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You will never catch me reading fanfic of a real life person EVER

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viking harem but it’s this pretty little princess with her FourBigGuys™️ soap who stole her from her home, price who insists they share (but is the worst at it) and ghost who’s her loyal Dog he literally follows her everywhere especially when she goes to see gaz who always has flowers for her (and then soap shows up out of nowhere to insist no flower is prettier than his their lady

please god this is all I want PLEASE

c/w: poly!141 x fem!reader, smut, cockwarming, public sex, marking

you would be treated like an absolute goddess and the best part about these 4 brutes is they’re customisable! you have one for every occasion!

simon is there for when you need a big scary man to keep you safe from any perverts who may watch you whilst you bathe in the lake :( this menacing warrior standing so he blocks anyone’s view of his pretty lovie in such a vulnerable state

just make sure you repay the favour by letting him put you on your knees and fucking you behind a tree, his cloak thrown on the ground so your skin doesn’t get all muddied and scratched by the elements :(

gaz is your loverboy. he’s there when you need someone to play with your hair and read you poetry. takes you for strolls in the local markets and prepares picnics in the forest

big fan of making love under the moonlight, his hips slowly grinding in to yours as he intertwines your fingers with his. soft gasps escaping your lips every time he hits that one spot inside you and makes you clamp around his cock

johnny is your wildcard. you never quite know what you’re gonna get with him. if you come to him, bored out of your mind, you could either end up absolutely hammered at a local tavern or going for a horse ride through a shallow stream

he’s a very tender lover. he can be very rowdy, grabby even. leaving dark bruises on your hips and waist as he manhandles you into the position he wants but once he’s got all that energy out of his system, he’ll trail soft kisses over each mark. resting his head on your tummy as you gently untangle his braid and play with his hair

and price. john’s lap holds a very special place in your heart as a safe space. a quiet sanctuary where you can unwind. he knows what you need when you pad over to him and climb onto his lap. a pleased grunt leaving his throat as you settle into a comfortable position

will spend hours with you, rubbing his warm hand up and down your back in front of the fireplace until you decide that’s not enough. your hand would trail down his hairy chest, slipping under his trousers to pull out his cock and slip him inside you

everyone knows not to disturb you both during this time, even the boys wait until your both settled before worming their way into the room for some together before bed <3

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thinking about them (the emotionally damaged old men)

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Anyone else get turned off when an x reader is in first person? It might just be me but I feel weird reading fanfic in first person.

It feels like I’m reading a story about the author and the character, not the reader.

#writing #fanfiction

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from april 15-16, i will not be uploading any content or interacting with any posts in respects to the global strike for palestine scheduled on april 15 .

every like this post gets (up to the 15 of april) will be 1AUD donated to care for gaza .

(for any people living in australia, protests in melbourne and sydney may disrupt tram schedules or traffic flow . please be careful. for protesters, stay safe and make sure to pack water , food , and spare cash !!)

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I have to constantly remind myself that not everyone on here is a 21 year old virgin college girl

Y’all be mentioning yalls children, husbands/wives, very adult jobs, n im like DAMN.

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“you’re just so small :(“ “he doesn’t want to hurt ur tiny body” “his fist is bigger than your womb” “his hand is the size of your entire stomach” “:( small baby no hurt by big man soldier”-

eeughhhaa🤨

brotha eeughhhaa🤢🤢🤢👹👹🤕🤒🤒🤮🤧

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Updates are going to be slow (as you can tell) seven more weeks until I graduate high school so I really have to focus on my school work. I LOVE YOU ALL AND THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO STILL CONTINUES TO SUPPORT ME EVEN THOUGH UPDATES ARE SPORADIC!!

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Diehard

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.

Note: No more limp dick erasure. We die like [old] men.

Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse | Word count: 986

Joel just wanted to prove he could fuck like he used to.

He didn’t think he’d almost kill you in the process.

“JOEL!” you screeched, heels digging deep in the mattress as your climax came in seismic waves.

