#in the meantime mute me

[peterthepark]

i can’t even rejoice for the characters that did make it out alive because i’m absolutely wrecked that the showrunners did that to such an amazing, loved character like ??? there was no way they didn’t know how popular he was gonna be and even then, what is the fucking point of killing characters off without purpose ??? fuck being a hero, steve literally said it 😟 was it all for shock value ??? sure. was it necessary ??? hell no. fuckerz did it anyways though.

#reign talks #im sorry #ill shut up soon but #in the meantime mute me #stranger things spoilers

[tinogiehd]

Just kill yourself, honestly

have you ever felt the warm embrace of a woman. have you ever felt the gentle caress of sunlight on your skin .

#FYI I have a tag where you can mute me talking about fics #you can go find it yourself it’s called fic talk #in the meantime #please send your thoughts and prayers to my friends who I hold at gunpoint to read my writing #bait anon #aya asks

[pirateprincessblog]

ateez nsfw links 🫧

Park Seonghwa

Park Seonghwa loves to go live and entertain his fans. All those legos, food, talk and more have you sighing of boredom in his hotel room. You are sitting on Hongjoong’s bed, behind Seonghwa’s screen, in a not so innocent position. You make him stutter in front of the camera, and you laugh every time he has to stop talking for a moment. When you stretch your body and crack your back in a doggy position, he is in a hurry to end his live and join you on that bed.

“I could turn that live back on just like that, with the camera facing you.”

Kim Hongjoong

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t necessarily require much attention. He is very much satisfied with you squirming under him. You are tipsy in the passenger seat, teasing Hongjoong about the couple you saw fucking in the club toilet and how it turned you on. He listens to you rant about how fast he fingered her and how loud she was moaning over the music. At some point, you even say you wish you could cum so many times in a row. And so while you beg him to stop, but don’t shout the safe word yet, he is completely focused in the way his knuckles disappear inside of you, his knees holding your legs apart and tongue on your clit.

“How many more until I prove my point?”

Jeong Yunho

Jeong Yunho looked absolutely dashing at today’s stage, and you’re sick and tired of scrolling through all the husband Yunho tweets from fans. You are jealous that they got to see him in that shirt and that hair before you. You’ve gotten all dolled up, waiting for him to arrive, but in the meantime, you’ve seen quite a few edits from today that made you pissed off again. So when he comes back home and realises why you’re running from his affection, he has to take the matter in his own hands and show you that only you get to feel the shirt on him.

“Jealous of your husband’s fans, when you’re such a pretty wife?”

Kang Yeosang

Kang Yeosang wants to make your first time absolutely perfect. He takes his time making out with you, feeling your body up, gently rubbing your most sensitive spots, until you are dripping through your panties and staining his trousers. But when he sees that you are not quite ready, he takes a different approach, one that is pleasurable for both of you.

“You’re so good for me.”

Choi San

Choi San is a gamer, and sometimes it pisses you off that he spends so much time sitting at the computer. You confront him, not realising that he hasn’t disconnected from Discord yet. He bites the inside of his cheek, containing his amusement mixed with anger as you go off and his friends laugh through the headphones. Once you’re finished, he mutes himself, throwing the headphones aside and pushing you over the desk. At some point, he unmutes himself, just to show his friends that you’re good at yelling about other things too.

“Yell at me some more, I didn’t quite get it the first time.”

Song Mingi

Song Mingi enjoys all the freebies you get as an influencer. From free snacks, free movie tickets, to perfumes, and lingerie he gets to see on you and rip off you. However, todays package was different. They were temporary long lasting tattoos, and he remembers you telling him how attractive you think they are. He witnessed you complimenting Wooyoung and Hongjoong, but he wasn’t quite yet willing to get one himself. So when he got permission from you to open the package while you aren’t home, he prepared a little surprise that had you gasping when you arrived home. Needless to say, he was enjoying the attention you were giving him.

“All the way down, like a good girl.”

Jung Wooyoung

Jung Wooyoung is happy his partner has finally debuted. He is also aware of the mature concept the company has decided to give you. You didn’t show him any songs or outfits until the album and MV came out. But before that, you performed it in front of fans on the show he’s been on countless times. He wasn’t quite prepared for that mature. Stockings, a leather dress, platform boots, and dark smeared lipstick, along with the upbeat song and dance moves, almost gave him a heart attack while standing aside and watching live. And yet you wonder how you ended up with the fishnet gloves in your mouth back in his hotel room, his hands firm on your waist.

“Fuck noona, giving me a VIP show? Think I deserve it? That I’m your biggest most loyal fan?”

Choi Jongho

Choi Jongho gives his all when he performs. How funny that a video of just him sitting during Cyberpunk went viral. Now, whenever he sits, you get horny. Especially with that focused, half angry look on his face. You haven’t said anything yet, but when he comes home from practice and plops down on the couch, throwing his head over the backrest of it, you lose it. You get on his lap, unable to control yourself. He is confused, but doesn’t complain. Neither do you when he plunges his cock into you, looking into your eyes with the same stare as in the video.

“I’ll take good care of you.”

#ateez #ateez imagine #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #seonghwa smut #hongjoong smut #yeosang smut #san smut #yunho smut #jongho smut #wooyoung smut #mingi smut #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #mingi x reader #yeosang x y/n #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #choi san x reader #yunho x reader #choi jongho x reader #jongho x reader #ateez scenarios

[venusbby]

"okay, this is so not fair." isagi finally spoke, words tumbling out of his mouth in a manner that made him glow with frustration.

you looked at him for a second before turning your face to look back at the TV screen, growing confused as to what he was talking about.

just a few minutes ago, isagi had come back into the living room after freshening up. he was out with his friends for a few hours before, so you figured you would watch the match on your own— wearing the team's jersey and sitting in front of the big screen with a bunch of snacks surrounding you.

however, as soon as isagi had entered, he couldn't help but let his jaw fall open at the sight of you in a jersey which was a different color.

a different name and a different number.

oh, hell no.

"what's not fair, the game just started. are you already criticising other players?" you giggled, grabbing the can of soda to take another sip, eyes still focused on the screen as the team you were rooting for seemed to have possession of the ball for the meantime.

"no, im talking about what you're wearing."

there it is.

you sighed, tightening your lips to control the laugh that threatened to escape. of course.

"come on, aren't you and rin friends now? im just supporting the team." you teased a little more. isagi gritted his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought of the proper words to use— otherwise he might say some mean things about the name on your back.

"i don't care. you never do all this for me."

now you finally let a laugh out. he was just so cute.

"babe, that's not true."

"i've never seen you in my jersey during my matches?"

"that's because you were miles away from me, you idiot. how are you going to see me if you're playing?"

"that's- that's not—"

"i wear your jersey all the time." you deadpanned, muting the TV. isagi's face softened just a little when you turned to look at him. "like, all the time."

lips in a subtle pout, he shrugged it off. "whatever."

you reached out and cupped his face, speaking in a voice that made you sound like you were talking to a child. "next time, i will send you evidence. i promise."

he groaned, guiding your hands off of his face and now placing his own on either side of your face, lips curving into that snarky grin that you loved. "then why don't you start with the evidence now, baby? go change, please."

#isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi #blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock manga #blue lock headcanons #blue lock #isagi yoichi x you #isagi yoichi fluff #yoichi isagi x reader #bllk isagi #blue lock isagi

[poisonousgirlie]

Sparks: part II (Luke Castellan x Daughter of Zeus! Reader)

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reading and supporting part I of Sparks, it means so much to me. Here is the second part, it's a bit shorter than the first, but I wanted to get this out so I can start working on the third and final part for everyone. Also, I'm a sucker for a slow burn I'm SORRY.

Word count: 1,271

Summary: Reader helps Luke deal with the aftermath of his quest, and grapples with her own feelings.

part I

Luke’s quest took a huge toll on him. His anger, pain, and humiliation combined, putting him in a pretty bad place when he returned to Camp Half-Blood. You had been worried sick the entire time he was gone, constantly filled with nervous energy and biting people’s heads off more than you ever would under normal circumstances. The moment Annabeth burst into your cabin, her normally cool demeanor disrupted, you knew in your gut that something was wrong. She only managed to get his name out of her mouth before you were running, sprinting at top speed, the wind propelling you forward, and everyone else out of your way. You burst through the front door of the Big House, skidding to a halt as you nearly ran into Chiron. The centaur’s face was grim as he redirected you to the infirmary. Your heart dropped, and in your panic, you retained little memory of the moments it took for you to get to him after that. He was sitting on one of the cots, Lee Fletcher standing in front of him. You approached him from the back, unable to see his face as you stepped into the room fully. Your body relaxed slightly as you deduced that he wasn’t dying, but instinctively something felt wrong. His shoulders were hunched, and his face turned slightly downwards, a stark contrast to the Luke you knew, always keeping his head high, shoulders back, all confidence and charisma. Lee noticed you first, saying your name in what sounded like relief. To both of your surprise, Luke stiffened at this, almost curling into himself more at your arrival. You approached him carefully, noting his tattered and blood-stained clothes with muted alarm but little surprise. As you rounded the bed to stand in front of him, Lee cleared his throat and stepped away. The dark-haired boy before you refused to look up at you for a moment. He only lifted his face to meet your eyes when you gently tilted his chin upwards, sliding your hand over his jaw to cradle his face as you took in his new scar. You carefully kept your face neutral; you knew Luke well enough to know that he would despise pity from you more than anything else. “Are you all right?” you questioned, your voice betraying you slightly as it shook a little. It pained you to your very soul to see him like this; you hated to see him injured, but more than anything, it was the empty look in his eyes that killed you. A scar would heal, his face just as handsome and striking as it had been, if not more so. What mattered to you was the boy underneath all of that, the one whom you could tell was on the verge of a very dark place. To anyone else, he may just seem a little down, nursing his injuries and stewing as anybody would when something did not go as planned. You, however, knew how much succeeding on this quest meant to him, something you could easily deduce had not happened. His voice was convincing as he assured you of his physical well-being, and you opted not to push him right away for any details. He would share when he was ready. In the meantime, you resolved to stay by his side, providing him with a steadfast source of support as he dealt with the fallout of the failed quest.

It took weeks before Luke was fully open to talking to you. You had coaxed pieces of the story out of him, careful not to push too hard in fear of forcing him back into his shell as opposed to opening up. You were sure to avoid showing any pity— that was not what he needed, and he was already perceiving too much of it from the campers around him. In truth, you didn’t pity him; you felt for him. The situation sucked, but he was not some moping defeated loser. He was still Luke Castellan, the same strong heroic leader you adored and looked up to so much; he had just been dealt a crappy hand, by a crappy dad. When he finally was ready to talk about how he was feeling, you were ready. It was late one night; he had snuck into your cabin after lights out, exhausted from a long day of counselor duties and emotional labor related to his quest. You two had yet to officially cross the blurry boundary between friends and more, but it was nothing unusual when he shucked off his shoes and hoodie and collapsed into your bed with you. He rested his head on your stomach, his body slotted between your legs, as he allowed himself to relax for the first time all day. You gently untangled his messy curls with your fingers, providing quiet support, and chiming in periodically as he spoke, getting everything off his chest. “I’m angry, sweetheart. Hermes ignored me my entire life, finally acknowledging me just to send me on a pointless quest I didn’t even complete. And now people look at me like a kicked fucking puppy. I can’t stand it.” His voice was furious, but you did not miss the tinge of pain underneath the acid in his tone. You allowed him to rant; it was better he shared his feelings than bottle them up and put them towards negative things. You talked him through it for hours, being the sounding board he needed to work through his tangled mess of emotions. Eventually, he felt slightly better, which in turn gave you some relief. It was early morning when the two of you finally went to sleep, limbs tangled together, and hearts slightly lighter than they were before.

Months had passed, and Luke was getting closer and closer to his old self, his confidence back, even if some of it was faked. His laugh had returned, and so had his vigor for training and helping the kids. You were positive your heart was going to beat out of your chest with happiness and pride when you saw him one day, laughing loudly as he played with some of the youngest campers in the arena. He had been giving them very beginner sword lessons, and after a while of practice, the littles had rebelled and were now climbing all over him like a human jungle gym. His tall frame bore their weight easily, letting a little boy dangle his entire weight off one arm as if he weighed nothing at all. Watching Luke do anything was attractive if you were being honest with yourself. Even more so since he returned from his quest. The time he was gone was the longest you had been without him since arriving at camp, and it made you realize how integral he was to your life. You could function without him, but it was so much better when he was there next to you. You had been grappling with your feelings for a while, weighing the pros and cons of pushing past the point of friendship. You had recently come to terms with the fact that you were stupidly in love with your best friend, due in part to the interference of your close friend and daughter of Aphrodite: Silena Beauregard, who had more or less knocked some sense into you. Your feelings were clear to you, his, however, were not, and you did not know how to proceed. The signals were confusing; people who did not know you would assume that the two of you were already together. You certainly acted like it in many ways. You were always together and definitely did not shy away from touching each other. Seeing him with an arm casually slung across your shoulders or around your waist was not uncommon, and neither was witnessing you fix his hair, dust off his shirt, or touch him in other casual small ways that denoted the level of comfort the two of you shared. Despite all of this, he had never made a move. There were countless times, late at night alone in your cabin (which you literally had all to yourself??), when you were sure he might kiss you, but he always looked away at just the last second, smoothly changing the subject and ending whatever moment had taken place. It started to weigh on you a bit, and there had been a few times now when you cried to Silena about the pain of loving your best friend in silence. The ache in your chest when you looked at him felt like you had been stabbed with a celestial bronze knife, one that was slowly being twisted the longer you remained in your state of uncertainty. It was never a doubt to you that he cared about you; first and foremost, he was your friend and an amazing one at that. It was the in-between and the wishing for more that caused the damage. Outside of you and Luke, anyone with eyes could see that you were hopelessly in love. The way your eyes lingered on his form, and vice versa, conveyed all that needed to be said; it was only the two of you standing in the way.

A/N: I'm choosing not to have Luke side with Kronos in this because I am choosing peace for myself. Again I apologize for any errors, and hope you liked part II!

xx poisonousgirlie

#luke castellan fluff #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fandom #percy jackson fanfiction

[tigertales9]

Hard Reset X Sneak Peek 👀

I'm still putting the finishing touches on the next Hard Reset chapter. This chapter will take us back to the city for the week 8 lead-up and win against the 49ers. There's also some Halloween night action. 😏

The holidays are cutting into my writing time, but I hope to get the full chapter up soon. In the meantime, I thought I'd offer a tiny sneak peek.

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+

Time/Place: Sunday, Oct. 22, 2023 / Cincinnati, Ohio

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You shimmy into a slinky white t-shirt that's barely long enough to hide your pink lace panties; you check your reflection in the mirror before clicking the bathroom light off and walking into the bedroom, your gaze taking in the delicious sight of your husband sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but black boxer briefs.

You turn your bedside lamp down to its dimmest setting and slide into bed beside him, smiling when he rolls over onto his stomach, a sure sign that he wants his back scratched. "You tired?" you ask, rolling onto your side to face him before trailing your fingernails up and down the muscular expanse of his bare back.

"Yeah," he mutters, his voice muffled by his pillow. "It was a looong day."

"It was," you agree. "Sooo much football," you grumble playfully, laughing when he raises his head and gives you a look. "Sorry," you grin. "I know you love it, but several hours of nonstop football is kind of a lot."

"Good thing you and my mom spent a couple of those hours talking about how to decorate the lakehouse."

