very long day.

After running into the house from her now parked car, she pushes the trainers off her feet and takes in the dark hallway, walking back into the kitchen she notices a plate of chilli chicken and rice with a little sticky note attached to the cling film covering the food, ‘gone to bed, eat before you come up <3’ .

She smiled at the note and placed the food in the microwave, yawning as she watched the orange glow and the spinning of the plate in the little metal box. Bed couldn’t come soon enough, but she definitely wasn’t going to face the wrath of a wife scorned by her not eating her delicious food. Made with love, by her love. The blonde was always a bit love struck when sleep deprived.

Inhaling the food and making the executive decision to leave the dishes until the morning, the blonde trudges up the stairs with her feet heavy and her head even heavier. It’s not until she gets to the top of the stairs does she hear the creaking of a bed and hushed whimpers coming from your shared bedroom. She pulls her phone from her pocket and checks the time, ‘00:37’. You should be fast asleep by now.

Peaking her head around the door, not even having to push it open due to you leaving it ajar, she captures what can only be described as a beautiful sight. Abbys pretty little wife lays there. With one of your hands pumping her fingers in and out of your sopping wet cunt with such force your breasts and tummy jiggle lightly with each movement. Your other hand draped over your eyes, shielding you from Abby’s piercing blue gaze. She stands there and watches, leaning against the door frame, enjoying the view and appreciating every little huff and moan leaving your lips.

Finally deciding you’d had enough fun, Abby clears her throat. You jump. Your hand pulls away from your cunt, a shiver running through you as your body yearns to be full again.

“Mrs Anderson,” Abby starts, “you couldn’t wait for me to come home, could you?” Despite her phrasing, it is not a question. It’s an order.

The blonde continues, “Did I not tell you that you were to catch up on sleep, Mrs Anderson?” She tilts her head this time, prompting you to answer. “Yes, Abby…”

“And did you follow the doctor’s orders, pumpkin?”

“No, Abby.” The heat rising up your neck and slithering across your cheeks is a dead give away to Abby as she takes your face in one of her hands, her long, thick thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your cheekbone.

“Since you’re already up, it must mean you’re not tired? Am I right, sweetheart?” The blonde releases you face and takes a step backwards to take all of you in once more.

“Abby I-”

She interrupts you, “Well. Im tired. I’ve had a very long day, sweetheart so if you want to get off, it’s on my terms, we got a deal?” As she speaks she shrugs off her undershirt and undoes the button on her jeans. She watches as you nod and reach out for her, arms outstretched and hands making little grabby motions to try and get her close again. Be grudgingly she steps forward and out of the jeans pooling around her ankles.

Abby is left in her boxer briefs and a white cotton bra as she wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you away from the center of the bed and dropping you on the edge of the mattress. Gripping your chin and pulling your face so that your gaze meets hers, she smirks down at you. “Stay there. Don’t move okay, baby?”

You nod and watch as she goes to the build in wardrobe, her broad shoulders flexing as a hand moves to take the elastic band from the end of her braid, as her hand reaches into the drawer looking for something.

With her hair loose and a harness in her hands Abby slides the leather straps over her hips and into place. Turning back to you, you’re able to see the cock she’s chosen. As she walks forward you come face to phallus with nine inches of dark purple silicone. “You wanna get it wet for me, baby?”

Instead of answering, you slip a hand around the harness and pull her close enough so you can take her length into your mouth. Abby smiles warmly as she watches you only managing to get about half way down the strap, her blue eyes creasing at the edges as you wrap your hand around what you can’t fit in and start rubbing along the shaft. The sight sends a low moan rumbling from Abby’s chest. With a pop, your mouth lets go of the blonde’s cock as she takes a step back and watches as a line of spit connecting the silicone to your bruised lips breaks.

Abby kisses your forehead and sits down on the bed beside you, a blink and you’ll miss it ‘good girl’ falls from her lips as she situates herself against the pillows at the head of the bed. Her finger makes a curling motion, calling you over. Sliding up to sit next her, a hand grips your hips, “Get on top, sweetheart.”

