#Now To Close The Tab For A While
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It's Finally Happened; I am adjusting my social media habits
I'm going to be on social media less. I'm mostly looking to get rid of my reflexive habit if opening tumblr/twitter and reading through it for fifteen minutes every hour and a half or so.
It also means when I do post, I'll be posting something that's actually, like, a thing. Me talking about something that's happened, or posting something I've made, or written, or recorded or whatever. When I do this I might buzz around and reblog a bit, but again I'm not going to be doing it for more then a "session" essentially. Part of this is also attempting to sever my weird obsession with notes. It's never gotten too bad but especially with creative stuff I would feel bad if it did not get internet points. Which is dumb. Hopefully this'll allow me to post more of my creative shit without feeling nude. Or feeling less nude, at any rate.
Ultimately social media is effecting my personal perception of the world more then I'd like, and I think it's also negatively effecting my perception of myself. I'm not trying to get rid of it entirely, but I am trying to purge the internet brainrot. I'm also using this as an opportunity to be more social in general, talking to people I've not spoken to in a while on discord, doing multiplayer stuff more often, etc etc. If you've been on my discord for years and I've never spoken to you; Maybe I Will Now, Do Not Be Afraid.
I will still be on discord, and I will still pop on now and then to check for people asking for my Discord. If you want to keep tabs on me on a personal level, just ask for my discord.
That's that. Ta Ta for now, internet. I'll be back at some point with something I'm sure.
I've also updated my sticky post with more stuff you can find me on. A steam curator page for one. I've actually been running it for a while, and just never posted it. If you're interested in my opinions about video games, feel free to go there.
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[cicadas buzzing]
#furry art#anthro#artists on tumblr#safe fur work#mspaint#jspaint#mostly drawn at work in 3 minute stints while noone was looking#took almost a month to finish due to this hehe now i can finally close the tab!#this is my summer wish btw joint on the balcony maybe some wine. fairy lights and stars#dont think itll happen tho. not this year#mine#digital#fave
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#lizzy speaks#polls#for honesty's sake i have 97 tabs on firefox!#new years resolution is to have less than 5 tabs every time i close firefox...#it was over 100 earlier...#im trying to clean them up right now bc my computer crashed presumably from a memory overload while drawing and i dont like that#feel free to vote and reblog or whatever i just thought this would be funny since im in a predicament right now LOL#me and my tabs staring at each other lovingly (its mostly just tumblr and art references)#if we were going by my phone though i have 16 tabs lol. would probably have more if i was in a fic reading mood though
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guess who just lost all her browser tabs for a second time this week using Firefox 🙃
#the extension i downloaded earlier in the week was worse than useless for restoring it#i had closed it last night to save memory or whatever while i played minecraft#and this morning i went to restore it so i opened firefox and when i tried to click the three lines to open the browser settings#i accidentally hit the X button to close the window#SO now firefox considers my last session to be the empty tab one and refuses to bring back my 30 research tabs...
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i love listening to down with the sickness
#never forget the time i was in A Dark Place and down with the sickness came on#i laughed so hard i could close the hotline tab i had open#no way im going to kms while down with the sickness is playing LMAO#ruth talks#that was years ago now im fine im doing great now :)
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catch me picking up everything and booking several plane tickets to See My Friends
#every once in a while i do some research into how much plane tickets would cost if i left right now or on a specific date in the future#and then i just. close the tab without buying one. 😔
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where's that post about the joy of reacquainting yourself with the canon material i am experiencing it right now and it is in fact very good you would think doing this enough times i'd remember that this is true
#sparrowsong#yes this is about double life again. i am transcribing a conversation.#IT FUCKS ME UP SO BAD HOW OFTEN AND HOW CLOSE THEY ARE TO BEING OKAY WITH EACH OTHER. AND THEN IT JUST DOESN'T. HAPPEN.#like. yeah pearl seethingly angry is good. but i've been doing wrong!! and now i have like half a transcript and i can work with this!!!!#also reminding myself that traffic cleo is more sarcastic than that and wc scott is more emo than that. good. important. useful to know!!!!#the world has so many things in it. i have so many tabs open. but this is good!!!!! this is a good thing#...god you can REALLY tell i've been socializing in ways that i like a healthy amount lately huh.#i have stuff to look forward to! i have things to do! >:3#also while we're here austin walker talking about mechs is ALWAYS a good time. i need to find his list of mech questions actually
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Gojo Satoru
TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking, death of nameless character
gn reader
Thinking about Gojo bumping into you on his way to buy sweets and getting mortified when sensing how you pass through his infinity like it isn’t even there – touching him hands-first like it’s only normal.