"That was fun," you giggle. "How many times did you almost refer to our bye week getaway as a honeymoon?"

"Several times," he admits.

"Me too. We gotta be careful or your parents will figure out we're married sooner than we want."

"For real."

"They were super surprised you bought the lakehouse. I think they were a little upset you didn't let them in on the secret, but they got over it pretty quick."

"They can't keep a secret for shit, and I wanted it to be a surprise for you."

"It was an amazing surprise," you sigh. "I still can't quite believe it." You push up into a sitting position and dig your fingers into his throwing shoulder, smiling when he hisses in pleasure. "You wanna massage?" you ask, straddling his waist when he gives you a muffled "yes, please."

You rub his neck and shoulders for several minutes before he breaks the silence.

"Watching all that football today got me hype. I can't wait to get back on the field."

"Your calf feeling good?"

"Yeah, as good as it's felt all season. I pushed it hard in my last few work-outs, and it responded well."

"Time to unleash hell," you tease, smiling at his gruff "damn right" followed by a groan as you slide a hand into his hair and lightly scratch your fingernails over his scalp.

You continue to scratch and rub him for a few more minutes before he speaks up.

"Do you feel different now that we're married?"

"Yes," you answer, after considering the question for a bit. "I was already fully committed to spending the rest of my life with you, but it feels different now that it's official, even if it's just our secret for now."

He starts to roll over onto his back, and you rise up on your knees to make it easier for him; he waits until you settle your weight back down on him before speaking.

"All the negative thoughts in my head are muted when I'm with you. That's always been true, but even more so now that we're married."

"I'm glad." You give him a smile before furrowing your brow. "Wait … what negative thoughts are you having?"

He takes a deep breath before answering. "Just worried about getting healthy in time to save the season. We've gotta come out swinging against the 49ers and the Bills. If we drop those two games, shit's gonna be bleak." He slides his eyes closed as he continues. "Also, I'm not loving the background noise."

"Background noise?"

"Overrated. Overpaid." He makes a stank face as he plows ahead. "I know what some folks are saying about me."

"You've been playing hurt all season!" you protest, your blood pressure rising as you lean forward and lock eyes with him. "And let me tell you something about those loudmouths spewing all that 'background noise' …"

"Babe?" he interrupts.

"Yeah?"

"I'm worried about saving the season, but the background noise doesn't really bother me. That kind of shit just fuels me to be better. I shouldn't have lumped the two together."

"Oh … okay." You roll your shoulders to relieve some tension, raising an eyebrow at his bemused look. "What?"

"You were about to unleash hell," he teases, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him.

"I get a little worked up when people shit-talk you, okay?" you chirp. "Most of those loudmouths hate you because you play for a rival team and/or because their woman wants to bang you. Simple as that." You give an emphatic nod as you finish your statement.

"Feel better now?" he asks, wrapping both hands around your thighs and giving a gentle squeeze.

"Yes. I needed to get that off my chest."

Y'all laugh together for a bit before you quiet down. You eventually drop your gaze from his face down to his broad shoulders and muscular chest, lingering there for a bit before moving farther south; you reach a hand out and ghost a fingertip over his blonde treasure trail, your eyes going wide when his flat stomach caves in under your touch.

"Did you just suck in your stomach?" you ask.

"Maybe," he mumbles, giving you a sheepish smile. "Dinner was so delicious that I ate more than I meant to."

"You worked out really hard yesterday and today. You deserved a little treat."

"I'm hoping to get another little treat tonight," he purrs, his hot gaze on your breasts causing your nipples to tighten under the flimsy fabric of your t-shirt.

"Is the door locked?" you ask, thinking about his parents sleeping downstairs.

"Yes, ma'am," he answers, his big hands immediately settling on your waist after you pull your t-shirt off and toss it on the floor.

"You want me to take charge since you're tired?" you offer, a small squeal escaping your lips when he easily flips you onto your back.

"Maybe for round two," he teases, holding eye contact with you as he kisses his way down your torso.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

[charliemwrites]

Rudolfo time!!

(Slightly more kidnap-y but not entirely through his fault. Also, this character is mute, I hope i portrayed it well but please let me know if I’ve used any words or phrases that aren’t correct)

You aren’t actual cartel. Not a single one of them would protect you or have your back or even spare you a sip of beer. No, you’re just a runner. Transport messages, mostly. Code words that aren’t usually that clever, USBs sometimes. Once a shitty flip phone.

You don’t want to be cartel. Even tangentially as their messenger. But your family needs the money, badly, and they pay well. Especially when you’re good at what you do. And you are. Perks of a messenger who can’t speak your secrets.

In the end, you don’t even think it’s your fuck up. Just wrong place, wrong time, and a very important thing that you’re carrying for the cartel.

You don’t resist Los Vaqueros. Go along quietly and politely. When they ask you questions you just shake your head, hands trapped behind your back and unable to sign an explanation. No matter how they shout and threaten and explain how much trouble you’re in (and oh don’t you know it) you can’t answer beyond over-exaggerated facial expressions and weird half-gestures.

They drag you to their colonel and his second. The colonel is scary. Scarier than any cartel lieutenant you’ve faced. The more he yells and gestures, the more scared you get. You don’t know these men, after all, don’t know how far they’ll go in pursuit of stopping the cartel.

It’s Rudolfo that steps in, something in his face curious. He squats down in front of the chair they’ve sat you in, expression easy and calm.

“Can you tell us your name?” he asks.

You sigh softly and shake your head.

“Can’t or won’t?”

You swallow, blink once. Thankfully, he gets it.

“You can’t speak?”

Relief floods you as you shake your head, shoulders slumping.

“If we get your hands free, can you find some to communicate with us?”

You nod, leaning forward a bit. He clicks your cuffs loose and you’re quick to begin signing but he puts his hands up.

“Wait, wait, it’s been a long time since I saw LSM. Let’s get you an interpreter.”

They bring in one of the other Vaqueros, who speaks as your hands move. You tell them your name, where you’re from, answer their questions.

Please, I’m scared. I don’t want work for them anymore but my family…

Even the colonel has softened as you’ve cooperated, softens further at that last message.

“We’ll secure your family. In the meantime, write down everything you can remember. Locations, names, messages, packages. Anything and everything,” he explains.

He leaves Rudolfo in charge of you. You… don’t mind. He’s patient as you find a way to organize things, carefully written index cards organized in groups. Names accompanied by physical descriptions, where you saw them, what you brought them. Vehicles, code words, and anything else you saw while delivering.

Rudolfo is surprisingly kind to you. He offers you food and water, updates on your family. (They won’t speak to you for working with the cartel. You understand… but it hurts. Rudolfo is gentle as you cry into your hands).

He talks to you. You don’t understand why, but he does. Tells you about Los Vaqueros, Alejandro Vargas, himself. Waits patiently for while you write out answers about yourself.

When it gets to be late and you’re just entirely wrung out, you finally ask, why are you being so nice?

“I don’t blame you for trying to help your family. The cartel prays on the vulnerable. You made a mistake, and now you’re trying to fix it. That’s what matters to me.”

You’re not allowed to leave. Even if you were, you wouldn’t want to. The world seems even bigger and scarier than before, now that your former employers will mark you as a turncoat. You are, of course, but it’s frightening. It wears you out.

Rudolfo clucks after your health, asking if you’ve slept or eaten. You hardly ever have. He’ll cart you off for a meal or a nap, promising to stand watch, that no one will bother you. You often end up in his clothes, few of your own as you’ve got.

He’s also learning to sign. The first time he says, good morning how did you sleep, you start crying. He gives you a big hug until you stop.

When he has time you help him practice. He’s teaching the others too. They’ve learned how your hands form “Rudy” to help you find him.

One day, he and Alejandro sit you down. You’ve long exhausted what you can actively remember from being the cartel’s messenger. It was only a matter of time, you think. Your usefulness has ended.

“You’ve been granted a full pardon given the circumstances and your cooperation,” Alejandro explains. You’ve warmed up to each other quite a bit since you first arrived. “You’re no longer detained here.”

You nod, trying to blink away the stinging in your eyes. You should be happy, relieved, grateful. They didn’t have to pardon you.

But all you can think about is having to leave. You’ve come to feel safe here with Los Vaqueros. With Rudy.

“You don’t have to,” he blurts.

You blink at him, a bit startled by the unusual outburst. He runs a hand down his face, starting to flush.

“You don’t have to stay… but you don’t have to leave,” he explains. “We’ll keep you safe here.”

You stare, throat thick with emotion. He takes that to be hesitation and leans forward, taking one of your hands in both of his.

“Let me keep you safe. Please.”

You stay. How can you not?

You don’t actually know what your official job is on base - except that it’s a lot of following Rudy around. So, nothing to complain about.

He keeps a close eye on you always. That the others are at least cordial given your past. Has squared up with one or two others for questioning your loyalty. He’s not an easy man to anger but people quickly learn that you are the exception.

The first time he brings you a flower, you fawn over it before making him place it in your braid. After that, your hair is often adorned in dahlias and roses and honeysuckle. He swears that you smell like them even after they’re gone.

You’re in love with him, can’t imagine any other conclusion you could come to. It hurts when you see new recruits flirting with him, or women out at the bars. Can’t blame them either, really.

“Why the long face?” he asks after politely declining an offer to dance. You were hoping you hid in your drink fast enough. “No, no, not on my watch, flower.”

He stands and gently urges you to your feet, guides you out onto the dance floor and sweeps you into the rhythm of bachata. You fluster, hide your face against his chest as he laughs.

“There we go,” he chuckles, “that’s better than looking sad.”

You huff, caught between longing and enjoying the moment. He leads you through two more songs before taking you outside for fresh air, a hand on the smell of your back even once you’re leaning on the balcony.

“What is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

You try to figure out how to explain without ruining everything. His eyes dart between your hands and your face, trying to decipher a garbled message that just won’t form.

I just…. like you too much, you admit finally.

He tilts his head, but pauses to consider that. Then shakes his head and crowds close. Your hands press against his chest, feel his heart beating hard and strong against your palm.

“Impossible,” he replies. “You can’t like me too much when I love you.”

And he says it so simply, like the desert is hot or the sky is blue. You stare at him, mouth parted. He grins, swoops in to kiss you, little more than a peck compared to what you crave.

“C’mon, let’s go home. We have a lot to talk about I think.”

Home brings clarity. It brings promises. It brings you a man that massages your hands when they get tired from writing, who teaches you his grandmother’s tamale recipe.

Home is a man who laces flowers in your hair. Who teaches you to shoot and how to pick handcuffs. He brings a life where you’re always pointed in his direction, or he in yours. Safe inside his base, with his soldiers.

#thoughts™️ #cod #keeper/kept au #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #keeper rudy

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f! reader - vol. v

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chapter summary: You knew yourself, and the way that you could get hung up on the right kind of person. Joel was that kind of person. But you don’t like how formal this feels. So real. -- In other words, Joel takes you on your first date. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.6k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY (it's happening, folks!) - unprotected sex, please dm if you want specifics but I’m not trying to spoil too much. If you don't want to read the smut, it doesn't happen until about halfway through the chapter. Crying after sex. Angst. FLUFF. Mentions of anxiety & self-doubt, alcohol consumption.  a/n: Help! I can’t stop writing fit checks into this story!! This ended up being insanely horny but also shockingly sweet. I worked way way way too hard on it so please say nice things to me. Might need to take a couple days off because I'm really feeling burnt out. So please enjoy in the meantime.

-May 16, 2003-

Joel doesn’t like lying to Sarah.

Although, he’s not sure that he’s lying to her as much as he is simply….omitting information. Depending on who you ask, that could still be considered lying.

He’s fresh out of the shower when he steps into the living room, fishes through the catch-all basket located just inside the front door, and pockets his wallet and keys.

“Where are you going?” 

Sarah’s lounging on the couch, on her back, one of her hands slung behind her head. There’s a book opened on her lap, but she’s not reading. “You’re all dressed up.”

Joel looks down at his green flannel shirt, tucked into a pair of dark jeans. Truth be told, he’s a little ashamed he doesn’t have anything nicer in his closet. It’s not like he ever has any occasion to dress up, but he’s already feeling self-conscious and being (most likely) underdressed isn’t helping. Based on the very limited information he knows about your past relationships, you’re probably accustomed to crisp dress shirts, ties, blazers. He doesn’t own any of those things — he did, at one point, have the tux from his wedding, but he’d gotten rid of it after the divorce. Every time he saw it in the back of his closet, it made him sick. Regardless, tonight he’d done the best he could otherwise - showered, trimmed his beard, and even dug through his medicine cabinet for an old – probably expired – bottle of cologne. Hopefully it was enough. 

“I’ve uh….I’ve got a date.” Joel says. 

The theme song from That’s So Raven is blaring through the living room, but it immediately cuts out as Sarah presses mute and sits up entirely from her spot on the couch. “Really?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Joel says. “Your uncle is coming over, though, he’s gonna drop me off and then he said he’d take you to the movies.”

As if on cue, he hears Tommy’s truck pull into the drive. “Yes!” Sarah leaps up from the couch. “I have to change first.”

“Hurry up, babygirl, I’m already runnin’ behind,” Joel calls after her. 

Tommy knocks twice on the front door before letting himself in anyways. 

“You’re late,” Joel informs, shutting the door behind him. They should’ve left five minutes ago, and the last thing Joel wants is for you to think he’s not punctual. To be fair, he’s not, and almost never is. But you don’t need to know that….yet. 

“Hello to you, too,” Tommy trails after him into the kitchen. Joel is tempted to chug a beer, or fish the half-empty bottle of whiskey he’s got in the cabinet out to take a shot — just to take the edge off. But he refrains. It wouldn’t be a good look to show up smelling of booze.

“So…who's the lucky lady?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, Tommy presses. “Come on, Joel, who is it?” 

He contemplates telling his brother the truth, but he doesn’t want to give him the idea that he had taken his advice. He didn’t. Well maybe he did, but he knows Tommy will become insufferable if he finds out. 

“Is it who I think it is?” Tommy asks. “It better be.”

Unfortunately, Tommy knows him too well. They’re brothers, and really, Joel’s first and oldest friend. The answer is written all over his face. 

Tommy grins. “Fucking finally. Oh my god, dude, I thought you’d never-”

“Alright, alright!” Joel interjects, eyes darting nervously up the stairs, where he hears his daughter shuffling around in her bathroom. “Keep your mouth shut, I haven’t told Sarah yet.” 

Tommy raises his hands in defense, but at least seems to understand how serious Joel is. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna say anything. Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Joel looks down at the countertop, and is compelled to be honest with his little brother. “I’m uh….I’m a little nervous, though. Been awhile since I’ve done anything like this.” 

Tommy grows serious. “Do you want my advice?” 

“Yours?” Joel feels like whatever advice he has to offer is likely questionable, particularly with someone like you. “No thanks. I’d rather make a good impression.”

His brother ignores the subtle dig. “You sure? Because unlike you, I actually go on dates. I mean, it’s been what, like….ten years?” He crosses his arms, pretends to think. It’s probably only been a couple of months since the last time Joel took someone out, and Tommy knows it, but he loves to dramatize. “I mean at this stage, you’re basically a born-again virgin. Do you even remember how to put on a condom?” 

Joel crosses his arms and glares at his brother, who begins giggling at his bad joke. “I knew I shouldn’t have fucking said anything to you,” he shakes his head.

“Oh come on Joel, you’ll be fine,” Tommy says. “Really. She’s into you. I could tell when we were all together the other night. Even when I was dancing with her, I kept catching her lookin’ your way…”

“Yeah, well….” Joel rubs the back of his neck to play off the surge of warmth he gets from this information. “Thanks.”