“Abby, I want you to be on top-”

“And I want to go to bed, but since you’re being a needy little brat and not waiting for me to come home before fucking yourself.” She gives your hips a squeeze and continues, “And not listening to me when I tell you that you need more sleep. So now, you’re going to get to cum, but on my grounds. On doctors orders. Okay, baby?”

You nod and move to get straddle Abby’s hips, only to have her reach up and yank you down by the nape of your neck. “I said ‘okay, baby?’ It wasn’t rhetorical.”

“Okay Abby.” She kisses you square on the the lips and let’s you climb up on to her hips, she leans back and watches as you line yourself up with her cock and lower yourself onto the plastic. A tight smirk graces the blonde’s face as she listens intently on the hasty breaths you give out as you become re-accustomed to the stretch that this particular dildo always gives you. As you move your hips up and down, mewls and pants come flooding from your mouth. That knotting tension that never truly left your abdomen from your solo session had returned with what can only be described as a vengeance.

Bouncing up and down on Abby’s cock, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer. Blue eyes scan your whole body, one large rough hand resting on your hip as it helps guide your movements, the other holding one of your tits squeezing the flesh and every so often tugging the hardened nipple as her thumb ran over the sensitive flesh.

Abby’s hips remain surprisingly still, despite your pleas and begging, her stance stays unwavering. This entire session was most definitely on her grounds. Though her body remains relaxed yet unmoving, Abby’s eyes are burning with intensity you can clearly see it, the bubbling want and desperation underneath the stoney exterior.

“Abby-” you huff, exhaustion hits as your desperate moans are met with nothing but raised eyebrows and the occasional ‘yes, princess’.

“I wanna cum, please can I?”

“You’re asking permission, baby? And without being told, oh sweetheart, you can cum anytime you want.”

Without another word your hips slam down against Abby’s, the strap hitting impossibly deep inside as you cum, you rest on top of her. Folding over, you find your head resting underneath your wife’s chin as thick fingers come to the back of your head and her short nails give gentle scratches to your scalp, relaxing you further into the blonde’s firm, broad chest.

Pulling yourself away from Abby and off of her hips you see a creamy ring coating the hilt of the strap as you pull away from your wife. A heat rises to your cheeks once more as Abby sits up properly in the bed and yanks you down into her arms. “Thank you, baby. You did so good.”

Snuggling into her side, you kiss her cheek and strong square jawline as she loosens and slides the harness from her hips.

“Long day, doctor?” Your teasing brings a soft tired smile to Abby’s face as she lets herself yawn. “Like you wouldn’t believe, sweetheart.”

She turns to you, blue eyes staring into yours, deep icy pools that hold such love in them you can’t imagine them ever being cold, “I’m sorry if I was too pushy.”

You laugh and pull the covers up to surround the two of you, “Abigail. We have a safe word for a reason.”

“I know it’s just that-”

You shut her up with a kiss, and once you break it she seems to be content that you had enjoyed the evening, even before she got home. Content and with reassurance, Abby falls asleep and her little wife too.

☘️🦖☘️🦖☘️🦖☘️

Remember Reblogs make the World Go Round

REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN 💚

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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damn y’all really like the cod men huh

#cod #in relation to my poll 👀

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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#headcanon #yandere #chubby reader #fanfic #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #writing #x reader #yandere crush #yandere oc x reader

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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When you’re both short kings, so you gotta bundle your powers 💪🏼

(Not pictured: Alejandro wheezing in the background)

Like my stuff? A reblog would be appreciated :)

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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god im fuckin. thinkin abt soap distancing himself from ghost when roach comes back. cause hes been vying for the lieutenants affection for a while, but then roach is there and ghost is so obviously besotted with him and they have a history and they obviously in love so what place does he have to get in the way of that?

then roach, whos heard so much from ghost about the sergeant and how good he is, goes and starts talking to soap and befriends him, and soap is drawn back closer to ghost and he soon realizes that fuck. hes in love with roach too.