The stimulation was insane. Normally the much-older man would have been down for the count after two—and usually one—big O, but now his chest was heaving, hips relentlessly beating a punishing pace against your own.

Your walls were slick with not only your cum but his, milky ropes of his arousal making for an obscene set of sounds every time his dick slid in and out of your cunt. You could feel his balls tighten and twitch with every forthcoming spurt of him, practically reeling with the pulse of each new sticky gift inside you. His groans rumbled low, but the power and pleasure and outright primal fervor they conveyed were unmistakeable. You had to look down, feebly, to believe it yourself—Joel never fucked his way through your orgasm and his.

Then you felt a palm slide up the back of your head, and Joel held it up to make sure you watched him fuck you.

“J-Joel,” you whimpered, watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a half-dozen times as you did.

“Just a little more, honey,” he murmured against your forehead. The smack of each thrust was dizzying, “Want my pretty girl nice and full’a me before she leaves, okay?”

Joel never could let you head back to college without a few of his loads and a head full of filthy memories—something to hold you over until your next visit home. You would’ve liked to mumble back, ‘Okay,’ but then your pussy clenched around him, and his thrusts grew faster.

“My sweet girl,” he grinned, “She likes that, huh?”

You could scarcely manage a nod. The weight of your head was held fully by him, and if that wasn’t indicative enough of your fucked-out state, your face surely said the rest. When Joel leaned back to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he caught sight of your hooded, glossy stare and almost came all over again. He slowed his pace for once.

Then he dipped a finger between your body and his, just long enough to douse the tip of his digit with cum. He bottomed out inside you, watched you part your lips in a gentle gasp, and pressed his touch to that open space.

It was almost like you didn’t have the strength to suck. You just let him smear the sticky stuff along your lower lip, gaze plastered to his. Then Joel’s cock sank deeper.

“O-ow!” you whined, partly reanimated by the stretch.

“You can take it,” Joel grunted.

The double entendre wasn’t lost on you. You could, and would, take his finger and his cock inside. You suckled dumbly on the cum-drenched fingertip in assent.

But when Joel’s finger popped out of your mouth and his thrusts picked back up, you weren’t entirely convinced you would be able to hold up the second half of that deal.

It wasn’t fair. He took one magic pill, and poof, his dick stayed hard for half the fucking day. You had nothing but your youth and two shaking legs to ensure your survival. When Joel worked his cock back and forth a couple more times and it seemed your body was about ready to scream, you took hold of his biceps and squeezed tight.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

The tip of his cock nicked a soft ridge inside you, and you jolted back. Joel’s palm was still pressed to your head, holding you to him, and his hips had you pinned as well.

Instead of answering, you whimpered.

You didn’t want him to stop, but you also weren’t sure if you could handle any more. Your eyes met his, pleading.

“Can’t what?” Joel pressed, a little more sternly.

Another whimper. Inside, Joel’s cock was rubbing that pleasure point raw, and you felt another climax coming.

“Use your words.”

“Too— too—”

Each new thrust was sending stars before your eyes. Joel was one sick man if he tried to make you talk while he fucked you past the point of all intelligible speech.

“Too what? Tell me, baby.”

You’d get that fucker back someday. Joel just grinned.

“Too much,” you hissed when his hips delivered another mind-numbing push. Then, feeling pleasure threaten to peak at almost a painful degree, “Toomuchtoomucht—”

Joel continued thrusting, knowing damn well you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop. As if to underscore this point, he tipped your head back and made you hold his gaze, features creased with a frown.

“That sure don’t sound like the safe word to me.”

It wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. He didn’t need to tell you twice, or even breathe a second word besides. With one more brush of Joel’s thick, throbbing, implausibly hard cock, he sent you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm of the morning, hitting that spot again and again.

And again.

And again.

Just like before, Joel fucked you through each wave, catching your lips this time to stifle your cries. You might’ve gone blind for a second or two, but that was alright; the pleasure, proximity, and then the sweet, erratic pulse of his cock sending rope after rope of his cum deep inside made the overstimulation worthwhile.