Sarah’s bathroom door opens, and he hears the staccato beat of her sneakers coming down the stairs. Joel points at Tommy one last time. “Not a word, understand?” 

Tommy nods just as she rounds the corner.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah raises her hand to give him a high-five, which they both purposely miss so they can collide palms on the downswing, grab each other’s hands and then begin a secret handshake so complex that Joel, who has seen it a thousand times, still doesn’t think he could execute correctly if he tried.

“How’s my favorite niece?” 

“I’m your only niece.” 

“Touche,” they shoot at each other with finger guns before she wraps him in a hug and Tommy presses his nose to the top of her head. Despite the fact that their little routine is costing Joel precious time, almost all the annoyance he’d been feeling with his brother dissipates at the sight.

“We all ready?” Tommy asks her, then points at him. “Don’t want to make this casanova late.”

“Yeah, of course not,” Sarah looks over at Joel with a smile that doesn’t seem entirely sincere. When she was younger and he’d gone on dates, she always had a lot more questions. Who is it? What is she like? When can I meet her? Is she pretty? Over the years, however, she became less and less interested. It was because she was smart, and had caught onto the pattern - he’d go on a date, maybe one or two more, then there’d be a long period of nothing before the cycle repeated itself every couple months. It rarely developed into anything that would concern her, and Joel always kept the details to himself.

While they’re en route to the restaurant – a little French bistro that had opened up recently — Sarah and Tommy bicker about what movie they want to see.

“I wanna see Holes. I just read the book.”

Tommy grimaces. “What about Matrix Reloaded? It just came out.”

“I already told dad I’d go to that with him.”

“So?” he looks between Sarah and Joel. “Why can’t you just see it twice?”

“No,” Sarah says emphatically. “I have to see it with dad first. It’s not fair.” 

Tommy groans, mutters under his breath. “I can’t believe you let her watch that crap,” as if he wasn’t about to do the same thing.

“She likes it,” Joel shrugs.

“All the more reason to see it tonight.”

“Tommy,” Joel warns. 

“Fine.”

“I don’t really like it, though. I just like to keep dad company so he doesn’t have to see it alone.”

“You’re too nice,” Tommy takes a beat. “Are you sure you aren’t adopted?”

“Shut up,” Joel and Sarah answer at the same time, and Joel holds his palm behind him for his daughter to slap. 

Tommy acquiesces, his truck jolting as it pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant. Joel’s heart rate picks up immediately. The car rolls to a stop and Joel turns to look at both of them. “Alright, I’ll be home by midnight.”

“Sounds good,” says Sarah. 

“Have fun,” Tommy raises his eyebrows, winks, and thankfully Sarah doesn’t see it, because she’s getting out of the truck to take Joel’s spot shotgun. He makes sure she’s settled with her seatbelt on before he shuts the door.

He isn’t trying to waste time, but Joel watches them pull out of the lot and back onto the street before he goes inside the restaurant. Really, he just needs a minute to collect himself. There’s no good reason for him to be as anxious as he is, he’s already kissed you once, and you had seemed to like it — quite a lot too. For the past week the feeling of your body pressed up against him, legs around his torso, was pretty much all he thought about when his mind wandered. Mostly at night before bed, and even today, in the shower when he was getting ready - just to try and calm down. Even now, the idea leaves him flustered.

Nevertheless, this probably isn’t even technically a first date. He hasn’t had issues speaking to you in the past, so this should be easy. Right? But what if you change your mind? And what if it dawns on you that he’s not your type? Even worse, what if you realize he’s just not good enough? 

Joel forces himself inside before he talks himself out of this. When he enters, he sees you first. You’re across the room, leaning over the small bar where a few other patrons are. Greedily, he takes you in, and it’s easy to trace your figure in the tight black shift dress you’ve got on, sheer black tights underneath. It’s sleek, stylish - not that Joel knows much about that. As usual, you stand out in stark contrast to every other person in the place. He likes it. But he feels underdressed. He’ll look ridiculous standing next to you, and he briefly considers turning around, leaving, and saving himself the embarrassment.  

That’s until you move, angling yourself towards him and scanning the restaurant, an elbow resting on the bar, a hand on your knee. You’re looking for him, waiting for him, and finally, you’re rewarded when your eyes catch. Suddenly, Joel doesn’t care about what he’s wearing. He doesn't care that he’s not good enough. At the very least, he doesn’t have to guess if you’re interested in him anymore, not with how you’re gazing at him — a soft smile and narrowed eyes that betray your enthusiasm. Sure, he's not good enough, but he decides if he’s going to go down in flames, he’ll do it trying to convince you otherwise.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Maybe I should’ve eaten a proper lunch, you think to yourself. You’ve barely touched the drink in your hand, but you’re already starting to feel it. And even though you are the designated driver tonight, for now, the slight buzz is welcome, working to soothe. 

Over the years, you’d been on your fair share of first dates. Unlike most…you don’t hate them. For whatever reason, getting to know new people had always come easy, particularly if they were the right person. Being a lawyer, you had a knack for talking yourself into or out of almost anything. So it was just as easy to let someone know if they weren’t the right person. The best part of first dates, however, was that they lacked all the things you hated — promises, expectations, and conversations that went deeper than general pleasantries. 

So all things considered, you shouldn’t feel as tense as you do right now.

There’s a few factors that might have something to do with it, and your brain turns them over,  biding your time until your date arrives. 

First is the text that sits opened on your BlackBerry.

Dad’s home from the hospital. Doing better. Call when you can. - Vince

Your father has been in and out of the hospital for the last month or so, his health rapidly declining. But every update from your brother, however innocent they may be, feels like veiled threats. You should be here. You should know this. I shouldn't have to text you about it. I can’t believe I’m the only one looking after him. A part of you wants to believe that Vincent wouldn’t play that sort of game with you, but as you’ve gotten older and grown apart, you’d gotten worse at deciphering his motivations. Vaguely, you acknowledge that you could just be projecting, and you are the only one trying to make you feel bad. 

And then there’s Joel. 

He’s running late, you hope, or he’s stood you up. And you have already promised yourself that you’re only gonna wait ten more minutes before heading home with your tail tucked between your legs. The thought of that makes you regret agreeing to this in the first place. You’d already embarrassed yourself the last time you were together, practically begging him to take you on the kitchen countertop, but he’d insisted on doing this right. You should’ve pushed harder because you’re starting to think that maybe, just maybe….a zipless fuck would’ve sufficed. Oh, who were you kidding? You knew yourself, and the way that you could get hung up on the right kind of person. Joel was that kind of person. But you don’t like how formal this feels. So real. 

He knows you better than most first dates do. You’ve told him more about your family, about your fucked up childhood, about your aversion to committed relationships more than any friend you’ve made since moving to Texas. And he listened. It should make you feel better. He knows what he’s getting himself into, and he asked you here anyways. Maybe he’s having second thoughts. 

For what feels like the thousandth time, you check your emails and take a sip of your dirty martini – your preferred vehicle for alcohol consumption. Ultimately, you like the idea of a martini more than the actual taste, but you appreciate how direct they are. You scan the restaurant one last time, doing your best to look casual, like you don’t really care. Like you’re supposed to be there alone. 

But when your head turns towards the entrance, Joel is standing across from you. 

He gives you a bashful smile, one that makes your stomach flip, and makes his way over – though he doesn’t seem to be in a rush. It’s like he knows you’d sit and wait for him for as long as it takes – you would, you will, you are. 

When he finally lands in front of you, one thumb hooked in the belt loop of his dark-wash jeans, he leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek for the briefest moment, and pulls back, looking you up and down. 

“It’s good to see you, darlin’,” he murmurs softly. The term of endearment makes your ears feel hot. You're shocked at the effect he has on you, almost can’t believe it. It scares you, too, but you want to chase the feeling. “You look great.”

“So do you,” because you’re not one to lie. He does. As good as always, but he might’ve trimmed his beard for the occasion and maybe….put on cologne? It’s hard to tell, and in your brief experience being so close to him, he’s always smelled good regardless. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes. “Can’t count on Tommy to get me anywhere on time.”

“It’s alright,” you say casually, like you hadn’t had your whole exit strategy planned out just minutes ago. “I got to have a drink while I wait. You want something?” you gesture towards the bartender. 

“Sure,” Joel answers. “How about an old fashioned?” There’s no room for him to sit, so he leans next to you, arm on the bartop, invading your personal space while you wait for your table. Your skin buzzes like you’ve never been this close to a man before in your life. Pathetic. 

He orders his drink before he speaks to you again. “Have you been here before?” he asks. 

You shake your head no. “I was planning on coming a couple months ago but….never got around to it.”

“It’s good,” he says. “I’ve been a couple times.”

“Is this where you take all the girls you go out with?” you raise an eyebrow, grateful that your voice sounds even despite the way your blood is fizzing, your heart pumping so fast you can feel it in your ears. 

Joel shakes his head no. “That’s down the street.”

“Oh?” you nod, sip your drink. Whatever buzz you’d been feeling is gone in the wake of adrenaline. “So….why didn’t you take me there, then?”

“It’s not as nice,” Joel smirks, leaning in a little closer – if it were possible. His lips are practically touching your ear, and his voice is raspy for what comes next. “And I’m trying to impress you.” 

“Right,” you can’t help but smile, pulling back so you can lock eyes. He’s so sincere you can’t even think up a clever quip in return. “How thoughtful.” 

He gives you a cheeky grin. You want to touch him, want to hold him, want to fist the front of his shirt or tug on the hair at the back of his neck and stick your tongue down his throat like you aren’t surrounded by an entire restaurant of patrons. 

It’s going to be the longest fucking dinner of your life. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You survive. 

But at a cost. 

And you don’t learn anything new about Joel, except for the fact that your memory hasn’t exaggerated how charming he is, how charismatic, how thoughtful. All the times you’d allowed yourself to daydream about him didn’t hold a candle. Enjoying the meal is difficult, because you just want to get him alone. He can sense it – you’re pretty sure, because he orders himself a coffee after dessert, and sips on it ever-so-slowly, smirking at you over the rim of the mug.

When dinner’s over, you offer to drive Joel home, since he’d gotten a ride here. By this point, the martini is long gone from your system and you sort of want to pour yourself another when you get home. Even if you don’t drink much, the nerves have resurfaced. 

He walks a few paces behind you as you leave the restaurant, taking his time, and you step to your side of the car, making to unlock it – until something grabs your bicep – briskly – and spins you around. 

It’s Joel. He snuck up behind you, you hadn’t heard, and he’s right in front of you now, pinning you between the car and his body, surrounding you entirely. He lifts a hand, cups your cheek, and kisses you. It happens so fast you let out a whimper of surprise – directly into his mouth, but he swallows it down, and cradles you so gently, but still firm. Resolute. I’m not letting you go.

When he pulls back, you notice his cheeks are flushed, ever so slightly. It makes you wonder what you could do to see them get even redder. Your arms have found their way to rest on his shoulders, and you’re boxed in, the handle to your car door digging into your ass. Without a word, just a cheeky grin, he retreats to the passenger's side of the car and gets inside. 

You settle in the driver's seat beside him, and he looks over at you. “Hope that was okay, I couldn’t wait…” he says, almost apologetically. “But I was tryin’ all night to be good.”

“Yeah, well….not much use in that anymore,” you tilt your head. “Do you want to….hang out at my place?”

“Yeah, we can ‘hang out’ at your place,” Joel quips.

Scoffing in mock offense, you offer a retort. “What would you rather me have said? Come over for a nightcap? That’s a little cliche.”

He grimaces, as if he’s in agreement. You continue. “Or would you rather I be more direct? Joel, why don’t you come over so we can have sex?”

That makes him laugh, loudly, and it’s such a warm, comforting sound, you wish you could find a way to capture it and hear it over and over again. “Oh, is that what’s going to happen?” he asks. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” You shrug, trying to play it off, in case you overstepped. Then you focus on putting the keys in the ignition without fumbling. 

It’s not a long drive back to your place, but Joel seems determined to make sure it feels like it is. Either that, or he’s trying to get you to cause an accident. First his hand is resting on the back of your neck, brushing through the hair at the base of your skull. Then it’s on your shoulder, his thumb pressing into your taut muscles. You actually have to bite your tongue so you don’t moan. It’s not even sexual, really, but it just feels good to be touched, especially by him.

Eventually, you hit a stoplight, and while you’re waiting, his hand continues to wander…and comes to rest just above your knee. His hands are fucking huge, first of all, which maybe you’ve noticed before, and there are a few scars and scratches on the backs of his knuckles. It's the weight of it, the warmth of it, the way he’s settled it so casually like it’s nothing – like it belongs there, and he doesn’t even have to ask. Of course he doesn’t. And the confidence, the cockiness. It feels like someone’s taken an arrow to the pit of your stomach, and something thick and hot starts curling down, down, down….

You swallow hard, and he’s looking at you. He doesn’t speak right away, just stares, something dark and unfamiliar in his eyes. 

“I hope I’m doing alright,” voice raspy, low, but still smooth as ever.

Shaking your head, you’re able to surface just enough over the haze of arousal. “You want a performance review?” you tease, giving a small smile. “We should hold off on that until later…” 

That makes Joel laugh again, your stomach flips, and his thumb begins to stroke your kneecap, his fingers kneading into the soft flesh, inching forward to clasp farther inward, nearly grabbing at you, squeezing. The only thing separating his skin from your own is a thin pair of stockings that end dangerously close to where his hand is working. If he finds out that he’s just a few centimeters away from meeting bare skin, you’re afraid of what could happen.

“Joel,” you warn.

“What?” he asks, voice light and innocent.

“You’re distracting me.” 

“You want me to stop?”

No. The light turns green, and you have to hold back the impulse to break every traffic law if it means you’ll get to have him just a second sooner. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“--my room is–” Joel cuts you off with another searing kiss, and it takes a second before you can conjure the self control to pull away again to finish the thought. “--down the hall.” 

“Yeah?” 

He’s got you crowded back against the entry closet of your house, hovering over you, one of his hands bracing itself beside your head, and the other slowly dragging down your body, his lips following….moving down your neck. 

“Uh-huh,” you barely can get it out between strangled gasps for air. 

And then he’s hooking his hands behind your knees. “Are you sure you don’t want, like-” Joel lifts you, and you lock your legs around his torso. “An amaretto or something?”

“No,” he’s gripping on to you so tightly it hurts, but you don’t mind. 

“I could put on….a record-”

“No,” he repeats, and you’re being carried down the hall. 

You hadn’t expected him to pounce on you the instant that you came in through the garage door. Not that you minded. It’s just that usually you’d play it a bit more coy. You’d set the mood, light a candle, have a chat. But, you suppose you don’t need to do anything to get you in the mood. You’re already there. 

Joel’s mouth never separates from you, not until you’re in your room. He’s so sure of himself, you think he might be the type to throw you into the mattress, climb on top of you and rip at the zipper on the back of your dress. But he doesn’t. You’re laid down delicately, like you’re made of glass, and he’s being careful not to break you. 

He weaves his thumb and forefinger around both your wrists, then pulls them up so they’re pinned above your head. This way, you’re completely at his mercy. When he lowers himself between your legs, and you feel the weight of his body pressed against you, you groan, fighting against the restraint, desperate to touch him. So you do the best you can and wrap your stocking-clad feet around his waist, trying to get some leverage, to bring him closer.