And the way you look at him, all spluttering apologies – without a single clue – how you quickly walk away like it was no bigger deal than mildly embarrassing.
And he’s left there, stunned and stuck to the ground he stood on, suddenly feeling stripped naked.
He had to follow you – naturally. Can’t let the biggest threat to his life just walk around unsupervised. Obviously, he has to keep tabs on you now – every single day – your constant whereabouts, where you work and study and loiter and live, and who you communicate with.
It’s all platonic at first – nothing romantic. He’s stalking you, but it’s for safety reasons. There’s no telling who’d potentially find out about your dormant technique and use it against him.
But keeping his six eyes on you every hour he could spare all day and night of every week, eventually, he can't stop himself from starting to see you as something more than just a threat…
He's not blind to it either – he feels the change in the pit of his stomach – in his heart – in his balls even.
He blushes when you take your clothes off to go shower – needs to swallow thickly, watching you walk about your apartment dressed only in undies and a comfy T – smiles when seeing you dance around to music he can’t hear from where he’s perched on the rooftop on the neighboring building – tugs on his cock to the sight of you touching yourself, trying to time his climax to yours.
He’s not watching you for the right reasons anymore… he knows that, but he just can’t seem to stop.
You’re so normal, he’s obsessed with you. So addictive in your mundane routines. Messy notes, chewing your pen when scrambling for an exam – making another easy-fix dinner – picking up the same hoodie from the floor before throwing yourself out the door to go work your minimum wage job – coming home late only to collapse on the sofa with a random episode of some dumb sitcom playing on the TV.
He wants to be your boyfriend – imagines himself going to your school and sitting next to you in the lecture hall, studying together at cafes, watching movies in bed, wearing his varsity jacket, squeezing your ass as you ride him in someone else's bedroom at a party that got way out of hand, cumming on your face and apologizing for it when you give him head on his birthday.
He’s teetering on thirty and has killed more than he can count – both curses and humans – and here he is – fantasizing about having a college sweetheart who doesn’t even know his name…
It would be healthy for him to stop – he knows that, knows it’s becoming dangerous – but he thinks it might be too late now – all he does is try and get closer…
He thinks about enrolling in one of your classes, thinks about moving into your apartment complex, and then he thinks about taking you.
He’s watching you have a nightcap with a boy he thinks he recognizes from your class – you’re both drunk and it’s obvious where things are going...
There’s a devil and an angel sitting on his shoulders, whispering in his ear – but he can't tell which one’s which anymore. One is telling him to leave – to allow you some privacy... but the other tells him to barge in – to crash through the window and rip the guy’s head off by the scruff of his chin.
There’d be blood on his hands, but at least he’d finally be able to touch you…
He glues his hands together – tries thinking clearly – but closing his eyes only results in seeing you gasping and moaning while getting fucked by someone else and it makes him feel like he’s about to lose his shit.
He performs the rituals with his fingers without even noticing – making the hand gestures – his breathing thick before he mouths the words beneath his breath. “Infinite Void…”
You don’t know what’s happening – you’re drunk and unsure if you should be dialing nine-one-one or an ambulance. The guy you’re with is having a seizure, frothing at the mouth and spasming on the floor until suddenly falling limp.