Your body went limp against the bed, held tight in Joel’s grasp, when you felt that sickly sweet dichotomy of soft, tender touches and a cock lodged between your walls that was as hard as it had ever been. Still trying to console you with kisses, still trying to warm you up for another round, perhaps, Joel almost laughed out loud in your mouth when you groaned into his and whispered:

“Please don’t ever take that fucking pill again.”

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why are some tumblr writers becoming so fucking entitled?💀 like why are basically forcing people to reblog your work? Talking about "Only likes will be blocked" just don't post your shit at this point lmaooo 😭😭

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Miller's Girl

Chapter Three - The Meeting

Professor!Joel Miller x Fem!College Student!Reader Very Loosely based off of the new movie, Miller's Girl, starring Jenna Ortega and Martin Freeman

Summary - Your landlord decides to raise the rent in your studio apartment the day you are fired from your job. In need of money, you sign up for a babysitting service your friend suggested. You didn’t expect to get an offer so quickly, and you also didn’t expect to come from your professor.

Series contains - cursing, mature language, teacher x student relationship, age gap, smut, fluff, angst, non beta read chapters and everything else I forgot to mention

Authors Note - after i dont know how long and several fights and bomb and shooting threats at my school, i'm back. I wrote this at 12 am so I hope you can understand it.

College, no outbreak, and modern AU

The Miller residence was a cozy two story home in the suburbs of Austin. The exposed brick fireplace climbed up the side of the black and white home. The green grass was a little too long for the pristine way Professor Miller held himself. 

You walked along the concrete walkway to the front door. You wiped your sweaty hands on your black pants and knocked on the door. You hoped that Professor Miller wouldn’t notice the circles under your eyes or the fact that you wore these exact pants to class two days ago. 

When the door opened you didn’t see Professor Miller towering over you. You didn’t see anything until you looked down a little bit. Standing there in all her might was a little girl no older than thirteen. 

“Sarah! What did I tell you about opening the door without asking who it is?” you heard Professor Millers stern voice yell from somewhere in the distance. 

“Sorry Dad but I think the babysitter is here!” Sarah yelled back. 

Sarah looked at you and shrugged her shoulders before skipping away. You stood still, not wanting to enter the home uninvited. The door was left wide open and you could feel the cold air wafting out of the home. The pay as a professor must be stacked to keep the AC running in the middle of October. 

“What are you just standing there for? Come in,” Sarah says with a hand on her hip. 

“Did your dad say it was okay?” you ask, not wanting to make your professor and future boss angry. 

“Yes, I did.” Professor Miller says from the stairs. 

He’s wearing something much more casual than what you are used to seeing him in. The blue jeans and white shirt that are sticking to his body make him look like he does something physical for work. If you didn’t know any better you would have thought that he was some sort of contractor. 

“Professor I-” “When you’re here it's Joel. Just Joel.”

You nod your head and look at your shoes. Your beat-up Converse aren't exactly appropriate for a meeting with your future employer, but it was these or the flip flops that squeak every time you walk. 

“Go ahead and sit on the couch. Sarah, go to your room.” 

Sarah stomps up the stairs and into her bedroom. Joel walks over to the accent chair across from the couch and sits down. He huffs as his body hits the soft velvet of the furniture. He leans back and spreads his legs, almost as if he were making room for someone to sit on his lap. 

Your eyes roam from his lap to his grey eyes that are staring back at you. You’ve just been caught eyeing your professor like a slut. Whether he minded or not didn’t come up as he gets straight to the point. 

“Look, you are the most qualified person for this job. Your resume and experience are great and you seem like a nice girl, but I don’t know if I can trust you with my daughter.” 

“Look, Joel, I know that my being late to your class could have affected your perception of me, but I think I would be great with your daughter. She was wearing a Madden Boys shirt when I walked in, right? Well, I saw the Madden Boys in concert just last year! I think having a cool babysitter would do her some good.” 