“Just wanna take my time with you, darlin’,” he murmurs softly, like he can read your mind. You’re starting to think he can – how else can he be so irresistible on his own accord?

Joel makes good on his promise. With you all docile beneath him, he takes the opportunity to kiss every inch of exposed skin available – even though you’re still fully clothed. Each press of his lips has you breathing unevenly – sighing, then gasping, then sharp, short inhales. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, you can’t help but giggle and quirm. 

Joel huffs in response, releasing you from his hold, and he tilts his head to whisper in your ear. “Do you have any idea how much I like hearing that? Knowing it’s because of me?” Immediately, you lower your hands to cup his cheeks, to regard him. He can’t be serious. 

“You’re too sweet,” you mutter. 

“So are you,” he answers, and ducks his head to return to your neck. “So sweet, and so fucking pretty, too…” His hands begin wandering, one of them cupping your breast, thumb finding a peaked nipple even through the fabric of your dress and your bra. The words he’s saying are too much, you’ll do anything to make him shut up, arching your back so you can feel him – already hard – against your clothed core. 

“Joel-” 

“God, I want to see you-fuck!” he pulls back, rolls you over, and you shift your weight so he has access to the dress’ zipper at your side. He makes quick work of it, and brings you to a seated position, helping you remove it all the way before kissing you again, then abruptly stopping. He wants you so badly….but he’s trying to savor the moment. “Let me look at you for a second.”

He takes you in, the stockings you’re wearing and the matching set of black lace you’d picked out beforehand. Of course, you’d thought about this. You always did for occasions like this, but Joel had stumped you. What would he like? This….was pretty understated, but he seemed like a salt-of-the earth guy. Not what you were used to. It probably wouldn’t make a difference whether or not you were in full-on lingerie. And even if you knew he wouldn’t care, you still had wanted to impress him. All the more reason to try.

“This for me?” he asks, hooking his finger on the inside of your stockings and snapping the elastic. 

“Yeah,” you nod, honest. “I want you, Joel.” And there’s more to it, too. You’ve thought about just how badly for months. It kept you up at night, then helped you fall asleep when you couldn’t shake his image from your head. For now, you are going to keep that to yourself. But it doesn’t mean it’s not gonna slip out. Not when he’s looking at you like this. 

“Yeah?” he says, steps forward, towers over you. “I want you, too, so fuckin’ bad. So fucking pretty, baby,” Dropping back to your elbows, you feel…small. Any other time, you might sit up, try to feel some kind of control, but for whatever reason, you stay where you are.

Joel wasn’t exaggerating when he said he wanted to take his time. It’s frustrating. It’s torture. He worships you, makes sure his mouth is on nearly every part of your body before he finishes undressing you. Your ankles hook over his shoulders, his hands grazing, dragging thin nylon up and off each leg. He kisses your calves, the inside of your knees, your thighs. He uses one hand to unhook your bra and pulls it away. He spends what feels like hours with his mouth on your breasts – sucking, licking, nipping – hands cupping, grabbing, pinning you down. The whole time, he’s telling you how badly he wants you, how pretty you are, how good you’re being for him. He’s either touching you too much, or maybe not enough. It’s hard to say. Only after he’s reduced you to an incoherent, whimpering mess do you somehow find the strength to fight back. 

By this point, you’re lying in the middle of the bed, your leg hooked over his hip, the waistband of his jeans digging into bare skin. He’s still got all his fucking clothes on, which makes everything so much worse, because it’s clear whose in control here, and it’s certainly not you. 

The button of his flannel is where you start, and then you work downward. Joel doesn’t stop you at any point. You think he might, just because of how things have been going. But he’s as easy as you are, and you take him in all the same after you’ve shucked off his jeans, and he’s closer to your state of buff.

To be fair, you’ve spent enough time lingering by the windows – when he’s outside mowing the lawn shirtless, or picking up his newspaper in the morning, or doing workouts in his garage with the door open (such a tease!) – to have an idea of what to expect. He’s not ripped by any means but neither are you – and you’ve never liked that anyways. But it’s not hard to ascertain that he spends all day in the sun, lifting and hauling things around. His muscles are defined, rippling lightly under his skin with each panting breath he takes. Joel’s a spectacle – broad and tan, a line of dark hair dipping from his belly-button down into the waistband of his dark-gray briefs. You can make out the way his cock is straining against the fabric.

Once you’ve appraised him as best as you can – you can see that he’s studying you, almost like he’s anxious, like you might not like what you see. As if he doesn’t know. Ridiculous. You aren’t going to leave him guessing. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Joel,” you shake your head. “You’re a fucking stud.”

Joel’s face breaks out in a grin and he yanks you back so you’re on top of him, legs on either side of his chest. And finally, finally, you can touch him like you’ve been wanting. His skin is warm – it’s kind of hot in your room, you’d forgotten to turn on the A/C, so you’re both a little sweaty. But and it’s unclear if it’s because of the heat or just how worked up you are. It doesn’t matter, because it only turns you on even more. You trace the broad plane of his chest, hand snaking down…all the way to his boxers, but he stops you. 

He’d let you undress him, allowed it, but this…it crosses a line. Joel hooks his hands behind your thighs and begins to drag you up, up, up, while he shifts lower. It takes a second to register what he’s doing, and when it does, you try to stop it.

“Joel, wait I-” 

“I have to taste you darlin’, that okay?” His dark hair is fanned out around his head, resting on your floral pillowcase. In the dim light, his pupils are so blown out you can barely see anything else except black. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but you’ve gotta let me taste you first.”

It’s not that you don’t want it, but he’s taken you off guard, and you’re already overwhelmed by how intimate all this has been, gentle and languid while he whispers honeyed words into your ear. His mind seems already made up, and you don’t really want to tell him no.

“Alright,” you manage, and you grip the top of the headboard. 

It’s embarrassing how wet you already are. It started with his hand on your knee in the car, and you have spent the last hour clenching around nothing, squeezing your legs together and searching for friction. Anything. Well, you are about to get it.

Joel’s lips press to the insides of your thighs, once more, dangerously close to where you’re weeping for him. His nose bumps your clit when he turns his head, and you whine – hips sinking to seek the contact that he’s been denying you, and then immediately pulling back in a moment of clarity.

“No, no,” Joel’s hands immediately land on your hips to hold you in place, bringing you lower. “Stay right there for me.”

You don’t dare move. 

Finally, his mouth finds you. You think he might tease for a little bit, go slow, because he’s been doing that all night, and it’s become infuriating. But he doesn’t. He eats you out, laves at you. A hot, velvet tongue that works up a steady rhythm. It’s interrupted only by the vibration of his moans every so often, which only add to the pleasure. For a moment, you miss how he’d been talking to you before, but you’re so sensitive, so eager, that you think you’ll sacrifice anything if it means he’s not going to stop. Joel keeps you still with a bruising grip on your hips. All you can do is let him have his way and whimper his name over and over, listen to him groan in response. 

Being consistent is key for you. And Joel is nothing but. Practiced, but feral….like he’s been holding back all night. It’s been a long time, or maybe he’s just that excited, it’s hard to tell. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Can’t bring yourself to care about much more than him, the man below you working you over with just his mouth. 

“I’m…Joel, I’m-” you try to pull off again, it’s too much, but he doesn’t allow it. Even if the position he’s in is compromising, he’s managed to find a way to assert himself. The coil inside you has wound so tightly that almost every muscle in your body is tense. Now, can’t even move, not even if you wanted to, and he keeps going, your words have only made him more determined.

The coil snaps. You cry out, using the headboard to stifle your noises – not worried that it will probably leave a mark. If you get nothing else from Joel, then at least it will serve as a reminder that he was here, beneath you, lapping up everything you have to give him. The orgasm leaves you weak, trembling, but he holds you up, works you through it until the waves begin to cease, and then you’re so overstimulated, so sensitive that you start to feel lightheaded. “Fuck, Joel, I can’t-” You tug on his hair, hope he’ll get the hint and release you, but he doesn’t. If anything, it only spurs him on.

His mouth is white hot on you, his tongue damp, firm as it circles your clit and drags downward. He gives you nowhere to go, no opportunity to come down from the high, so within minutes, or seconds – at this point, you’ve lost track of time – he’s worked you up to the precipice of release, and you’re coming again, crying out to him.

At last, he eases off, lets you relax. You do, carefully, and so does he, gradually removing his mouth from you while your hand untangles from his dark curls. Joel holds you steady as he sits back against the headboard, keeping you splayed across his lap. You don’t waste your time saying something stupid like “you didn’t have to do that,” because you’re not gonna pretend you didn’t love every second, but mostly because you’re not sure you’re capable of speaking just yet. His hand catches your jaw, and he looks at you – innocently, like he hadn’t just done what he had done, like his fucking beard, and chin, and lips weren’t still wet with you. But the ornery glint in his eyes gives him away. “You liked that?” he has the audacity to ask. 

A shaky hand comes to pinch your eyebrows as you let out a weak laugh, nodding. “Yeah, Joel….yeah.”

“Good,” he answers. 

“I was right about you,” you manage. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs, and his hand skates up your arm, the other settling on your waist. It’s grounding, reassuring as your heart attempts to steady its beating. 

“You’re trouble.” 

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, and he leans in close. “Only for you, pretty girl.” 

Your hips jolt back at the term of endearment, so much so that you feel the length of his cock, hard against your ass. It’s your turn to take care of him, but it shouldn’t be difficult, because your arousal is already building again. It’ll be much, much, easier to come again, specifically around him. Plus, right now, you are willing to do just about anything for him. You kiss him, and it’s sloppy, lick the taste of yourself out of his mouth. Heat curls again in the pit of your stomach, and you grind yourself down on him through his underwear.

Joel’s head falls back, bonks the headboard, and the thud of impact is overshadowed by his agonized moan. You reach down between your bodies, let your touch land over his clothed cock. He pants out your name. So many things you could do – with only your hand, or your mouth, but before you can decide, he speaks again.

“Wanna be inside you,” he grits out. “So fucking bad.” 

“You don’t want me to-”

“No,” he cuts you off. “No, no. I need you.”

“You can have me,” you nod, leaning forward to kiss his neck, pushing down the elastic of his underwear. Joel lets you, his hips stuttering, until he freezes. “Shit.” He reaches out to halt your movements.

You look up, his eyes are wide. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, I uh, I left my wallet in the car,” Joel’s voice is pinched, palms leaving your body to press against his eyes, frustrated. “I brought condoms, but they’re - I’ll have to go get them.”

“I have some,” you pipe up, nodding towards your bedside table. Joel reaches for it, but it's your turn to stop him. “But I mean, I’m clean,” you say. “...And I have an IUD, so…” 

Joel pauses, stares at you under thick lashes. “You sure that…” So tentative. “....That’s okay with you?” 

You feel yourself smirk a little as you look at him. It’s not something you’d allow anyone to do. But you’re feeling a little lost in the moment. The part of your brain that usually tells you to run for the hills whenever things get too real has turned off. It’s not the first time he’s caused that, and you sort of enjoy the delusion. There’s no question. It’s Joel.  “Oh, yeah.”

The words ignite something in him that you weren’t entirely prepared for, and he’s pulling you hard against his mouth with one hand, while the other pushes his briefs down the rest of the way. You don’t get the chance to see him, to feel him, before he’s lining himself up with your slick cunt. 

It’s a soft glide of sensitive skin across sensitive skin, and you shake with anticipation. You don’t even know you have your eyes closed, focusing on the sensation, until you hear Joel’s voice. 

“Open your eyes,” he commands. “Please just-” he swallows hard. “I wanna watch you. So fucking pretty.” 

You obey, and he guides your hand to replace your own. It’s not until your hand wraps around him that you’re aware of just how thick his cock is, throbbing and leaking, and it makes you all the more eager. Slowly, you start to sink down, but it’s too challenging to take him all at once. So first, just the tip, you roll back to ease the sting, then gradually sink lower and low. 

Joel moves closer to you, holding his breath, guiding you along, propped back against the pillows. “That’s it, so fucking good, baby…”

You understand why he was moving so languidly earlier. This is meant to be enjoyed. After some time, and lots of praise, your hips settle flush with his own, and he’s seated fully inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that your body isn’t fully ready to accommodate, but it has your toes curling and mouth hanging open, bearing down on him involuntarily. Under Joel’s watchful gaze you feel terribly, terribly exposed. 

“Keep going,” Joel encourages. So you move. It’s experimental at first, small ruts against him, getting used to the way it feels. It doesn’t take you long to find the spot that makes you abandon eye contact, throw your head back, and –

“Oh, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and he sounds strained, pinched – he’s holding back, but still enjoying every second. “That feel good?”

You nod furiously. He lets you find a rhythm that works for you, lets you take your time, and once you do, he starts to match your pace. His hands don’t stay in one place for very long. First, they’re resting gently on your ass. Then they’re cupping your tits, watching them bounce as they sway with your movements. He brings his knees up behind you, pressing his feet into the bed, and uses the leverage to fuck himself deeper each time you lower yourself onto him. 

At this point, you’re unaware of what types of noises you must be making, and you’re thankful that you’re alone so you can be as loud as you want. His cock is hitting places inside you that you didn’t know existed, and rolling across the same spot over and over and over. 

“You feel so perfect for me,” Joel says, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling. “So, so good, baby, so fucking pretty.” 

“Mm-hmm,” is all you can answer, nodding furiously and feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with every thrust. 

You’re too easy for him. And you were too worked up to begin with. “Joel, I can’t-”

He slams his hips up into yours so hard you cut yourself off with a choked gasp. Then he does it again. “You gonna come for me?” he asks. “I can feel you, baby, I know it’s close.” 

“Y-yeah,” he’s got you stammering on your words. You’re clamping down onto him so tightly it hurts. But you’re so desperate to come, to feel what it’ll do to him, that you don’t stop.

“Come here,” he murmurs, hands around your waist, pulling you down so your lips are nearly touching. “Stay close to me.”

“Oh, fuck, oh-” The warmth of his body so close to yours, your hands bracing themselves on his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, all coupled with one vicious rut of his hips has you right there. Joel tilts your head back just enough so you’re forced to look directly at him – and then you come undone. 

You want to close your eyes, turn your head, but you’ve got nowhere to go, and he’s right in front of you. Joel’s touch slides up your back, draws you even closer, and you ride out your third orgasm of the night while pressed entirely against his chest, forced to be vulnerable in a way you’ve never been with anyone before. “So good, baby, so good. Such a good fuckin’ girl for me,” he praises you through it, works you through it, until you’re all but melted in his arms, and he still hasn’t pulled his eyes away.

Utterly spent, you know, distantly, somewhere, that he has to come. However, Joel takes over, flips you both so you’re underneath him, and presses himself deep into the cradle of your pelvis. He’s heavy on top of you, but the weight is somehow soothing.

“I thought about you,” you murmur, hoping it’ll help. His jaw is set, solely focused on his own release. “How good you’d feel.”

“Fuck, really?” he grunts. “I-I- did too.”

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling flush at the admission. “I thought about….letting y-you use me.”

Joel groans your name, curses loudly, ruts into you even harder. You can feel him throbbing, so fucking close, and you arch yourself up to meet him, pleasure already building again, even though you thought it wasn’t possible. 

“It’s so much better, Joel, you’re so much better–” 

Than I imagined. But you don’t have to finish the thought. The idea of you, thinking of him, seems to be enough as it is, and you feel him pulsing, warmth blooming and spreading out as he groans, throws his head back and spills himself impossibly deep inside you. If you weren’t utterly spent, the feeling of him coming – and nothing between you, probably would have set you off again. For now, it’s enough.