but ghost and roach are happy together. theyre happy and in love and, again, who is he to get in the way of that? he hasnt known either of them as long as theyve known each other, he hasnt been through as much as them, and hes not worthy of them. not the way theyre worthy of each other.

so he pushes himself away again. everytime theyre together it hurts. every smile roach gives him when hes ranting. every chuckle ghost gives when he tells a stupid joke. every pat on the arm he gets after a good mission, every bit of praise he gets after doing good on the field, everything- it all hurts.

so he pushes away. he makes excuses to skip out on invitations to hang out, he stops ranting so much, he goes to meals earlier than usual to avoid the pair (even when ghost gets up at an ungodly hour in the morning) and eats as fast as his stomach can handle, he spars with gaz or konig or anyone other than ghost or roach.

he doesnt really expect them to notice that hes distant- at the very least expect them to care. but as time goes on it gets harder and harder to stay away, to the point where he starts to spend his breaks in his room instead of somewhere open. he starts sneaking snacks into his room for when he doesnt eat enough at meals because roach had dropped down right next to him with his own food and tried to start a conversation. he swears he fills out his sketchbooks three times faster than before with all the free time he has.

he ignores the ache he feels from being apart from them- its better that its him feeling that instead of making things awkward with ghost and roach.

eventually he ends up cornered- very nearly literally- with ghost guarding the doorway and roach with one hand on the wall next to his head and one pushing his chest, pinning him against the wall. it flusters him more than he'd like to admit.

roach asks whats going on with him, and he starts to spew out some fib about being swamped with work, but then ghost is way closer than before and he places a hand on the other side of soaps head and leans in and fucking growls "thats bullshit, sergeant." and soap lets out an honest to fucking god whine. on the fucking spot. hes surprised his legs didnt give out and drop him to his damn knees right then and there. hes too caught up in his embarrassment that he doesnt hear the way roachs breath hitches, or the way ghosts gaze gets a little darker.

ghost reaches out and grabs his chin, making him look him directly in the eyes.

"tell the truth, johnny."

and soap cant fucking hold the words back anymore.

"im in love with you! both of you!"

but he doesnt stop at a simple confession- he figures that maybe if he rambles long enough theyll get annoyed enough that theyll fucking forget what he just said, that theyll miss the point of the conversation, that he wont have fucked everything up.

"soap- johnny- johnny."

he stops, catching his breath the best he can.

"you've been avoiding us.... because youre in love with us?"

soap swears that hes on the verge of tears as he nods. he expects something- disgust, anger, annoyance- but he doesnt expect roach to lean in and press him lips against his own. his mind goes blank.

he cant help but lean to chase roach a bit when he pulls away, and he has only a moment of fuzziness before his eyes widen snap to ghost, distress filling him once again, and he tries to stutter out an apology but is cut off by ghost lifting his mask and kissing johnny himself.

when they part, its all johnny can do to look at both of them and breathe out an "oh."

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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#TMZ reporter found dead in LA

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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The 141 + Graves as nsfw audios

Warnings: Fem!Listener, wet noises, male whimpering, male moans, dirty talking, calling themselves daddy, use of whore, slut, etc. USE EARPHONES FFS.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

— You are giving Simon the silence treatment in one if his bad days, now it's time to pay for it. - by u/ProfessorCal

— (Desperated) Ghost needs your touch. - by u/Badjhur

— Camping with the 141 and sneaking into Ghost's tent. - by u/AugustlnTheWinter

John 'Soap' MacTavish:

— Soap hate being called daddy... OR DOES HE?? - by u/AugustinTheWinter

— Taming brat!Soap in an interrogation - u/aasimaraudio

— You convince Soap to go to your parents house for Christmas, now he's feeling naughty. - u/owenscumnival

König:

(if you came into my house thinking this will be UwU shy boi 👉👈 König content ding dong you are WRONG)

— A last moment with König before he travel back to work (slightly feral König) - by u/Feem_Al_Frennly

— König is a (big) teaser :) - by u/wagnerfirst

— Sub!König call you ma'am. multiple times. that's all you need to know. - by u/Texan_Guy

John Price:

— Fucking John in the middle of a party, just where you want him. - by u/Badjhur

— John comforts you after a nightmare. - by u/bestkeptsecret

— Camping with the 141 and sharing a tent with the Captain (ft. Soap's snoring) - by u/Badjhur

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

— Gaz would do anything to help you, including providing you some body heat after a mission in the middle of winter. - by u/GreyFuton

— Even after a rough day, Gaz take care of you. - by u/ProfessorCal_

— Watching a sex scene with Gaz. - by u/AugustInTheWinter

Phillip Graves:

— Graves congrats you on your first mission with the Shadow Company. - by u/ProfessorCal_

— You wake up only to find Phillip between your thighs. - by u/alot-of-axolotl

— Phillip wakes up feeling horny. - by u/notwhorosethinks

I would like to thank all the support and excitement I got for this and I hope you horny asses enjoy it! I promise I tried my best to find the most perfect audios for each of our boys :)

Also would like the clarify that the only reason Alejandro and Rudy aren't on the list is because I got absolutely STUCK and impatient to finding audios for Alejandro, although I did find some for Rudy but figured it would be wrong to put Rudy but not Alejandro. You can't just separate the Vaqueros, right??? (and I was thinking about a part 2 of this since I found SO MANY MORE audios of the others 👀)

**I do not own any audio, all the credit go to the creators and you can find all of them on Reddit and go on r/gonewildaudios for more.**

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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hi here’s something i pointed out on twitter goodnight

#actively sobbing

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houseofauggie · 2 years ago

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truculent | e. williams ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader

summary: archnemesis in the streets, fuckbuddy in the sheets (and on the table).

warnings: smut (18+), language, sorta established fuck buddies, implied consent, jealous ellie, verbal top!ellie, sub!reader, fingering (r rec), oral (r rec), light overstimulation, dirty talk, choking, not proofread

wc: 3k

a/n: this is my first post!! feedback would be appreciated so i can work on making my writing better :) ignore changes in tense i suck at sticking to just one (im working on it, swear). anyway, enjoy!

All of your friends, if not all of Jackson, knew that you and Ellie absolutely hated each other. They weren't sure why, or when it started, but it seemed that the two of you never clicked ever since you arrived to Jackson and made it your home.

It wasn't that you were complete opposites. In fact, you and Ellie were quite similar. Protective, quiet, attentive. Soft, sympathetic, affectionate. Maybe it was from your heads constantly crashing, wanting to take control over the other. Waiting for the other to just give in and stop the constant fight for the last word.

"I should probably head out soon," Dina advised as she picked up a card from the deck that laid in between you on the table. According to Dina, you were playing a very intense card game. "We can finish this game though. Got a four?"

"No," You replied with a sigh as your eyes scanned your cards, causing Dina to roll her eyes at you for not saying 'Go fish.' You continued, "I'm getting tired anyway. I don't even know how to play this game."

"I told you how. Twice," Dina shot back, playfully rolling her eyes with a smile when you stared at her with an honest expression. The two of you were sitting at your small round table, in between the kitchen and living room, that could be seen from the front door. Your back was facing the door, trusting Dina to keep an eye out for it.

"What do you know how to play?"

"Poker," You admitted flatly.

"Poker?" Dina couldn't believe you knew how to play poker but not go fish.

"Yes?" You answered, confused as to why she was confused.

Knocks erupted at your front door, causing you and Dina to fall silent and turn your heads toward it. Dina's confused expression grew stronger, and yours went from surprised to anxious. You knew exactly who it was, and you had no idea how you were going to get out of it without Dina finding out.

Despite the fact you and Ellie are enemies, the two of you have a rather interesting nightly routine. Nearly every night, Ellie visits you. Not because you're friends, or because you want to have a casual conversation.

Somehow, the two of you found yourselves lusting for each other. A one and done wasn't possible. It was almost, almost as if the two of you fought just to have an "excuse" to "address" each other. Dina has taken note of the way Ellie watches you when you're not looking, mainly to admire and to protect you, in a sense. Dina didn't think of it as weird, though. She had a feeling she knew what was going on because of your suspicious behavior whenever Ellie is mentioned.