“Did you just call yourself ‘cool’?” Joel asks. 

You open your mouth to say something and then close it as nothing comes out. 

“How about I give you a trial week? You’ll get paid a flat rate and if Sarah likes you then you can stay.” 

“That would be wonderful! Thank you, Joel.” 

Your peppy attitude threw Joel off. When you first arrived at his home, you were cautious and timid but now you were smiley. He has never seen someone with such a bright smile. All thirty-two teeth were on display as you shook his hand and thanked him once again for this opportunity. 

Your hands were also unbelievably soft compared to his calloused hands. The same hands that cramp when they hold a pen for longer than fifteen minutes. 

You leave his home after that, your mysterious scent lingers in the spot where you once sat. Joel jogs up the stairs and almost trips on his daughter who is sitting on the top step. 

“I like her,” Sarah mumbles, her voice barely audible as her face rests on her knee. 

“Well, we’ll see about that kid,” Joel says as he walks to his office and closes the door behind him. 

As much as Joel wants to not like you. As much as Joel wants to blame you for being late to his class, he can’t. He could tell how sincere you were when you apologized to him. Your soft eyes begged for his forgiveness while he tried his best to not look into them. It was like a siren's call, slowly luring him into a trap that he didn’t want to be in again. He loved one woman and she left him alone with a baby and no money. 

The optional homework he assigned burned a hole in his desk. The key word was ‘optional’ and still almost all of his students did it. As much as he loved it when his students took advantage of every opportunity they got, he hated that he had to grade the work. 

After almost a hundred essays on why Victorian architecture is important, Sarah knocked on his door. She opened the door and placed a basket of cookies on his desk. The basket looked like Easter came very late. There was plastic wrap covering every inch and crevice of the pink and white basket. Pink and blue bows stuck to the top and bottom of the basket. Inside the basket held what looked like two dozen cookies. 

“The babysitter came by and dropped these off. She said that there's a note in there but only you can read it.” 

Joel peered around the basket for a sign of the note but couldn’t find it anywhere.

“Can you hurry up and open it? I really want a cookie.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her weight on one hip. 

“Sarah Miller, are you rushing me?” Sarah nodded her head. Joel shook his with a smile on his face. He loved that his daughter felt like she could be sassy with him. This type of banter made him feel like he was a good father. 

Unwrapping the basket was Joel's idea of hell. The texture of the wrap felt weird under Joel's hands and the bows and glitter fell to the floor, making a mess. A pink bow fell into his black coffee which made him groan. He would have to make another. 

Sarah snatched two cookies and skipped her way to her room. Coincidentally, those two cookies were hiding the note that he was looking for. The small white square of construction paper housed five words. In loopy writing, it said ‘I hope you like cookies.’ It was so simple yet it made Joel close his eyes and rest his head on the back of his chair.

#joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fic #tlou

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Hey guys, after this week I’ll start posting again. Life’s been busy and AP Macro is kicking my ass. 🤓

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Hey everyone, sorry I’ve been inactive for so long. There has been multiple fights at my school (10+) and a shooting threat in the past 24 hours. I’ll try to be more active, but I’m kind of focusing on trying to survive at an American public school :/

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I could seriously just gobble him up ngl, like this man is just TOO damn fine . .

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My mutual is too talented 🫶🏿

John Wayne (Bandit cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader) Part 1

Hiii! Inspired by the song of the same name by lady Gaga, and these two(flash warning for this one) edits of Predo Pascal(🤭) Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, making out, pet names, Miguel being a big ass flirt, slight nsfw but no smut. Mentions of hanging and death Lowkey highkey very cheesy and cliché but in a fun way.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Word count: 2.1k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

Bandits, cowboys, shoot outs, saloon fights, all things you’ve heard rumors about the Wild West while you lived in the city. Your classmates telling you stories they’ve heard from a long distance relative or from a friend of a friend of a friend.