Your breathing is sharp. You think he’s dead. You throw up. The shock makes the tears stop for a brief moment before you start hyperventilating, crying harder.
You’re shaking, and it’s hard holding the phone still – let alone dial any number. Before you can, there’s a knock on the door.
You’re not thinking clearly, naked and wrapped in just a thin sheet as you rush to greet the sound. You don’t recognize the man, but for some reason, you’re spilling your guts to him anyway – rambling about the dead guy in your bedroom.
You’re panicked, and it only takes a curt minute before you’re throwing yourself at him – hugging him tightly – your hands ice-cold on his neck, skin-to-skin without any respect to his infinity – latching onto him for dear life as if you know exactly who he is and how much he loves you.
But of course, you don’t...
You’re just in shock – having just witnessed a boy die. Completely clueless as to how the man you were clinging to so desperately was going to take you back into that bedroom where that boy was lying and do to you what he was going to do before he killed him.
#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen#gojo smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#jjk gojo#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo satoru#yandere gojo#yandere satoru gojo#jjk smut#jujustu kaisen headcanons#gojo headcanons
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I fucking hate newborn horse feet I hate them sooooooooooo much. I wish I never learned what they look like.
#im watching youtube shorts again#and i just got one with a donkey rancher#w/e youd call it im sick leave me alone#and it was going on for a while and it was really cute bc the mama was so happy she had a baby#but then the guy is like i wanna show you guys something cool! now we know donkeys have hooves#and i immediately started shouting NO#he started toying with the baby's creepy ass flesh feet and i closed the tab and have cold sweats
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it's just that there's a few more steps you have to take that other people don't have to take, but they don't see the steps, so they think you should be able to hop from moment to moment, a chickadee.
it isn't getting out of bed. it is the weight, the hook in your chest, the anchor. you have to move the anchor first. you have to silence your alarm, but your phone is in your hand, which means now you have to put the phone down, which is too-hard. you get stuck in there for a while, the white screen, mindlessly scrolling. you don't even like this activity, have tried a few other options but - here you are, and time is passing.
you've googled iron deficiency causes depression and if i drink enough water does it help with mental illness and anxiety but no caffiene within the last two weeks, like how you googled am i gay quiz at 17.
it isn't just calling the doctor back, it's the anxiety, it's these little moths in your lung cavities, furious and fluttering. you need to figure out how to capture your fingers from between their nervous bodies. you are an adult, you can say the words yes hi, i'm calling because i need - but you need to practice first. maybe write it down because what if you misspeak, wouldn't that be embarrassing. write it down, but you need to find a pen first. well, actually, your desk is kind of messy. you should get a new pen. you should get a new organizational system. you should try journaling.
your grades in school were always strange. the way teachers would say things like it feels like you're not trying. you could touch stars in the stuff you cared about. well, sometimes. god be willing. homework average zero. oops! your english teacher's wrinkled brow: i know you know this stuff. what the fuck are you doing?
it isn't the showering, it's the mirror before the shower and the soft horrible pull of your naked physique. you have to avoid eye contact completely or else it'll be 93 minutes later and you'll have picked at your skin until every little pore is bleeding. you have to stand up but standing is tiring and also you should have remembered to buy more soap but you never remember anything. maybe get out of the shower and while it's still running and you're still dripping wet, use your phone to take a note. make a note to get your groceries. let the shower run while you stand half-in half-out and get lost in your phone for a moment. come back out when the water runs cold and now you have to sprint to get ready.
your grandmother's frown. you're just being lazy. protestant work ethics in a house that isn't even protestant. she says she just learned different but she means learned better, doesn't she.
it's not that you can't send the email, it's that your hands have been hurting lately and the desk really is messy and also why the fuck would you even care about this thing? doesn't everyone else feel like they're drowning? hi brendon thanks so much for sending! will review and get back to you shortly. but now you're on the internet, close the tab with tumblr on it. go on, close it. feel the little soft vapor of boredom come up and over your eyeteeth and make everything overwhelming and itchy.