"Are you gonna get that?" Dina asks, raising a brow at your back since you were now turned toward the door, your upper body doing a full 180.

"Shit, yeah," You murmured, standing from your seat to make your way toward the front door. As you made your way over, you scratched the back of your neck, worried that Ellie was going to leave you to explain.

You pulled the door open to be met with... Ellie. There was a twinge of hope that it wasn't, for the sake of your secret staying hidden.

"Ellie," You said flatly, your eyebrows raising at the same time as Ellie's. As your eyes fell on her, her eyes fell on Dina. Both of you felt an instant panic. You both had the same look but for different reasons. Ellie was surprised to see Dina, knowing what situation she had at hand. She could feel her heart begin to race, and so did yours.

Luckily for Ellie, she had to go on patrol with you earlier in the day, and could use that to her advantage. Maria insists that it's necessary for you and Ellie to patrol together and try to make amends. The problem was, there was nothing to make amends for. You have clashed [for no reason] since the beginning.

"You have my knife in your bag from patrol earlier. Y'Never gave it back to me," Ellie lied on the spot, and you instantly felt relieved from her save.

"You sure?" You pushed, raising a brow. You were testing very shallow waters, knowing that what you were doing was going to make Ellie angry. Ellie was taken aback by your response, and Dina could feel the tension growing thicker.

"I gotta head out anyway, I'll talk to you tomorrow," Dina said, mainly toward you, before passing Ellie and making her way down your steps toward the road. Ellie watched as Dina disappeared out of view before turning her head to look at you.

Her eyes were stone cold, as if something had already pissed her off before she arrived. Her hair was messily put up in a half down bun, her loose hairs blowing against her cheeks.

She didn't say anything. Instead, she just backed you into the house without a word, tilting her head in annoyance.

"Why didn't you help me?" she inquired calmly. You weren't sure if it was a play, because normally, Ellie isn't as calm. You quirked an objective brow at her, backing up a few steps as she walked in.

"You handled it quite well--"

"Don't start," Ellie sighed, closing the door behind her with her back facing it. You heard the faint click of the deadbolt locking, followed by Ellie's footsteps. "I've had an awful fucking day, and I don't need you getting bitchy with me over a question."

You were used to Ellie's mouth, it wasn't anything personal. She swears more than a sailor.

"I was being serious... What's your problem?" you admitted, noticing the slump in her steps as she came in. She looked frustrated yet exhausted. You knew Ellie was serious too, you could tell that something upset her. It's not like Ellie would open up to you about it either, you just had to wait and see if she brought it up on her own.

Ellie didn't care to waste time staring and cut right to the chase, grabbing you tightly by your waist before walking you backwards, taking you by surprise.

"My problem?" Ellie snarked with her eyebrows furrowed, her grip tightening on your hips. The back of your thighs pressed against your table, and you couldn't see it, but you could hear all of the cards getting shoved off of the table, plummeting to the floor. "Don't act like you give a shit."

"Ellie--" you tried to speak as her slim fingers of both hands moved to the underside of your thighs, lifting you onto the table. You weren't opposed to what she wanted to do, it was a mutual understanding. The two of you never particularly said you were "fuck buddies," but you didn't have to since Ellie was at your house nearly every night, and was just as bossy as usual. On nights she doesn't show up, it's mainly to piss you off and rub it in your face the next time for waiting on her.

You weren't sure what to make of the situation. When you passed each other in the streets of Jackson, you would nudge shoulders, or send each other glares. But whenever you would find yourself in bed with her, you couldn't help but feel like she doesn't hate you based off her actions.

The pure definition of mixed signals.

"Try to keep your mouth shut, yeah?" Ellie cooed to tease you, her cold knuckles grazing on your tender skin from underneath your shirt as she unbuttoned your pants. "I know you can't help it, sometimes."

"You're the worst--" you groaned at her dirty comment, using both of your hands to stabilize yourself on the table. You were cut off by Ellie's lips aggressively slamming onto yours, her top lip fitting between yours perfectly. She quickly unbuttoned your pants and used her left hand to wrap her fingers around your neck, pulling you by it to kiss you harder.