His whole body goes limp as he relaxes his arms from where they’re braced on either side of you, his head falling into the crook of your neck. You hear him take a few, haggard breaths once it’s over, and then a deep chuckle vibrates in your ear. “Fuck, baby.”

You rub his shoulder lightly to soothe him, and his lips find the underside of your jaw, kissing lightly his beard scratching your cheeks. For an undetermined amount of time, he remains there. Normally, you’d probably check his watch, but you’ve noticed that the one he always wears is broken, and really….you feel content.

Finally, Joel pulls away, cursing under his breath and withdrawing from you. He runs his hand through his hair, and flops on his back by your side, and you feel horribly empty. After he’s cupped your cheek, turning you gently to look at him – he gives you a tender, affectionate smile. 

It hits you like a freight train. 

He was not the type of man you dated. The men you dated liked to slap, choke, withhold. That had always been what you’d gotten off to. The more frenzied, the more impersonal – the better. That wasn’t to say Joel hadn’t been passionate. But you’d never experienced anything like this before.

You tear away from his gaze, focus on the ceiling. Heart pounding, threatening to break through your ribs, you feel your mouth dry up, your eyes burn and fuck – you’re about to cry. Try to turn yourself away from him, but he sees it. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just uh-” your voice catches on the lump forming in the back of your throat and cracks audibly, raw. 

“Hey– ” you hear the mattress shift, he’s moving closer, and you start to scramble. You’ve gotta leave. Get to the bathroom, compose yourself. “Where are you goin?”

“Joel, I just need to-” but his hand circles your wrist, and you don’t have the power to resist him. The bones of his hand press firmly in your cheek, turning your head so you have to look at him. There are tears in your eyes.  

“What’s wrong, baby? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Up close you can see that his eyes aren’t brown – they’re hazel. Mesmerizing, long lashes – gold and green rimming his irises. How had you not noticed that before? 

“No, no not at all it was just…” you’re talking so fast, not even sure where you’re going with the sentence. “I’m sorry, I liked it I just-I don’t know,” you stutter. Shaking your head, you cover your face. You don’t want to feel this way with him here. “I’m not used to-” 

Joel, who has never seen you at a loss for words, frowns, draws you against him. “Come here.”

“It’s okay,” he lets you press your face just below his jaw. He’s being so soft, it makes everything that much worse. Tears slip down your cheeks, landing on his skin. He strokes your hair, holds you so tightly, firmly, "It was intense, huh?” 

You want to resent the way he’s speaking to you – like you’re a child who fell off her bike and skinned her knee, and not a grown ass woman realizing how disconnected she’s felt with every other partner until now. But unfortunately, it’s kind of working. You murmur an affirmation in response. ”I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he promises. 

He holds you until the tide of emotion swells, settles, lips against your temple, his fingertips tracing up and down your spine, and gives you the time to compose yourself.

“That was really nice, I promise,” you say, eventually. And then, because he’s been so gracious, you’re honest. “It’s just been…a long time…” Forever, really. “Since I felt…”

“I know,” Joel nods. “Me too. It’s alright.” 

“Yeah,” you bob your head. He holds your face reverently, and pulls you in for a chaste kiss before tucking you back against his chest. You close your eyes, nestle against him. He strokes your hair while you listen to the steady beat of his heart.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next thing you know, you’re being gently shaken awake. Somehow, you’d fallen asleep. 

“Hey, baby,” Joel murmurs softly. 

“Mmm?” you groan in response, exhaustion clinging to your limbs. 

“I’m sorry, I gotta get going.” 

You scoff into his neck and make a noise of protest, still not entirely roused, he’d woken you too delicately. When he speaks, his lips brush against your forehead, hands still tracing up and down the lines of your body and making you shiver. “I told Sarah and Tommy I’d be home by midnight.”

“Right,” you mutter, finding the strength to push yourself off of him and stretch. Joel sits up, very tentatively releasing you from his grip. 

“I’m sorry I had to wake you, I can see myself out.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “No, please. Do you need anything?”

“Can I use your bathroom?” 

“Of course,” you point towards the ensuite. 

Joel collects his discarded clothes off the bed, then the floor, and disappears. You hear the sink running, watch the shuffling shadows he casts in the crack below the door. While he’s doing that, you slip into your robe and run your fingers through your hair, taking in the disheveled state of your bed, before deciding to clean up in the extra bathroom down the hall.

On your way back, you run into Joel, who looks better than ever, tanned skin glowing, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hey.” 

“This was nice. I had a really good time.” 

“Me too.”

“Will you…” he trails off, rubs his jaw. “Will you be okay? I don’t want to-”

“I’m fine,” you say, dismissively. “I just had a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” Joel studies you carefully, and you’re prompted to continue. “I promise. Joel. This was nice.”

“It was,” he grins. “I’d like to see you again.” 

“Me too,” you don’t even think before you answer, despite everything. It surprises you, how willing you suddenly are.

“Good.” He kisses you, slow and lingering. “I’ll give you a call.” 

“Okay.”

-

part vi

taglist: @yaskna@venomous-ko@lomljigg@yeehawbitchs@ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done@melancholicmelanin@reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer@superflymaterial@mikkorantanev@zbeez-outlet @nadja-antipaxos @strawberri-blonde @jabbajambler @ponyboys-sunsets @kyuupidwrites @r4efromvenus @loveatfirstsight-atlastsight @korianderbandit @nicoleoeoeoe @hotgirlsshareaccounts @madisonred88 @crustyrustydusty @sflame15-blog @issybee0611 @darkemeralddiamond @grandmana @totallynotastanacc @ay0nha @virgogaia @lunarxeclipse @marysucks-blog @jabbajambler @surazim @naiomiwinchester @raindrcpsangel @dorotheapascal @mythical-mushrooms13 @chernayawidow

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller series #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us writing #tlou #tlou writing #pedro pascal #troy baker #sarah miller #tommy miller #pre-outbreak! joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #this chapter got a little TOO REAL for me you know #like #crying after sex??? relatable #also had to stop putting gifs on this story because it makes my computer/tumblr freak out #not sure what the problem is but i have too much happening to figure it out #texas sun

[h-c-u]

The Youngest Student

Summary: You're left without a nanny last second, so you decide to take your daughter to class with you.

Pairing: profesor Toto Wolff x PhD fem!reader

W/C: 1.5k

Rating: PG, age gap (reader is in late 20s)

A/N: I was about to write part 6 of No Longer a Secret, but this short blurb kinda... happened. So, I'm sorry to anyone who might be waiting for the next part. I promise it's in the works <3  I know Daisy's age is not specified, but I see her as being... 5-6 months old :) Also - it's inspired by >>this<<

Masterlist | List of tags

You were about to call your nanny, but a text from her came in just as you were grabbing your phone. 

"I'm really sorry for letting you know so late, but I won't be able to make it today. On my way to your house, me and I sister got into an accident, and my arm is broken. We're currently in the hospital, but there is no chance I will make it." 

After reading the message, you wanted to instantly call Cassie to see how she was doing; you cared much more about her health than her services as a nanny, although during the last four months, she was a godsend. But even before you dialed her number, you realized that she was probably scared and calling her family to let them know what happened, so instead of being one more conversation, you opted out for a short message. 

"Don't worry about us. I just hope that you and your sister are ok. Please, let me know if there is anything I could do, and in the meantime - focus on getting better."

After that, you quickly shot a message to the father of your child, but he didn't reply, and if you didn't want to be late for your only lecture of the day, you had to leave soon. For a moment you considered not going and staying at home with your daughter, but she had just been fed and burped, which meant a long nap, most likely even longer than the class itself. 

So instead of ditching, you moved her to the carrier, careful not to wake her up, and put a thick blanket over it, so both the light and noises would be muted, and she could continue sleeping without any interruptions. 

The drive to your college wasn't long, but you still got into the classroom just as the lecture was about to begin, so there was no time for you to explain the situation in more detail. 

- I'm sorry to bring her in... The sitter canceled, and she's just been fed so she should sleep through the whole lecture, but if she wakes up, I'll leave not to cause any disturbance... - you whispered quietly to Professor Wolff, but in the dead silence of the room, your voice still carried. You were older than the rest of this class and there was a wedding band on your finger, so the fact that you had a child wasn't exactly a surprise. What was surprising though, was your usually stoic professor who hated surprises donning a giant smile on his face, when he raised a blanket you put over the carrier just a little, to see your little girl. 

- It's ok, don't worry about it. - he replied, still looking at Daisy, completely enamored by her. You let him do that for a moment longer, but eventually, you took the blanket from his hand and put it down. He cleared his throat, realizing that the lecture was supposed to start around five minutes ago.

You quickly went to your usual seat, took out your laptop, and got ready to take notes, only this time with your daughter sleeping soundly in a carrier that you put on the desk next to you. 

About halfway through, you heard that your daughter woke up and was getting fussy, but she wasn't in that state when she was a disturbance yet, so you gently took her out of the carrier and laid her on your left arm, while you continued taking notes with your right. And it was working for a while... You weren't sure if it was unfamiliar smells or sounds, but her mood continued to deteriorate, even though she was wearing her favorite frog onesie, with the hood that was currently blocking at least some of the sounds and lights. You tried to lull her back to sleep by gently rocking her on your arm, but that didn't help, and just as you were about to close your laptop and leave, not to disturb other students, you saw Professor Wolff coming closer. You were about to apologize, but he just smiled, winked, and took Daisy in his arms, where she instantly calmed down. 

There was a very brief moment when you expected some sort of reaction from the other students, but besides a few hushed comments about how natural Professor Wolff looked with a baby in his arms, there was nothing, and the lecture continued. 

Your daughter eventually fell asleep again, calmed down by Toto's deep voice, and when she did, he put a green hood with embroidered eyes deeper over her head. She remained like that till the end of the lecture.

You couldn't help but smile every time you looked at them together, and you had to force yourself to actually pay attention, which proved to be challenging. 

But you made it, and when the end of the class was announced, you slowly packed your things, while the other students were leaving the room, a few of the female ones, unusually slowly, their eyes lingering on the professor and your daughter a bit too long, but you couldn't blame them, because you were doing the exact same. Eventually, you were alone and the door to the room automatically closed.

You came closer to the desk he was almost sitting on and put a carrier on the papers that were covering almost the whole surface. Toto leaned down to press a quick kiss on your forehead; after all - you were still in school. And even though the dean was informed about your relationship first - when Toto accepted a job offer here three years ago, and once again - earlier this year, when you came back to the university to finish your Ph.D. after the birth, neither of you wanted to advertise your marriage left and right, and walls here had eyes. 

- Cassie was in an accident on her way to us, and she broke her arm... I think we should give her a few weeks off because she seemed more afraid that we won't have anyone to take care of Daisy and disappointing me than she was about her visit to the hospital. - you explained, taking your daughter out of his arms, and putting her back in the carrier. 

- Is she all right? - he asked, watching you securing the clasps and putting the blanket over it once again. 

- She seemed to be, but I don't know much more... I didn't want to call and intrude, since everything was fresh when she messaged me. I'll check in with her in the evening. - you added, throwing the jacket over your shoulders, and moving your hair from under it. - You have one more lecture, right? - you made sure, and he sighed. 

- Yes... In half an hour. Although I doubt it will be as pleasant as this one. - he smiled, pulled you closer by your jacket, and kissed you softly. - Seeing you two honestly made my day. - you put your arms around him, letting yourself drown in his strong arms for a moment, but you didn't close your eyes, because you knew that if you did, you would fall asleep right then and there, standing up. You were good at keeping appearances, but being a new parent, even with such a well-behaved baby as Daisy, was exhausting, so you took every short moment of peace and quiet you could get. 

- I should go... - you whispered against his shirt and your words were followed by a loud sigh because you honestly didn't want to leave.

- Or... You could take a nap on the couch in my office, and I can take care of Daisy. - he proposed and you almost started crying from relief; he could always see right through you. Your first instinct was to ask him if he was sure, but the more rational thought, backed up by years of a relationship with him followed, saying that he was. 

- Thank you... - he squeezed your body a little harder before letting you go. 

- Come on then... - he took the carrier with your sleeping daughter from the desk, fished the keys to his office from the pocket of his jacket, and led you to the small room, not that far from the class he was teaching in. You almost fell onto the soft couch, letting the pillows swallow you whole, but before you fell asleep, you felt Toto putting a soft blanket that smelled like a fabric softener you used at home over your body. 

There was a moment when you woke up in a panic after about an hour, but as soon as you heard a familiar low rumble of Toto’s deep voice, carrying through the corridors despite the closed doors, you remembered what happened and went back to sleep. 

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #Toto Wolff fanfiction #Toto Wolff x reader #🖤

[after-witch]

A Fool’s Game [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: A Fool’s Game [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: It’s the last day of the life you and Chrollo have enjoyed so sweetly for some time now. It’s a shame you don’t even know it’s the last. 

Word count: 2536

Notes: Yandere, toxic relationship, future kidnapping

It’s a shame. A damned shame. A crying shame, really, if he were prone to the weakness of tears in anything but the most drastic of situations. Maybe this will be one of those situations, after all. He’s not sure yet, and dwelling on it will only make it harder for him to confront. 

He bears such a heavy burden, and you don’t even know about it. 

This day… is the last day that he’ll be able to enjoy the sweet, domestic bliss of normalcy with you. 

The last day that you will wake up him with kisses on his cheek, softly crooning his name in a singsong lilt; the last day he will get to see you flit about the apartment kitchen in the brightly colored apron you’d excitedly picked out to wear while you did chores; the last day you’ll love him purely and sweetly as you do now.

Because at the end of the day, you’re going to be abandoning the life you’ve built for yourself and leaving with him.  

He’s held out for as long as possible. Really, he muses, you ought to be grateful that he was able to curate this domestic scene for as long as he did. 

There were a few bumps along the way, but not many. Nothing that wasn’t smoothed over with kisses and smiles and reassuring words.

You always got sad when he had to leave for his “work trips.”. But he kept in touch through phone and even a few gift deliveries that had you gushing when he called in the evening, profusely thanking him for flowers or a meal from your favorite cafe.

But things change. There’s no denying that his latest plan will take him away not just for days or weeks, but months. He can’t bear to be apart from you for that long, and the only solution is painfully clear: it’s time to pop the bubble and move on. And the Phantom Troupe’s schemes, great and small, can’t be paused.  Even for you, sweet creature that you are.

This will hurt. No doubt about that. But, he will recover from it--and in time, he’s sure, so will you. In the meantime, he can admit how awful it will be to see it end. There’s a certain softness that he’s come to enjoy from it all. It’s been like a vacation, some dreamy soft vacation that has given him something irreplaceable.

A taste--however brief and bittersweet--of a quiet life with you.

“Now that that’s done,” you say, softly, mostly to yourself, as you tuck away the last of the dishes--and Chrollo can’t help but think how pointless it was to let you waste time on that chore; it won’t matter, come this evening. “We can get going.” 

You move quickly, like water, depositing your apron on a hook by the stove and slipping on the flower charm necklace you’d laid out on the couch, followed by a soft cardigan in a shade of muted pink. You’re talking all the while, but he’s not listening to the words. Only the sound is important. The ordinary rise and fall of your voice, calm, expectant… 

He watches you quietly from the kitchen table, nursing the last drops of coffee you’d made for him that morning, dutifully poured into what had become his favorite mug at your apartment. The mug was only lukewarm now, and his palms missed the heat. 

“Chrollo?” You spin around. The smile on your face was enough to light up a room. “Did you hear me?”