But as you sit down at your fathers office at his new job, you couldn’t help but think that all those stories were nothing more than that. Stories. Lame, boring, make-believe stories. Who would have know that being the sheriff’s daughter in a dum-fuck nowhere town would have been so uneventful, on an exciting day, he’d lock up a drunk. You wish your parents had just stayed on the east coast as you let out an exasperated huff, dropping your pencil on your school workbook, and you lean back in his chair, letting your eyes wander to the ceiling.

“Alright O’Hara,” The muffled sound of your father’s voice was heard from the outside of the door, followed by some clinking. Causing you to sit in the chair properly before he appeared through the door. “Ima need you to sit tight in this cell for a few days ‘til the state sheriff is able to get down here and give me your reward money.”

To your surprise, a man in cuffs came through the door first. Your eyes widened in silent curiosity as you studied the new mystery man. You've never seen him in town before, because you were certain you would have remembered a man as handsome as him.

He’s getting arrested by my father what the fuck is wrong with me?

Your father didn’t acknowledge your presence, but that didn’t stop the other man’s eyes from falling onto you immediately. The definition of tall, dark and handsome, a towering frame, tan skin, semi-permanent wrinkles in between his brows and at the end of his lips, in indication he scowls too much, and his muscles, they could easily snap you in half if he wanted to. Dark worn out blue jeans, dust brown cowboy boots, a black hat, a flannel that emphasizes his arms with ever movement and-fuck he caught you staring. Warmth flared all over your face as you finally tore your gaze from his, barely catching the small smirk and hmph he let out in amusement. How could he not? When his captor’s daughter is checking him out.

It seems your father didn’t catch your wandering eyes, but he sure as hell caught his mischievous look in his, the rage quickly filling his face as he tossed the larger man in the cell quickly after taking off his cuffs. Locking him in before pointing an accusing finger at him with his right hand, while his left gripped the iron bars tight enough for his knuckles to turn white as he spoke. “Don’t speak to my daughter, don’t look at my daughter, don’t even think about my daughter.” He hissed the threat, before turning over to face you, visibly relaxing as his tone softened. “Ima step out of the room to make a few calls. Yell if he causes you any trouble darlin’.” You nodded, your fathers eyes traveled down to your abandoned work, “And finish your school work, you’re lucky to be attending college.” He added before leaving the room, an uncomfortable silence falling on you and the unknown crook. Keeping your eyes glued to your notebook despite your mind being elsewhere.

“So.” He finally spoke after cleaning his throat, moving to lean against the iron bars of his enclosure. “What’s your name preciosa?” He asked, his head tilting and his lips twitched upwards as he watched you. (Sweetie)

“My father told you not to talk to me.” You fumbled out almost too quickly, the words coming out rushed and almost panicked much to your dismay. Your face warmed up once more as you could feel his eyes bore into you, your eyes remained downwards, your hands balled into fist on your lap as you try not to think about him watching you as if you were in a cage and not him. You were certain if you met his gaze your combust into flash hotter than the sun.

He let out an unamused laugh, shifting his head forward as three of his fingers went to grab the rim of his cowboy hat, taking it revealing his disheveled brown locks, slightly wavy from being covered.

“Does it look like I’m the type to listen to authority, sweetheart?” God the nicknames were making you weak in the knees.

“Well, no-“

“Come on gorgeous,” He cooed, “indulge me.”

You bit on your bottom lip as you mentally battled with the idea, your father probably wouldn’t like the idea, but if it’s just your name, then what’s the harm right?

With a small sigh, you finally gain the courage to meet his gaze, almost dropping it immediately when you notice the look in his eyes. It reminded you of the way your kitten looks at a loose mouse. Like he would pounce on you if he wasn't confined.

“It’s…It’s (Y/N).” You finally utter, it came out meek, soft, you hated how it almost made you sound weak. His brow raised as he brought his hand up to cup around his ear, a silent way of asking you to speak up, but you could tell by the way his smirk pulled up he definitely heard you. With a huff and an eye, you repeat your name, with more confidence this time.