Ellie rarely kissed you, not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't think you would like it. You use each other for sex, and hate each other. Why would you care for a kiss?

Truthfully, you did like it. You craved the touch, especially when she makes you feel so good, hence why you nearly always initiate it. When you do kiss her, she returns it. Unless it was a really bad day, then she's a stone.

"The worst makes you wet like that?" Ellie cockily shot back, her breath hitting your lips as her fingertips of her right hand grazed your slit through your underwear. You didn't even notice her finish unbuttoning your pants and slide her hand underneath. Your chests were nearly pressed together, Ellie's height slightly dominating yours from your sitting position.

If you weren't so lust drunk, you'd say you both looked pitiful. Firing piteous shots back in forth to act like you hated each other when you were actually melting into one another. Every time you slept together, that is.

"So cocky," you mumbled, not really caring if Ellie heard you or not. The pad of her ring finger slid up your clothed slit, sending shivers up your spine to your neck, where her other hand suddenly landed.

"Are my ears ringing or did you say something?" Ellie mocked your attitude, her grip tightening on the sides of your neck. You were speechless, caught off guard by Ellie's harmless aggression. You knew she wouldn't hurt you. Ellie has grown less hostile each time you've slept together. What you couldn't shake was how she would go right back to resenting you afterwards.

"That's what I thought," she purred, her fingers teasing the waistband of your panties before diving underneath. You shivered, feeling the cold fingertips of her ring and middle finger glide through your slit, a short breath falling from your lips.

You hoped Ellie didn't hear it, but she did. Of course she did. Your lips were right next to her ear since she couldn't stop herself from nipping at your neck, suckling your tender skin. Ellie tended to leave hickeys where she knew you would have to hide it carefully.

Ellie suddenly pulled away from your neck, her eyes casting down to your lower half as she began to tug at your pants.

"Up," she uttered, followed by you lifting your lower half so she could tug your pants off your legs while you hovered over the table. Then, Ellie's hands landed on your shoulders, pushing you down so your back was flat against the solid wood. Her fingers trailed from your arms to your hips, tugging your panties down your thighs just enough to give herself access to you.

"I have a question for you," Ellie said in a low tone, her middle and ring finger sliding up your soaked slit before sinking into you, causing you to let out pitiful moans while she spoke. "Dina. How long as that been going on, hm?"

Her fingers were sending waves of pleasure throughout your body, and you couldn't think of a proper response. "W-What?"

"Don't play dumb," Ellie muttered, her head slowly shaking in disapproval as she began to fasten the pace of her fingers thrusting in and out of you. "My god, you look pitiful."

Your moans nearly pulled one out of Ellie as she carefully watched your face contort in pleasure, feeling herself grow more soaked by the second.

"I've never slept with Dina," you managed to say between moans, not that it was Ellie's business in the first place.

"Bullshit," Ellie accused, curling her fingers inside of you. You slowly began to piece it together, and realized that Ellie knew Dina was at your house before she even got there. She just wasn't expecting Dina to still be there when she showed up.

"You don't own me," you snapped back, and Ellie's reaction surprised you. In fact, Ellie was just as surprised. Ellie took pride in being able to make you melt underneath her, no matter how much you claimed to hate each other. You felt her fingers halt inside you before you didn't feel them at all.

You whined, using your elbows to partially sit up. Ellie leaned down, her lower half pressing into yours while she stabilized herself with her left hand on the table. With her right hand, she held her fingers out not even an inch away from your lips, and she could've sworn she saw you shrink.

You knew what she wanted you to do. Without making her tell you what to do, you maintained eye contact with her while you accepted her fingers into your mouth, licking them clean.

"Oh, yes I do," Ellie cockily shot back for your snappy remark. Ellie believed she owned you, and it was easy to understand why. You proved her point for her.

She gave you a small smirk before she quickly sunk down, maintaining eye contact as she knelt before you so she was at eye level with your core. Her grip on your thighs tightened, pulling them further apart before diving her tongue between your slit, lapping up your juices before sliding her tongue up to your clit, flattening her tongue.