Chrollo smiles, and shakes his head.

“My apologies, dear. I was too dazzled by your smile to pay attention.”

Your lips quirked into a teasing pout, and you shook your head.

“Well, I was saying, don’t forget to wear good walking shoes, because you know how busy the sale gets. Unless you’d rather stay home while I go alone?” You don’t mean it, but something about the suggestion makes him move. 

He’s off the chair before he even realizes he’s doing it, walking quickly up to you and pressing his chest against your back. He rests his chin on your head, letting his body slow down as the apple sweetness of your favorite shampoo tickles his nostrils.

“You’re awfully snuggly this morning.”

You turn yourself around in his embrace, and rest your head against his shoulders. “Buuut… if we want to make that sale, we need to get going.” You punctuate your words with a teasing poke to his chest, and his lips form the perfunctory frown that you’ve come to expect. The song and dance the two of you have perfected in your time together--argumentative teases, comfortable and snug. 

Soon, the arguments wouldn’t be teasing. There would be no dimpled grins. Only anger and hurt and, he thinks, a healthy dose of fear.

He sticks his hands into the pocket of his trousers as you grab your purse and give your hair one last check-over in the mirror that he’d carefully, on your orders, hung in the entryway. Your keys sat in the blue fishbowl that you’d found during one of your Saturday shopping trips. 

He remembers that day clearly, the way your eyes lit up at the brightness of the blue glass, the way you’d begged him to carry it home for you because-you-know-I’ll-just-drop-it. And once the bowl had been safely deposited on the end table by your door, you’d breathed a sigh of relief and snuggled up to him. He received a kiss for his troubles. 

You have no idea, as you step through your front door and wait for him with keys in hand, that it’s the last time your fingers will ever dip, carefree, into that treasured bowl; that it’s the last time you’ll ever leave the threshold of your apartment… of your own volition, that is.

You poor thing.

--

“Oh! Oh, Chrollo! Look!” Your grin could split your face, if such things were possible, as you point towards the menu hanging in the back of the coffee shop. It’s all handwritten in chalk, probably changes every few days to suit the ever-revolving tastes of the customers. Just the sort of place you love. 

Chrollo merely glances at it, not caring about the finer details of the smeared chalk words. Instead he focuses on you, on every micro-expression. On the way the finger you pointed with is painted a sparkly blue. He’ll have to remember to pack some nail polish in your bag, though you likely won’t feel too concerned about such things for a long time. 

“Mm? And what is it I’m supposed to be seeing, love?”

You sigh, put-out, but not meanly so--you were never mean to him. Never nagging, never cross. Today you settled for a sort of breathless exasperation, like you couldn’t believe he wasn’t seeing it.

“They have lavender coffee. Can you believe it?” You’re practically giddy, almost hopping on one foot. “I can’t wait to taste. You have to try mine, okay? Since I know you’re going to get your usual.” You elbow Chrollo and he tries to match your grin with a smile, but it’s hard going. 

Just a few more hours, that’s all that’s left…

“Ooh!” You stand on your toes, craning your neck as you re-read the menu. “Maybe we should split some pastries, too? Will you eat some if I get them?” Your voice raises higher, no doubt excited over the sticky pastries visible in the case just ahead. 

The man standing in front of you in line looks back for just a moment, and rolls his eyes as he returns his gaze to the front.

His eyes would look lovely on a platter, Chrollo muses. But no. Such things couldn’t happen here, in this carefully preserved moment in life. After the thin glass of this life with you is broken, however, is another thing entirely.

Chrollo watches as you hum and debate over what to get. Your finger taps your chin. An exaggerated  affected gesture, but one that he has come to love about you. 

“Order whatever you like, my dear. My treat today.”

Your eyes light up and you squeak, of all noises. He has to force himself not to sigh in thick indulgence  at the sound. 

And when you reach the cashier, he listens carefully as you rattle off a fairly large order of coffee and pastries. You always wanted to try one of anything new, especially if Chrollo was the one indulging you and you didn’t have to worry about your budget.

It’s fine, normally, but a bit of a hassle now. He has to take mental notes. After all, he’ll have to account for the pastries and caffeine in your stomach for the events that are sure to come later today.

--

“Isn’t the sunset beautiful?”

Chrollo hums, but he’s not looking at the sunset. He’s looking at the way the reddish light of it plays off your hair, your skin, your eyes. He’s looking at you. Every inch, every detail.

There’s a bit of pink frosting stuck to your lips. He should kiss it off before it’s too late. 

For now, you walk home, side by side. The sounds of the city fade away, replaced by the repetitive noise of your neighborhood. Kids playing. A radio, distant. 

And your voice, chattering, about nothing in particular.

“Chrollo?”

He hums again.

“Thank you for taking me out shopping.” You smile, like a sunbeam. “It’s been a while since we had a full day out like this, hasn’t it? It’s a real treat.” 

You laugh, and glance down for just a moment as you smile. 

It’s true. It was a treat. A day together, doing all the things you loved. Shopping and pastries, chatting, indulging. 

You deserved it, after all. And so did he. 

You gently lean against him as you continue to walk, holding onto his arm. He lets you press your body against his. You’re soft and warm. The weight of you is familiar.  Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly silly and you were in a lighthearted enough mood, he carried you home after a day of walking and shopping and treats.

He might have liked to do that today, but you insisted on purchasing some larger items, which you dragged behind you in a rusty wagon. You’d spotted it a few weeks ago near a dumpster and insisted on taking it home for shopping trips. 

“Anything for you, my love,” he says, quietly. More somber than he meant to. 

You glance up at him for just a moment. But you just smile softly.

He uses the moment to pause and lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The frosting is stale and sticky. 

--

Your hand is on your hips, a sure sign of impending doom. 

The shopping bags the both of you had brought in are carefully set on the table. Though, Chrollo thinks, it’s a shame that almost none of what you bought today could come along. It was mostly decorations for the apartment, after all. A new rug, a painting by a local artist, some decorative figurines. Too impractical and delicate to travel with--but maybe you could keep the painting.

You’re not focused on  unpacking the bags, though, which is unusual for you. Instead you’re standing in front of the couch, watching him with a determined look on your face. 

“All right! That’s it, mister. Time to fess up.” 

Chrollo barely has time to raise an eyebrow before you’re climbing onto the couch, straddling him. You smell of perfume and pastries and faintly, of sweat. Outdoor markets always did tire you out.

You hop up onto the couch, facing him on your knees, and place your knees on either side of his hips to get comfortable. Your arms wrap gently around his neck, and your breath is still sweet with sugar and cream. The smell contrasts beautifully with the pout on your lips. 

“You haven’t been yourself all day. Soo… what’s wrong?” The words are sweet and light. 

You noticed. Of course you did. You always noticed the little things about him. 

And here, on the last day of your ordinary life, you were worried about him. How sweet. How kind. How adorable. 

If only he could live forever in this moment. But ah, fate is not so kind to him, is it? It’s best not to dwell on it, especially when there’s so much to be done, and so much to be said. 

For instance, he still has to get the handcuffs out of his duffel bag, just in case you prove too troublesome to leave without a fuss. He still has to mix together the tincture Shalnark gave him, to keep you calm, if you get too hysterical even for the cuffs. 

When he doesn’t answer, the last bit of teasing in your eyes fades away, replaced with a warm, inviting worry. You tuck a stray bit of his hair behind his ears, the ghost of your fingertips tickling his scalp. 

“Chrollo? Is it something serious?” 

You lean back, and your delicate hands move to his chest, playing with the fabric of his shirt while you wait for him to open up to you.

He always does. But this time, it will be the full truth. 

Well--you have always said you wanted to know him. Be careful what you wish for, and all that. 

He sighs, leaning back into the couch. His chin tilts up until he’s staring at the ceiling of your apartment, something you’d fought and scraped for, something you’d proudly decorated with his help. There’s a blurry vision of your head cocking to one side as he thinks--he hates to see that particular tic of yours go, it’s one of his favorites. 

His voice is short and cold and to the point, like the final click of cuffs around your wrists.

“It’s very serious.”

Your back straightens, and he looks away from the ceiling to meet your eyes. Your eyes are wider and worried. Your eyebrows are furrowed. 

“What is it? Are you alright?” Your voice is breathy, soft, anxious. “You can tell me anything, Chrollo. You know I’m here for you.” 

And you are, aren’t you? With your kind expression and your desire to return his own generosity towards you. For every time he helped you through a pinch, you were there to lift him up through his troubles, though they were often shallow and created by his own hand, all ways to bring you closer to him. 

He commits this expression, this moment, to memory. It’s the last time you’ll look so sweetly worried at him, he thinks. For a long time, if not forever. 

He gently grasps one of your hands in his, and you let him, sliding your fingers over his in a familiar gesture. His fingers tighten. He doesn’t want to let go now. 

“We’ll be leaving tonight, my dear. And there’s so much you need to know first.” 

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #afterwitch writes #chrollo: how can I make this all about me

[harmonysanreads]

Flickering Candlelight

yandere alhaitham x f!reader

cw: yandere, forced proximity, mentions of past confinement, manipulation, skyrocketed self-indulgence.

wc: 1.5k

loosely connected to this piece but can be read on its own!

If there was anything you despised more than Alhaitham himself, it would have to be staying beside him while he works at night.

After an entire day of tending to tiresome household chores and little to no recreation, when the bed calls for you so alluringly, the pillows promising sweet sweet dreams — you're instead forced to be strapped (not literally) on a rigid wooden chair and beside an even more rigid man who you have the misfortune to call husband. 

You're yet to fully memorize all the rules penned down by said man and the short meantime you had been performing these duties do not help in comprising an understanding either. Still, you follow through all his demands requests compliantly for the most part ; even then you cannot help but question the logicality behind this particular ‘duty’. Should you, with extreme boldness, conclude this need for company a result of the Scribe's loneliness? Or, is it something as simple —and borderline sweet— as your presence being comforting? The possibilities are infinite and with a man such as Alhaitham, you could only keep theorising to pass time in such nights. The wooden chair is as close to comfortable as Celestia is to the Abyss but what you cannot comprehend is, how sitting on his lap would make this situation any better.

The entire room is dimly lit by a single candle that sat upon his desk on a silver stand, so only the surroundings close to it was visible. The candlelight occasionally dances due to the beckoning of the night wind entering through the window, some of it briefly brushes against your skin ; making it even harder to keep your eyes open.

The calling of sleep could've been muted if, oh you don't know— there had been more entertaining things other than the moving of Alhaitham's quill or the view of your dangling feet to see ; you'd already passed two something hours switching between the two after all. And it's even harder to keep your body straight as it begs to lean unto something — not a wise decision in this case as the only thing to lean onto here is the Scribe's abdomen.

Despite the duration of you two being ‘together’, you're still quite easily flustered by physical proximity (Alhaitham sometimes uses this against you, very much to your dismay). Not like he is well-versed with displays of affection either but unlike him, you have some dignity left. A yawn involuntarily escapes your lips and your hand raises to cover your mouth, the corner of your eyes dampen and your body slouches but you keep fighting your primal urges.

Alhaitham finally takes notice of your struggles, without moving his attention from his work, he says, “I have told you already, you can lean on me instead of being stubborn. You should be well aware that adequate rest is necessary in order to perform your duties.”

Hypocrite. You are the one who's not letting me rest.

Despite his borderline enticing offer, you appear to shrink even further — or, as far as his pinning hold on your waist would allow you to. Here's the thing, you'd never refute to Alhaitham through words (not anymore) instead, your defiance subtly seeps through your actions ; how you flinch or try to create as much distance from him as possible. Your abhorrence for the Scribe is not lost on him either, it pains his stoned heart at times, how your eyes seem to only dull by his presence and how his name is never uttered with the same sentiments.

However, Alhaitham is no less stubborn himself. He knows you'll break and one day, you will reciprocate, too. He would not stop until he sees you smile only for him but a certain inconvenience needs to be mended for now.

A ticklish feeling engulfs the skin of your nape, black dots appear and disappear in your vision within rapid blinking. The Scribe's attention is fixed wholly on you but you cannot quite find that any more pleasing.

“Tell me, [y/n], what was the 22 rule from page nine?”

His voice is dangerously close, your skin flushes by instinct as his breath fans against it. You mentally scramble to search for the answer amidst all the distractions, now, despite your loose remembrance of Alhaitham's rules, you remember this particular one vividly — the Scribe made sure you would. However, the query of it at the moment stirs unsettlement.

Despite the rising apprehensiveness you mutter, “An ideal wife must have no doubts in her loyalty,”

The Scribe hums, the vibration of it travels through your skin, his fingers are faintly tapping the curve of your waist ; a chill runs down your spine. You do not like where this is headed.

“In that case, tempered door locks, sharp objects hidden beneath the bed mattress and attempts to shatter the window glass disguised as wild animals accidentally trespassing should also fall under that rule. After all, if the wife was undoubtedly loyal to the husband, she would not take such measures, no?”

Whatever sleep and tiredness that had clung to you before disappears like it had never existed. You straighten in alert but any further action is halted as Alhaitham's teeth nibble on your neck — not as forceful as to enact pain but enough to retrace memories. The serene rhythm of your heartbeats are sent askew, your hands clench on your lap.

H-how...?

A cool breeze waltzes through the open window, the panes rattle ever so silently ; the candle's light trembles. You discover your palms to be sweating once you unclench them, your eyes dart to as much space as it could considering the clasp you're in. Bastard, cornering you in such a situation where he has you in the palm of his hands. Even a wrong twitch could annihilate months worth of progress.

There is nothing in the Scribe's table capable of momentary distractions but then again, there is a very thick book an arm's length away. Should you hit his ridiculously smart head with it and make a run for the window? Alhaitham's hand squeezes the side of your waist, a beckoning for you to answer and answer plausibly (you're half spooked as the thought of him sensing your motives crosses by).

“...Yes,”

Alhaitham leans back from his ministrations but you're not given the reprieve of relief.

“You're so tense, [y/n]. If I did not know any better, I would've assumed you were planning to take a leap and run from me now.” there's an uncharacteristic teasing lilt hanging by those words, relative to the context, at least. The quirk of the Scribe's lips send your nerves in a greater frenzy, although. Throughout the lone time you've spent with him, you've found the once-in-a-blue-moon smiles to be nothing but premonitions. His gaze pins you from even breathing properly, there's an inclining for you to deny his claim regardless of the truth to it.

“Why would I want to run from you? I'm pleased by your side.” you lie through your teeth and the Scribe proceeds like he's halfway to victory.

“Of course, my wife is intelligent enough to...”

Alhaitham's hand frees its grip from you waist to gingerly take ahold of you wrist, his thumb caresses the skin in a circular motion with mock absentmindedness and finally presses it against your pulse point.

“...not want the chains to be back.”

Thump. You accidentally make the mistake of flinching, the Scribe tightens his hold in reflex and you're reminded again of his persistence. No matter how many door locks you temper with, how many windows you break and how many glass shards you hide — he'd always, always be one step ahead ; after all, it's not you who fixes every bit of your ‘mess’ and clears out the surroundings of any threats every day. And he'd inflict guilt and remind who you belong to again and again, he'll break you a thousand times if necessary until you finally learn.

You know, you know very well that freedom has long bid you farewell, the hopeless rationality in you begs for you to give up but the stubborn part insists and clings to the faint silver of hope. It tries to reason that, for now, you need to appease him, take his mind off of your blunder so you're given the time to think ; you give in to its desperate plea and fall to his grasp farther and that desperation comforts back — for now.