He released a low whistle as his hand dropped again, “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to giggle at the compliment or roll your eyes at the cheesiness, his accident drawing out a bit more while emphasizing beautiful both times. You went with both.

“What’s your name?”you asked, getting up from the chair you were sitting in and making your way towards the cell, not too close but close enough for him to reach for your hand and gently raise it towards his lips, placing a gentle kiss on it, it made your whole body tingle as he threw you a quick wink and a playful smirk.

“Names’ Miguel O’Hara, but you can call me Mig.”

—

Your father had informed you that Miguel would be stuck with him for a few weeks, due to the state chief being preoccupied with the bounty on Jesse James’s head, they were close to changing him apparently and he had all his attention on him at the moment. When Miguel was informed he only scoffed and grumbled, seemingly moody that he wasn’t top priority. You found it funny, it’s as if he wanted a bigger prize money attached to him, coming out a few thousand short of the other man.

You would never admit it, not to your friends, not to your mother and especially not to your father, but you couldn’t help but grow a bit fond of the cowboy. It’s cliché you know, the daughter of a cop falling for the outlaw but it’s hard not too when he’s always complimenting you or calling you pet names, and he knew how to hold a good conversation.

You’ve never acted out too much with your parents before, always did good in school, never snuck out, never went out to meet boys that didn’t ask for permission beforehand. So when you caught yourself sneaking at your father’s work keys in the late hours of the night to sneak out of the house and into the station to talk to the man whose mere existence cost more then the pure-breed horse you took from the stall every night to visit, it was invigorating but also utterly terrifying in the chances of you getting caught. Despite your initial fear, it didn’t mean you didn’t start to get sloppy.

Both with sneaking out, and with the cowboy.

—

A yawn escaped Miguel’s chapped lips as he lazily rubbed his face, trying to fight off sleep as he shifted around in his overly small bed, the only light source he had was the beams of pale moonlight that was seeping from his barred window. Heavy eyelids began to close when they suddenly snapped open at the familiar sound of keys jangling and the rattling of the doorknob opening.

“Took you long enough gatita, though you forgot about me.” Miguel spoke as he watched you with once tired eyes that were now filling with a different emotion as he watched you place your hand lamp on your father’s desk before you head over to him, keys in hand. Although the words seem like a joke, his tone was low and anything but humorous. (Kitten)

“Had to make sure my family was asleep.” You attempted to justify yourself as you unlock his door, not even getting a second to put the keys back in your dress pocket before Miguel grabbed you and pulled you into his room, his mouth greeting yours in a hot needy kiss. The keys drop to the wooden floor with a loud clunk as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and your fingers tug at the small curls at the back of his neck, only causing him to let out a groan at the pleasurable pain.

You too have been at it for about a week now, ever since your father informed you that the state sheriff would finally head down to your town to take Miguel of of his hands, he would arrive tomorrow morning, meaning tonight was your last with Miguel. He would be taken back to the state capital to be hung the following week.

“Ima miss these sweet lips darlin’…” He mumbled between peppering kisses down your jawline and towards your collarbone. A whine leaving your swollen lips you felt his large hands undo the buttons that cover your chest, leaving another dark hickey on you , before stopping for a second to admire his work. Seven hickeys, one for each day.

Your hands followed his lead, going under his sleeping shirt, wandering against his toned stomach, before he quickly pulled it off, turning you both around so your back was against the wall.

“Can’t get enough of you...”

“Me either…”

“Don’t forget about me (Y/N).”

“I won’t Miguel.”

Your lips quickly reunited with his as he started to drag the cotton fabric down from around your shoulders when the sound of the door office slamming opened caused you both to jump away from each other, a startled yelp escaped from you as you go to over your exposed breast.

Your eyes quickly darted to see who had opened the door, only to felt a lump build in your throat at the sight of your seething father, red face with anger as his shoulders rise and fell rapidly with each erratic breath he took.