literally all you have to do is put on shoes to go outside. you're literally already dressed, that's the hard part of this whole thing. literally just put the shoes on. just... do it! do it! this shit is easy!
it's literally that easy. just stop taking all those stupid invisible steps. stop following your strange made-up rules. times like this, even you're positive you're faking. you just don't want to bother with the cleaning and the cooking and the being-an-adult.
but then - shouldn't you be able to put these stupid shoes on? nobody's even looking. go on kid. life is out there! just take the leap!
get moving.
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babe i have a thought but idk if i can word this right
so rafe x shy!reader when theyre still taking it slow with the dry humping n fingering but she wants to make rafe feel good as well yk but she isnt mentally ready yet for sex !! n so she quietly tries to learn on how to give head from porn n when she executes it on rafe hes all like ?? huh ???? how the hell .
rafe asked you what you were doing last night. you told him you were studying.
you were studying, you hadn't lied about that. he'd just assumed it was your schoolwork and didn't ask further questions, when you were really about six pages into the pornhub results, searching up deepthroating. an hour ago it'd been just blowjob but all the videos seemed to indicate this was the superior method.
you were nothing if not thorough, studious. you were a quick study too, swiftly realizing nearly all the 'blowjob' videos had some aspect of 'deepthroating' in them, and you wanted to learn everything for rafe, learn the best for him, be the best for him.
so that's how you ended up like this, practicing your new techniques on a second banana from your kitchen. you had accidentally choked and bitten down on the first one, so you had to go back for another, avoiding your parents' questions.
you were getting better though, which is all that mattered. another tab was helping you learn how to not trigger your gag reflex, and another still reminding you to breathe through your nose and use your hands where your mouth couldn't reach. you had accumulated enough knowledge, you just needed to practice, hence the fruit.
rafe was taking you to dinner tomorrow, and you always slept at tannyhill after one of your dates. that would be the perfect chance to show him your new skills.
rafe was experienced in every sense of the word, all you wanted was to impress him, make him realize you can handle more than he thinks you can. he's still concerned he's gonna break you and even though you know he can—the first time you guys tried to have sex lingering in your mind—you know he won't.
after dinner, rafe tries to take you for ice cream, the way he always does, and you surprise him by saying no. you never refuse dessert so he thinks something's wrong, but you surprise him again, getting to your knees in front of him while he takes a seat on his bed.
"what're you doin', kid?" he mumbles, thinking you're not sure what you're causing right now.
"you said i can have dessert. this is what i want," you murmur back, taking out his hardened dick. everything's a blur, you don't even remember unbuckling his belt but it rests beside your knees.
you glance up hesitantly, remembering another website that had said to keep eye contact. you'll have to go back to that, too concerned with how much you can fit in your mouth—rafe is bigger than your banana.
you start slowly, looking up while your hands stroke up and down. you think you're doing well—rafe's reacting how you imagined, heavily breathing, his hand snaking into your hair.
"jesus, shit, kid-" now you know you're doing well, lowering your entire mouth onto rafe's dick, feeling him fill up your throat. you choke around it for a moment, sucking down and running your tongue over the veins there. you take him out, catching your breath for a second while spit runs down his length and the side of your mouth.
you spit again, this time on his head, licking all the way up and then bringing him into your throat again. it's going good—you think! rafe's moaning and you definitely like the sound of it, staring up at him with watery eyes while you choke and moan around it.
he's getting close you think, the way his grip tightens on your hair and his hips start thrusting up into your mouth. you don't stop or slow down, but rafe does, yanking your hair and pulling you off.
you sputter, catching your breath, wiping away the spit.
"what happened?" you question quietly, looking up at him. a tear runs down, not able to stay in place. you're not upset though, just curious. "was it not good? did i do something wrong?"