Alhaitham is taken aback for a millisecond as you lean on his torso a little too eagerly. His mind blanks for that fraction of time though that state is too transient, it's still something new, you note. The fatigue that had been flung in the span of a few moments crashes onto you again as Alhaitham's hand reaches to comb through your locks.

“Good girl.”

You suppress your revolt and close your eyes shut, welcoming sleep for the first time in his working presence and entering the dreamscapes to weave a better scheme for escapade.

well that escalated quickly.

#reposting due to some issues with the previous post #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere alhaitham x reader #yandere al haitham x reader #al haitham x female reader #alhaitham x female reader #genshin impact x female reader #yandere alhaitham #yandere al haitham #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x female reader #genshin x you #yandere x you #al haitham x you #alhaitham x you #yandere drabbles #yandere genshin drabbles #yandere imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x darling #male yandere #female darling #al haitham agenda

[newtonsheffield]

Molly, I loved little princess bean Katie and Lady Mary with Dilf daddy King Sharma 😍 we need more. How did they meet? Did Katie catch Mary sleeping in Dilf King Sharma bed? I need to know!! please 🙏

Oh they’re super sweet.

Once upon a time, Mary was only Lady Mary Sheffield, the Earl of Sheffield’s daughter and Tharman was only His Royal Highness, Tharman, Crown Prince. And He had a very sweet daughter.

“Now, I’ve arranged for you to sit next to the Prince at dinner.”

Mary stared at her mother as they sat in the back of the car weaving through traffic. “How, and more importantly; Why?”

Her mother waved her hand. “I made a donation to this… whatever this charity is.”

“A children’s hospital? You know, sick children.”

“Don’t be so…snippy tonight.” Her mother sighed, “Mary, please. Please don’t be sarcastic tonight.”

“So… don’t be myself?” Mary asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m to sit next to the Crown Prince for some… ungodly reason and… become mute.”

“Oh don’t be dense.” Her mother scoffed, “He’s had long enough. It’s high time he married again and you, if you would put in just a modicum of effort; would be perfect.”

“He’s had long enough?!” Mary squawked, a little horrified, “Mama, his wife died from complications after childbirth. I think he’s allowed to grieve.”

“Oh, is that what you’re worried about?!” Her mother rolled her eyes, “Darling, you could ship the girl off to boarding school by the time you’re actually married. And I’m sure they have people who would take care of her in the meantime.”

Mary knew that all too well. She’d spent an entire childhood of her own with no one but a nanny for company, her parents sometimes not even in the same country. So lonely.

Mary gaped at her mother, “What are you-?! I can’t believe you.”

“You’re quite pretty when you smile. Just flirt with him a little, one thing can lead to another. A little pregnancy scare in a few months and-“

“I’m not sitting beside him!” The car pulled up to the venue and Mary slipped out as soon as she could, desperate to slip away but her mother caught her by the arm, her nails digging in.

“You are going to. You can’t not. How would that look?”

Her mother was right. She could hardly refuse to sit beside the prince without it looking like a slight but all she felt in the pit of her stomach was dread. Dread that increased with every step she took.

She could feel her mother’s eyes boring in to her from three tables away as they waited for the prince to arrive, Mary already in her seat. He’d become a bit of a recluse truly, in the four years since his wife had passed away. Appearing at events and leaving as soon as would have been appropriate. She’d seen him quite a few times at a distance, though they’d never been introduced and as she stood, waiting for him to make his way across the room.

He was handsome, up close. She realised as he inclined his head to everyone at the table and his eyes fell on her. His jaw sharp and his eyes kind, his thick, dark hair curling over his brow. So handsome that she fumbled a little as she curtsied and she could nearly hear her mother cursing across the room.

“Please, please. Everyone sit.” He smiled, “I’m sorry I’m so late. A little Princess was telling me all the reasons why I should take her to the toy store tomorrow.”

Everyone let out a polite chuckle as they settled into their seats and mary did the same, feeling a little wooden. Avoiding her mother’s piercing gaze. She could hardly focus on anything as the dinner started, staring at her glass of water as conversation started around her.

“Is everything alright?”

His voice was warm, close to her ear and it startled her, the gentleness in it. She let her eyes slide to his and a lump appeared in her throat at the gentle concern colouring his face.

“Of course, your highness.”

His eyes slid to her name card, “I’m sorry I’m not better company, Lady Mary. I’d be very happy to trade places.”

Mary breathed a sighed imaging her mother’s furious face. “Lord, please don’t do that.”

“I’m very happy for you to choose the topic of conversation then. I’ll admit I’m a poor conversationalist these days. I spend most of my time with a four year old. Well, she will be soon.”

There was something so sweet in that. In the way his eyes lit up as he spoke about his daughter and his smile grew brighter. And it made her brave.

She cleared her throat, smiling as she took a sip of her wine. “Are we acquainted enough that I could ask you for a favour?”

His eyes widened but he leaned in, smiling bemusedly, “Well we’ve known one another a full minute. I have to imagine we are.”

“No matter what I do tonight, can you pretend to be very uninterested in me?”

“Do you want me to be uninterested in you?”

“I want my mother to think you are.”

“Ah.” He gave her a tight smile. “I see.”

He cleared his throat, making a great show of leaning away from her. “I’m sorry, Lady Mary, I disagree!”

She bit back a smile, “Maybe a little too dramatic.”

He winked at her quickly before he turned away completely, nudging his elbow until her hand rested on it and it looked for all the world as though she was desperately trying to get his attention.

“Did you try, Mary?” Her mother tutted as they left. “Did you actually try?!”

“I did, Mother.” She said sighing, “I’m not sure what you wanted me to do? Take my dress off and sit in his lap?”

Her mother stood stone faced. “You aren’t anywhere near as amusing as you think.”

“Maybe not, but I am going home.”

“Fine. You’re useless to me anyway.”

Mary sighed as she turned away, trying not to let it sting as she made her way down the steps towards her waiting car. She was almost there when she heard a voice call out.

“Are we safe?”

She started at the sound of his voice and turned to see him waiting for her, grinning a slightly lopsided smile that made her heart skip.

“Ah well, she’s deemed me useless and sent me home.” Mary chuckled, “She continues to think I’m a disappointment so… I’d have to say quite the win tonight.”

His laughter was a bemused, warm little thing and she had the oddest impression that it had made its way into her chest. “I’m always glad to be of assistance, Lady Mary.”

“Very gallant of you, Your Highness.”

He really was very handsome as he smiled at her in the moonlight, dimples on his cheeks. He paused for a moment, “Can I… ask you a question?”

“I think we’re past that point. Surely.”

“Why? Why did you…? Many women might have behaved differently and I just… Why?”

Mary sighed, honesty spilling out of her. “If I give my mother this… it would never be enough. I will never be enough for her. And it doesn’t seem fair for you to be drawn into all that.”

He gave her a sad smile, leaning in closer. “Then I’m afraid to say it but your mother’s an idiot.”

Surprised laughter burst out of her and she loved the way his smile grew at the sound of it.

“Then it’s not because you’re seeing someone else?”

Her heart stuttered. “I’m not but…”

“Lady Mary I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me. No one would have to know. I only… It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself at one of these things and I… I’d like to get to know you.”

She stared at him, a little in shock but the answer came without much thought. “I think I’d like that as well.”

It was a nearly two months later, when she woke up warm in his bed, his chest warm behind her before she slipped out of it. Throwing the shirt she’d slipped off his shoulders last night back over her as she padded towards the kitchen.

His sister had taken Kate out the night before, she’d bring her back this afternoon and something ached in her chest, something anxious at what they’d been dancing around. Her meeting his daughter.

He loved his daughter. That much was obvious. From the way he spoke about her and the fact that his study was covered in scrawled pictures in bright green crayon. The greatest gift of his life, he called her, with so much warmth that a lump grew in Mary’s throat now just thinking about it as she opened the fridge. There was another, bigger kitchen, Mary knew, where professional chefs toiled away but this was for the family alone, so they didn’t have to bother the staff over tiny little things. Hunger gnawed at her stomach and she was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear it.

“Who are you?!”

“Fuck!” Mary squawked in surprise, letting out a screech as she dropped the jug of orange juice she’d just lifted off the shelf, the glass smashing on the floor at her feet as she whirled around.

A tiny girl was standing in the door way still in her pyjamas, fluffy slippers on her feet. She had Tharman’s thick, curly hair that cascaded down her shoulders, his little twin as she stared adorably up at Mary, tapping her foot.

“My Appa says that’s a naughty word.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” Mary gasped as footsteps sounded in the hallway, Tharman rushing in.

He was only in his boxers his hair disheveled from sleep and the way Mary’s hands had run through with her legs over his shoulders and his jaw fell open at the sight in front of him. Mary, naked but for his shirt. His daughter, confused. Juice, all over the floor.

“Kate, Peanut.” Tharman said finally, picking her up and settling her on his hip with an apologetic look at Mary. “Auntie Im was supposed to drop you off later.”

“Granny said she needed her.” Kate chirped still staring at Mary, who could hardly breathe. “Where are her pyjamas?”

Mary wanted to fall through the ground, truth be told, trying to tug the shirt further down her thighs. “I… left them at home.”

Tharman smirked a little looking up at the ceiling before he sighed. “Kate, remember how we spoke about how sometimes Men and women have special friends?”

Kate nodded, resting her chin on her father’s shoulder. “Then they get married sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” Tharman said quickly, “Well, this is Mary and she’s Appa’s special friend. Can you say Hello?”

Kate smiled at her, a cheeky little grin as she reached out her hand for Mary to shake, “I’m Kate.”

Mary’s heart fluttered as she held her hand out to take Kate’s tiny one in hers. “It’s nice to meet you kate. Your Appa’s told me so much about you.”

Kate looked suspicious, “Appa is silly.”

“Appa’s very silly.” Tharman huffed in agreement, kissing his daughter’s temple.

“Are you going to stay with us today?”

Mary looked at Tharman who smiled encouragingly before she nodded, “If that’s okay with you.”

“Mary might be around here a lot from now on, peanut.”

Kate looked between them slowly, her lips pouting. “Mary can you read?”

Mary bit back a laugh, “I can read, yes.”

“Can you do voices? Appa’s bad at them.”

“I can… try.”

Kate patted her father’s head in a sign to let her down and she tugged Mary’s hand forward dragging her out of the kitchen, calling back to her father. “Mary and me are going to get books and toys Appa!”

Tharman kissed Mary’s cheek quickly as she passed sighing as they left “I guess I’ll clean up the juice then.”

And when she sat on the floor with Kate on her lap and Tharman across from her it was shard not to feel as though this was the start of their little family. Even if no one else knew yet.

#head on the pillow au #kate sharma #kate sheffield #mary x Tharman #papa sharma remains a DILF #mary sharma #molly’s asks and answers

[billthedrake]

SLUT SHORTS

It was another of those nights. He was working late, I had made a quick and easy dinner for myself before plopping myself on the couch - muted playoffs hockey on the TV, laptop open to study for my CFA exam. I was planning to take it in two weeks.

I almost didn't hear Dad come in, until he was behind me.

"Hey Evan," he said, stepping up and placing his hands on my shoulder. Dad has strong hands, and they felt great on my tense delts. "Rangers behind already? Shit!" he said.

I looked back over my shoulder. Dad was mostly business casual these days, but he looked hot as fuck. He'd been a hockey player himself in college, and still played in the rec leagues. 6'1" and a solid 210 at 44, he filled out his button down pretty well. He even had to get those special trousers with more room in the thighs and butt.

"Yeah, fraid so," I said. "Long day, Dad?"

He gave a nod and let out a sigh. "Pretty much." He let go of his light grip on my shoulders and gave me a pat. "I'm gonna shower up... maybe someone will score a fucking goal in the meantime."

I laughed. "Don't hold your breath," I said.

I watched a little of the game and went back to studying.

Dad's not my father. He's not even my step dad. But Stephen Bennett and I had been dating for five years and had drifted pretty comfortably into where we were now. Heavy roleplay now colored our identies around the house. I was his Son, and Stephen was my Dad. At first he was responding to my kink, but eventually he began to own that identity himself, to embrace his Dadness with me and around me. He even took the lead in pushing the kink with me.

It was hot in the bedroom, but we'd grown more comfortable with it even on normal nights like this.

Or maybe it wasn't a normal night. When Dad walked in, he was half naked, the chest hair hair still damp from his shower and his thinning hair neatly gelled. But it was those fucking shorts that caught my attention.

They were an orange pair of athletic shorts from his college days, with a black and white stripe on the sides and "Princeton" written in small lettering on the leg. I'd first seen them one day when Stephen had slipped them on for some work around the condo. He'd chuckled at how much they turned me on. But if those shorts had ever been a little loose on the guy, they fucking clung to his bigger, middle-aged muscle these days. Hugging Dad's thighs and molding to that meaty ex-hockey jock ass.

Like they did now as Dad walked past me and sat on the couch next to me. He was acting dumb and waiting for my reaction, which was kind of adorable.

I took a look at him, his attention on the TV. I knew he had to be pretty damn horny to want sex over the Rangers in the playoffs, but it had been a few days, and even that had been a quickie BJ swap before work.

I was in some casual sweats, and I was boning up fast. One thing we'd had to negotiate as a couple was that my libido was stronger than his. Not that Stephen lacked sex drive, but well, I was 28 and maybe genetically swimming in hormones to begin with. Three days was way too long to go without sex and my cock was now rock hard and throbbing even at the idea.

And yeah, those shorts were turning me the fuck on. Now that Dad was sitting, leaning forward a little as he watched the game, the hem rode up the thighs, showing off the man's hairy legs. I was hard wired for older guys for a million reasons, but legs like that were one of them. They were an older man's legs, a dad's legs. Even the curly-soft leg for a middle-aged man was different than a younger guy's.

"In the fucking goal!" he swore at the TV. Maybe he wasn't playing dumb, maybe he was gonna put out in another hour, after the game was over. Jesus, now I wasn't sure I could wait that long.

Dad had quickly learned how much those shorts did it for me. He'd wear them in the bedroom sometimes to spice things up. I'd branded them his "slut shorts" and the name stuck. Stephen Bennett wasn't remotely a submissive or anything - the man was too type-A and too much a control freak for that - and we were still negotiating my desire to top with his vers nature.

But from time to time he'd get in a VERY bottomy mood with me. Those shorts were our little playful code. When Dad had them on, I was gonna get majorly laid.

My laptop was open but completely ignored now as I stared at him. He had just enough of a normal look to him that made his muscular, in-shape body perfect to me. Dad had been married once, to a woman, and had one short relationship with a guy before me. But he had never done the gay scene and not really even done the apps that much. We'd met at an alumni event and had an immediate sexual chemistry. I'd just graduated from Princeton and was at my starter job in the city, and I had every bit of that D-1 jock look that Stephen went for.

"Sorry to distract you, son," Dad now grinned, turning toward me during a commercial break and acknowledging the obvious. "But I figured you could use a study break." He leaned back and stretched his arms up, revealing thick, soft pit hair and flexing his chest muscles some. I could see Dad was throwing hard in those shorts, which added to my excitement. Their snugness meant that thick dad bone showed pretty clearly.

I put my laptop on the coffee table and turned toward him, showing off my erection. "Fuck yes," I chuckled.

Dad seemed to know where my interest lay and he turned toward me. "I think your cum washed out of these," he smirked.

I'd started traveling for work some, and Dad always slipped these shorts into my bag if I had an overnight trip. Or he'd leave them out for me when he traveled. I'd jerk off into them while we FaceTimed, an incredible way to stay close to him.