“I thought I told you to stay away from my daughter!” He roared as he started to near the cell, making you quickly exit it, closing the door before standing in front of it so he couldn’t get to Miguel. “And you.” His eyes dropped to meet yours, anger, disappointment, betrayal, emotions you’ve never seen him directly towards you, it only made your throat tighter and your stomach drop. “I expect better from you. Do you know how many trains and banks he’s robbed! How many people he’s killed! I don’t want anyone like that near my daughter-“

“But father, I love him!”

Love. You’ve never once said that about a man in your life, you blurted it out without so much as a second thought. But it felt right.

This only made your father scoff. Not even caring about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You don’t know a thing about love.” He muttered in a low tone that made a shiver run down your back, his eyes narrowing down at you before gripping your forearm as he began to drag you out of his office, despite your best attempts to pull away from him. “It doesn’t matter either way. Tomorrow he’ll be gone, and next week he’ll be dead. You’ll never see him again.” He finished as he dragged you fully out of the building and back towards home, not showing one ounce of pity despite your cries making his heart ache.

—

Once he was alone, Miguel ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He couldn’t even have one last night with you before he’d leave your life forever. A heavy sigh turning into a panic curse when he went to lean against the stall door and to find it not support his body weight as it usually would. Stumbling a bit to regain his balance, it only took him a few seconds to realize that, in your father’s angry rampage, he had forgotten to relock his cell.

—

Taglist: @loser-alert

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara

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Miller's Girl

Chapter Two - Professor Miller

Professor!Joel Miller x Fem!College Student!Reader Very Loosely based off of the new movie, Miller's Girl, starring Jenna Ortega and Martin Freeman

Summary - Your landlord decides to raise the rent in your studio apartment the day you are fired from your job. In need of money, you sign up for a babysitting service your friend suggested. You didn’t expect to get an offer so quickly, and you also didn’t expect to come from your professor.

Series contains - cursing, mature language, teacher x student relationship, age gap, smut, fluff, angst, non beta read chapters and everything else I forgot to mention

Authors Note - Sorry for the late update. My mom took my computer away and I physically cannot write on my phone.

College, no outbreak, and modern AU

Joel had been looking for a new babysitter ever since the last one had left. She was an older lady who had lost her husband in the Vietnam War. Joel respected her until she quit unexpectedly the Saturday evening before Joel had a big dinner with the president of the university. He had to beg Tommy and Maria to watch Sarah for the night.

You were the first person that caught his eye on the website. Your experience was subpar and your bio was brief but it contained just enough detail to get him interested. When he scrolled to see what else you did outside of babysitting, his smile fell from his face. You were a student and not just any student. You were a student at the university he taught at. He didn’t want to risk his employment for a simple babysitter so he kept scrolling. Each profile after yours looked plain and simple, something he didn’t like. No one seemed qualified enough to take care of his beloved Sarah except you.

His email to you was like your bio, brief but it contained just enough detail. He signed his name at the bottom and prayed that his position didn’t scare you away. He needed you to agree to this. You were perfect for the job. You were young and could connect with Sarah more than the last babysitter did. Judging from your bio, you were also smart. You seemed like a great role model for Sarah.

Your response came an hour later. Joel chewed on his bottom lip in anticipation of what the email would say. He let out a sigh of relief when you agreed to become Sarah’s babysitter.

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One word that you would use to describe yourself would be unlucky. You were sure that whoever worked high up in the sky had it out for you.

Your counselor called you into his office early Saturday morning to discuss your future after college. You told him that you hoped to become an interior designer once you graduate. He then asked why you didn’t major in interior design instead of architecture. You then told him that he should have asked you this when you were a freshman. You could tell that your counselor wanted to roll his eyes but he kept his composure. He clicked and scrolled away on his computer while you sat there in silence.

“You’re ten credits under the required amount to graduate,” your counselor said.

“What?” The scream you let out contrasted the monotone voice your counselor spoke in.

Your counselor let out a breath through his nose. “Look, you can either graduate next year or you can take another required class for your major.”

“But I thought that I completed all the required classes for my major? It’s the middle of the first semester and I’m pretty sure all the classes are full.”