You weren't shy when it came to expressing how good she made you feel. Your hands flew to her auburn strands, fingers curling against her scalp. Pretty moans fell from your lips the moment her tongue made contact with your core. Your moans alone were enough to make Ellie cum at the touch when they're because of her.

"Oh, fuck," you whined helplessly as the tip of Ellie's tongue swirled around your sensitive bud skillfully. You could feel an orgasm creeping up on you at an abnormally fast pace. Ellie hummed against you, closing her eyes to savor you, her lips wrapping around your clit before suckling. "F-fuck!"

Ellie nearly moaned from how sweet you tasted, not wanting to stop until you were shaking. You bucked your hips into her face, causing her to wrap her arms around your thighs from underneath, tightly holding them in place.

"Please don't stop," you begged, running your fingers through her hair before fisting it, tipping your head back in pleasure. Of course, Ellie couldn't comply. She captured your sensitive bud between her lips, tenderly sucking one last time before pulling away.

"You taste so fucking sweet. This is all for me?" Ellie asked you, looking up at you with mocking doe eyes, using her right hand to tightly squeeze your inner thigh, her thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit as she continued to half-kneel in front of you. You were close, that was for sure. She could tell.

"Y-yes," you stammered through soft moans, still sitting up on the table with one hand behind you for stabilization, and one in Ellie's hair.

"Good," Ellie muttered with half of her mouth while she attacked your inner thigh with her lips, sucking and nibbling as she quickened the pace of her thumb on your clit. Ellie took every chance she got to mark you up, to remind you and anyone else who got to see those parts of you, that you were claimed.

Catching you off guard, Ellie shoved her tongue back inside of you, lapping at your juices like it was her first time. She wanted all of it, she earned it. Your moans grew much louder than before, desperate for that climax you had been waiting to reach.

"E-Ellie! Fuck," you cried as you laid back down on the table, unable to continue holding yourself up to watch Ellie work her magic. Your orgasm was creeping closer by the second, jumping ahead every time Ellie would give attention to your bundle of nerves.

The moment your legs began to tremble was when Ellie knew you were teetering over the edge, needing that one last push. The grip of Ellie's right hand released from your thigh before you felt two of her fingers teasing your entrance, sinking into your wet folds once again.

Ellie could hair a faint gush every time she pushed her fingers into you, leading her to occasionally moan against your clit. The combination of her tongue and her fingers was overwhelming. You were practically gasping for air, arching your back against the solid wood table. You had no time to warn Ellie before the knot in your stomach unraveled, your orgasm crashing into you.

Even though she couldn't see your face, Ellie could tell you reached your peak due to your staggered moans and how your thighs tightened around her face. Ellie didn't back down, continuing to suck on your clit to overstimulate you as you came down from your high, refusing to be wasteful.

"Oh my-- Ellie!" you cried between moans, trying to use the grip you had on her hair to pull her face away, the overstimulation ready to send you into another high. Despite the sensitivity, you knew you could keep going, but Ellie wasn't even allowing you to take a breath.

As much as Ellie would've wanted to keep going, you were driving her crazy and she was craving her own release.

Ellie's lips gently released from your sensitive bud for the last time before standing, using your thighs as leverage before she peered over you, seeing your flushed cheeks and rosy red lips.

"You made quite the mess," Ellie smirked, noticing the glistening drops of saliva and your fluids on the hardwood floor beneath you, just over the edge of the table. "Get up."

You continued to catch your breath as you sat yourself up, your eyes gliding up to hers. Ellie was also slightly out of breath, her chest heaving as she stared at you in hunger. Feeling you, tasting you, hearing you... it wasn't enough, she needed more.

You waited for Ellie to say something, but you were surprised when Ellie took your hand and started walking you away from the living areas, toward your bedroom. You followed closely behind to avoid tripping, knowing that Ellie only has one goal in mind.

You knew it was going to be a long night.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed my first smut on this account :) pls feel free to send requests and share some love!! ೃ⁀➷

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