I wouldn't have to settle for that now. "You wanna suck my dick, Dad?" I asked. Sometimes crude and direct didn't work for Dad, but those shorts had given me permission.

He got a hungry look in his eye. Miraculously, the Rangers were the last thing on his mind as he faced away from the TV and scooted over and down onto the floor in front of where I was sitting. His strong hands now pawed at my crotch. "My big boy need taking care of?"

I had about an inch on Dad, which turned us both on. "Yeah," I croaked.

Dad pulled my waistband over my hardon, then peeled my boxer briefs down to let me free. "That's a hard fucking cock," he grunted. I watched him look at it a second and enjoyed the feedback loop between my visible excitement and his appreciative stare. Then he leaned down and angled up my meat to start sucking me.

I could see the thinning spot on the top of his head as he started swallowing, then bobbing on my cock, and the meaty shoulders and knotted back... and past that that amazing thick ass filling out those shorts. I'm pretty sure my dick spurted a healthy amount of pre into Dad's throat as he took me deeper.

"Holy fuck, Dad!" I gasped. The man was taking me real fricking deep, all the way to the pubes. He wasn't always able to do this, at least not without tripping a defensive gag or two in the process of slowly willing himself to relax. No hesitation or gradual approach now. Dad was deep throating me, and showing off with long mouth strokes up my 7.5 inches to match the hungry descent down. Stephen must have been thinking about sex all day, he was just so keyed up now.

I ran my hands along his strong back. I felt I could nut just having him give me head, and fast. And I would have loved that. But the slut shorts were on, and I was gonna take advantage of them.

"Pull off, Dad," I urged. "Please."

Dad had to catch his breath as he wiped his chin and lips. It had been a messier blow job than he'd like. Dad was real self conscious about that for some reason. I don't know why, the thick spit on his face turned me the fuck on.

"Give me a second?" he asked, leaning back so I could see his hairy torso and that exec-handsome face.

"Sure," I said. I leaned back and let my boner pulse, wet with his viscous saliva. On top of that I was leaking hard now.

I worried, he was getting out of the mood, but he stood up and I could see that dad dick poking up his shorts. It was incredible how they fit, but barely. The fabric drew up tight against Dad's boner. He was already stepping in to rub my face into it.

I grunted as I chewed and licked at that hard ridge in the fabric. Something about these shorts, and Dad in them, connected the jocks I went to college with the draw to a paternal figure. I wish I could have seen Dad wear these when he was 20, but I was also glad he was much older than me, that I wa seeing the shorts on him now.

Dad was getting into how excited I was. Playfully he gripped the back of my head and guided me all over his own excited crotch. "That's it, Evan, buddy. See how horny you get your father."

THIS had been a surprise. How much Stephen could run with the verbal. He'd been the one initially hesitant to do the roleplay, but now he was better at the spontaneous kink talk than me. I did my best to keep up.

"Fuck yes," I hissed finally pulling off. "The dick that made me."

That got a growl from the man. "Don't forget that, son," he hissed. Then I watched as he slid down the shorts, after he worked the elastic over the hard staff of his prick. I'd never get tired of seeing Stephen's dick. I considered it cosmic fate that nature had given us two cocks that looked pretty similar, as if we were related. Dad was medium-thick and pretty evenly thick up its length, with only a slight bend to the right, like mine. Even his balls seemed to be the size and shape like mine.

I thought he was wanting some oral service himself, but his hand stopped my forward motion and even pushed me back a little, into the couch cushions.

"Lean back, son," Dad said, his voice getting that deeper lusty quality. "Daddy needs a fuck."

I looked up, horniness and maybe a little cockiness in my eye. I loved fucking Dad. If I had my way, I'd fuck him every day. But relationships aren't about getting your way all the time.

That's OK, I was gonna have a hot piece of ex-hockey ass to tap now. Dad was already straddling my waist. In his worked up, power-bottom mode I didn't get to see nearly enough. His body felt warm, maybe a little damp from the shower still. He'd started wearing my actual father's cologne and had it on now, and the scent hit my nostrils like poppers. Next to his slut shorts, that smell was one of my big triggers.

I was still mostly clothed, with a T-shirt on and sweatpants pulled down mid-thigh. But Dad wasn't gonna let me strip off. His lips met mine hungrily, and his hands gripped my neck to pull me into the liplock.

I ran my hands along his leg fur, appreciating that strong muscle beneath. And yeah, I felt up that hockey-playing ass.

Dad was now humping me, running his ass along my boner as we made out. He was usually too self conscious to do anything like this, anything so slutty. But he was all in now.

I grunted into his mouth and pawed at every bit of daddy that I could. This had the sexual attraction and horniness of our first time having sex together, combined with the sexual chemistry we'd honed over the last few years.

Dad knew I loved to eat him out, but he also knew he was too worked up to take slow tonight. I could feel the slickness of lube in his crack and against my prick now.

I'd barely registered the implications of that before Dad broke the kiss and leaned back a little, just enough to be able to reach back and grab my prick and pull it up. He angled his hips up and adjusted his alignment.

I watched, keeping still, letting him guide me in. Then I saw Dad's face get that succession of reactions to the penetration. At last there was that knowing smile he'd get when he'd gotten past the difficult part.

"You glad to be back home, Baby boy?" he hissed.

"Yes, sir," I growled. "You have no idea." I placed my hands on his outer thighs to feel his up and down motion. The feeling of his hole was snug and amazing.

"I have a hunch," he replied. Getting more vigorous in his ride. He'd gone from 0 to 60 pretty fast. We were fucking. "My hot incest fucker."

"Jesus," I said, amazed how Dad knew what to say to work me up. He'd been reading porn stories or something, because his imagination caught me off guard.

Dad rode me and we kissed again. That was great, but Dad found the more upright seated position easier so he retreated to that. His hand was a little lubey now and that helped him stroke himself in time to his bouncing.

I now met him half way, pushing my hips up into him in time to meet his own downward bounce. "I love fucking you, Dad. So much."

His lips curled up. "Yeah, I know you do, son. Love your father's tight hole.... You've been working so hard, studying so hard... you deserve a treat... for being a good fucking boy."

God Stephen knew how to get me there. My cock felt slicker from my precum and I was thrusting into him harder, taking over more than 50 percent of this fuck. "Yeah, I am," I replied. I wished I was actually better at the verbal, but I at least wanted to encourage Dad in this. "Your good son."

"Yeah... you're gonna ace that exam... make your daddy proud."

"Yessir!" I grunted. God he was getting me closer now.

"Is that what you want, son? To make your Dad proud?"

"I do sir," I replied. "So bad."

The man's voice was getting more strained as he rode me, relishing the deep and hard penetration and what it was doing to his inner spot. "Proud... Just like when you won that golf scholarship.... Just like when you throw me one of those Big Boy fucks..."

I thought his sex talk was for my benefit mostly, but I watched his face scrunch and then heard him let out a short, loud cry. And then Dad's dick started spray his seed all over me. Hard, hot, spray that landed in a thick ropes on my T-shirt, soaking it.

"Oh fuck, Dad!" I cried, feeling my own cum hit me as I started seeding his tight ass.

My hips stopped and his riding slowed down, until he rested in my lap momentarily, just enjoying that moment before it was time to climb off. "Thanks, Evan," he said. "I needed that."

I watched with some disappointment as Dad got up, steadying his body before he found his discarded shorts and picked them up. "I'm gonna clean up, OK, buddy?"

This was the thing we'd been working on. When we started I was his buddy, his big guy, his special dude during the sex act, but Evan afterwards. Now we'd learned to extend it afterward. Of not automatically switching back to our "real" selves.

"Yeah," I said, patting his calf muscle as I leaned up. I saw the glob of dad sperm on his knuckle and impetuously decided to lick it off. Dad turned his hand to let me and chuckled a little. After I'd sampled his sperm, he patted me on the side of my head.

"I love you, buddy," he said softly.

"Love you, Dad," I replied.

He went to shower, and I pulled my sweats back up over my lubed and spermy dong. I'd change in a bit, but for now, I relished being covered in my father's seed. And I was enjoying the moment of relaxation.

The Rangers had scored one but were still behind. My laptop was in sleep mode, neglected. I probably wouldn't get much studying done tonight.

Dad walked in, those shorts back on.

He didn't play dumb this time. "I figured you'd have another in the tanks for later. But OK if I watch the game first?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Dad," I said, putting my arm on the back of the couch as an invitation for him to sit close to me. He did and I enjoyed his warmth and more mature body next to mine. I threw hard again a couple of times during the rest of the game, just feeling him like that and seeing those shorts on him.

But no need to rush things. I had my father right there next to me.

#drakestories

[ele-sme]

Part two is posted, the next after this post.

Immagine this (canon ATWOW) weeks after the funeral.

Jake was with Tonowari when they heard the shouts, they quickly got to see who was shouting and after pass an ocean of people. They discovered that Lo'ak, Kiri and Spider were the reason for so much confusion.

"You can't!" Lo'ak yelled at the tiny even if older boy, who was full of bad energy and it could be understood from meters away.

"Try me!" The other boy responded back with the same amount of voice.

Quickly Neytiri and Tuk came too.

"What happening?" Neytiri asked, her tone was firm and severe but her eyes were tired and formed from all the tears she had cried in the last weeks.

Jake came closer to his family, putting himself next to his mate, he and his family were facing Spider directly.

"Spider wants to-" Lo'ak tried to tell but was stopped by a sob, Jake just now noticed that both his kids were crying. He turned his gaze to the pink tiny boy who seems to by crying too. He had only his cannula on, which was strange and dangerous.

Neytiri understating that her children were crying because of the human boy hissed at him, which maked him take a foot backwards, but he remained still.

"Your going to cut me, again?" He asked still yelling at her, he was saying it in English, which even if the family didn't notice first helped them later for inventing a excuse.

Neytiri who not aspetcted a respond putted her self as before and retracted the canines.

"Can you please told me what is happening?!" Jake finally asked.

"He wants to go away, the next time Uncle Max and Norm will come, he wants to go away from us dad!" She said, crying and sobbing, she haven't cried like that since she was five and discovered her biological mother wasn't Neytiri.

Jake ears fallen back.

"Why do you want to go away?" He asked to the boy, who in the meantime was removing some tears from his unmasked face.

"I can't stay with you anymore, i can't forgive what you guys have done to me" he yelled with all his voice making Tuk cry.

"What the fuck did we do now?" Lo'ak asked putting himself too close to the other boy.

"You leaved me there, with the fucking RDA" Spider responded.

"What should we have done? Come back for you?d...dying for searching you?"Neytiri asked with a hiss that fallen at the word dying.

"No, I'm not saying this, but you could send someone, anyone. You just gotten away!" He responded, much hate in his voice. Jake couldn't think that the same boy that was talking was the one who maked flower crowns for his kids. Who was this kid?

"We are sorry Spider but the past is past, you need to forget about that" Jake telled, his voice the only calm compared to the others one.

"Do you guys have any idea of what they put me through?" Spider asked, ignoring Jake request.

The family muted, there was only the noise of the waves and people whispering to the others in the background.

"What do you mean" Kiri asked after some time

"They putted me in machines, they hurted me, man they even shoot me in the leg once when i tried to escape, escape to come back to who? No one because you all were here making new friends." His voice now more calm and low but it was sharp. "And just now i discovered that you all think i betrayed you" he continued.

"Spider, your nose" Tuk said, pointing at the boy nose who was losing blood.

Spider touched his skin and thanked the little one.

He walked himself from the family and the clan, two days later when the scientists came he left, without saying goodbye to anyone.

#avatar spider #avatar 2 #jake sully #miles spider socorro #neytiri #avatar #fanfic #neteyam #kiri #lo'ak sully #tuk tuk #tuktirey #angst?

[lookninjas]

Pick a (probably not actually) Ambient Song From a Bad Description

To be honest, this isn't even really André 3000's fault; I've been trying to build a playlist around one of these songs for a long time, and this just gave me the impetus.

Pick a song, any song! But you only have my bad descriptions to go off. If you're genuinely curious about a song, please shoot me an ask and I will answer you. If you have guesses, I always enjoy those. (If you actually recognize the violent YouTube catharsis song, please let me know -- judging by the video comments it's a surprisingly common experience?)

Poll runs for a week. At the end of the poll, I will make a playlist out of all songs, in order from least votes to most votes. If you would like to hear that playlist, leave a comment or put it in the tags, and I will tag you when the playlist goes up.

And in the meantime, I will be streaming as much ambient as possible to infuse my Black Friday with some kind of sense of calm. And maybe just a little industrial. For the catharsis.

#polls #music #playlists #look as much as i love a soothing soundscape i also live for the changeup so #i don't know if you guys understand how seriously i take these honestly #i really had to think over my personal aesthetic and artistic choices to make the call on that one #but i couldn't leave off the estonian folk music once i uncovered it like #that is absolutely my shit #and one of my favorite ever weirdass songs is on here so we're happy

[angelltheninth]

How to permanently hide/block AI generated works on Ao3

As you might know people have started using AI to generate fics and have been posting them to Ao3. As of now there are almost 400 works with the words/tag: 'Chat GPT' or some variation of 'AI written'.

When I asked Ao3 support about blocking/deleting them they told me they don't violate their ToS (which I think is bullshit, since the fics are made from stolen works). That being said I kind of understand why they don't want to delete them. If they do then the works would go untagged and be impossible to filter out.

You may also ask: why not use Ao3's Block and Mute feature?

You can but there's a limit to how many users you can block/mute. Since there's already almost 400 fics I imagine they're just gonna keep popping up and sooner or later you'd run out of block/mute spots.

Therefore I find it much easier to permanently block them all together.

For these you will need the Tampermonkey extension, the Ao3 savior script, and the Ao3 savior confg script (which the one you will be editing).

Now I will show you how to use them:

First you need to add Tempermonkey to your browser:

Next is the Ao3 Savior and the Config, you add them the same way:

After that you need to install the scripts in Tampermonkey to make them work:

To edit the scripts you need to click on the Tampermonkey extention and go to "Dashboard". After that you will see your window and click on the Ao3 Configuration edit:

The script might look scary and complicated but I promise you its not. You may edit lines 20-40 in order to make it work.

The things you want to edit should be separated by commas and have apostrophes before and after the word so that the script knows where the blocked tags begin and end. Also remember to click "File" in the top left corner of the script and click "Save" or your progress will be lost.

My script looks like this, if you need a visual,:

And if you want to know the exact words I used and just copy and paste them here you go:

For authors: 'ChatGPT', 'ai3fanfiction'

For titles: 'AI written', 'written by AI', 'ChatGPT', 'written by an AI', 'AI Dungeon', 'written entirely by an AI', 'AI-written', 'written with an AI', 'written entirely by AI', 'written by a AI'

For tags: 'AI generated', 'ChatGPT', 'OpenAI', 'Chat-GPT - Freedorm', '*Written by AI', 'AI written'

For summary: 'written by AI', 'AI Dungeon', '*written entirely by an AI', 'AI written fanfiction', 'written by an AI'

Of course you can also add ships, tags you may find triggering, etc. in the exact same way, just make sure you add them to the right line and in the format I showed above.

I hope this helps until someone finds a way to hide authors works from AI cause Ao3 seemingly isn't doing anything. Or AI bros gets sued by some big company and get shut down.

In the meantime you can use this, feel free to add any other other words you find to make it work better because I most likely didn't find them all. And if you know of a more simple method you may also share.

#ao3 #fuck ai writing #anti ai writing #fuck ai fics