“There’s one class open with two seats left. I can put you in that class and you’ll start on Monday. You’ll have to catch up on work but i’m pretty sure you’ll be fine.” Your counselor looks you up and down and continues, “You don’t seem like the type to get out much.”

Your left eye twitched at the comment. It was true, but he had no right to say that. You could report him to his superiors but that would be too much paperwork.

“Who teaches the class?” you asked. You hoped that at least the teacher was nice. Maybe they would be a little bit nicer than the asshole in charge of your future at this school.

“Professor Miller.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

Mondays were never Joel’s favorite time of the week. Sarah had soccer on Mondays and Fridays which meant that he had to get up extra early to pack her bags. The last time she packed her own bag, she forgot her ball and her cleats. When the babysitter starts everything will be a lot easier for him.

A new student has just been added to his roster. Never in his twenty-five years of teaching has a student been added to his class in the middle of the semester. Just another paper to read and another packet of homework to grade. This is exactly what he needed! It’s not like he didn’t have a twelve-year-old daughter to raise all by himself.

The campus is stunningly beautiful in the mornings. The sun shines on the trees and grass, illuminating the green blades and leaves. The school spends a lot of money on its campus. They pride themselves on having one of the prettiest campuses in all of Texas.

Joel’s lecture room isn’t too far from where he parked. It’s nice outside. The October breeze sweeps his hair back and he has to smooth it down with his hands. The brown messenger bag slung around his shoulders dangles and hits against his outer thigh as he walks. Contrary to popular belief, Joel isn’t mean or rude. He’s just a simple man who prefers to have a little privacy once in a while. He is also tough on his students because he wants them to succeed. Professors who are “easy” get on his nerves. They crave the respect of their students rather than earning it. Joel has worked too damn long and hard to care about what his students think about him.

His lecture room is cold. Not the usual sixty degrees he likes to keep it at, but more like a chilly forty degrees. He can see his breath flow out in front of him like a ghost. He knows that his students hate being in a cold classroom, but none of them are brave enough to tell him what to do.

Students start pouring in and sitting in their usual seats. They can immediately tell the temperature difference. They hug their arms closer and rock their bodies, trying to preserve warmth.

The small hand of the clock hovers over the number nine and Joel walks over to the door getting ready to lock it. Just as his hand hovers over the knob, the door is thrown open and Joel stumbles back.

You enter the classroom, eyes wide. You look around at the vast array of students already sitting down in their seats. They all look at you with a look of horror. You don’t understand why they are looking at you like that until you turn around.

Professor Miller is standing at his full height, his arms are crossed, and he looks like he’s about to explode with anger. Then, he sees your face and realizes who you are. He must have recognized you from the website because his shoulders relax and he nods his head to the sea of students, prompting you to sit down.

The only seat open is in the back of the room. You walk through the sea of students all looking at you. Some look at you with a look of sympathy while others look at you with disgust.

You make yourself as small as possible when you reach your seat. Once you reach inside your bag, you realize that you have forgotten your laptop on your bed. No wonder your bag felt lighter today than it usually does.

You pull a pen and paper out of your bag and begin scribbling as much information as you can. Your usual neat handwriting looks more like chicken scratch as you try and copy down information thrown at you by Professor Miller. It would have been a lot easier if he talked a little slower.

Two hours have flown by and students practically skip out of the class, happy to escape the cold. Thanks to your seat being in the back, you were one of the last people to get to the door. Before you can exit, Professor Miller stands in front of you, his arms crossed once again.

“This was strike number one,” he said. You gulped and opened your mouth to explain yourself, but he put his hand up. Your mouth closed shut and you nodded your head.

The rest of the day, you walked with your head held low. It wasn’t until you got back to your apartment that you finally felt better. Being home meant that there wouldn’t be anyone there to judge you or give you dirty looks.

You flopped onto your bed. Bill went up in the air and fell back down onto the bed. Bill could sense your distress, so he curled up next you and the two of you fell asleep.

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