"you told me you've never done that before."
"i haven't," you reply, shaking your head.
"so, so you just knew? to do all of that? don't fuckin' lie to me, kid, i'm not playin' around-"
"i didn't! swear! i've been studying, i told you-"
"this is what you've been studyin'?"
"...yes. i thought i was doing good." you mumble the last part, hugging your knees. you look away from rafe, feeling embarrassed.
"hey, hey. you were. i just wasn't expectin' that, s'all. scared me. you're too good at that." you perk up.
"i am?"
"yeah. you little freak. c'mon, finish up. gotta put that studyin' to use, hm?"
#oh ur fucking lovely for this prompt im OBSESSEDDDDDDDDDDDD#i adore u#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#shy reader
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i love him, it's ruining my life [guilty as sin part one] | charles leclerc social media au
pairing: charles leclerc x fem sainz!reader
a contract ends, a relationship is exposed and even with everything on the line, she still loves him.
MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
yourusername
liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 621,099 others
yourusername: out and about town
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user1: girl? girl? GIRL?
user2: carlos' career is DEAD AND SHE'S POSTING VACATION PICS ON INSTAGRAM
user3: at least they're cute instagram pics
landonorris: y/n i think it's time you finally take that phone off of do not disturb
yourusername: but that's the perpetual state of my phone i am a poet i was born to be in the woods, if you have news tell me now before i close this app in 20 seconds
landonorris: i don't want to air your brother's business out in a public instagram comments literally just scroll through your timeline idiot
yourusername: wait let me open the family group chat
yourusername: WHAT
user4: are we about to see her reaction to carlos losing his seat in real time?
user5: let me grab my popcorn one sec
yourusername: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?
landonorris: take your phone off DND for once in your life and maybe you’d be clued in on the news
charles_leclerc: and while you’re at it reply to all the tiktoks i sent you
landonorris: not the time leclerc
charles_leclerc: but but but my tiktoks… i finally got a tarot card reading that resonates
landonorris: NOT THE TIME
charles_leclerc: don’t hate the player hate the game
carlossainz55: really?
charles_leclerc: i am TALKING ABOUT TIKTOKS LEAVE ME ALONE
yourusername: this is a lot - gosh can’t a girl go on holiday without everything imploding (i'll check the tiktoks in a second)
user6: anyone kinda weirded out that charles is just here joking with y/n as if his teammate and her brother hasn’t just been forced out of a job?
liked by carlossainz55
user7: babe he wasn’t forced out of a job, his contract wasn’t renewed. the last time i checked this was a sport where they compete not sit around and sit kumbaya
liked by charles_leclerc
user8: oh! they’re both liking shady comments already, it’s been a day since the announcement
user9: this is gonna get ugly isn’t it?
user10: awful, truly. i’m sat.
carlossainz55
liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,029,458 others
carlossainz55: love all, trust a few and do wrong to none
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user11: .... right, what ever the fuck that means?
user12: i mean i was just here to celebrate the win what is all this poetry
user11: are we shading charles? lewis? ferrari?
yourusername: shakespeare, really?
carlossainz55: i can read you know
yourusername: oh really, that's news to me
user13: erm you guys i thought the whole job loss thing was meant to bring the family together....
user14: they joke like this all the time this is just sibling banter
user15: idk it's reading a lil more tense than usual, not that there's any reason for that (that we know of)
charles_leclerc: doing the tifosi proud ❤️
carlossainz55: will do while i can
user16: yall .... what happened to the chemistry
user17: they were never friends - pierre tried to tell yall
landonorris: a carlando podium !!! lets do this every week
carlossainz55: golf buddies and podium buddies - you love to see it
landonorris: LETS GO WILD AND PUT IT ON FERRARIS TAB THEY OWE YOU
landonorris: i mean let's celebrate your triumph good pal!
user18: the PR monster got lando :( rip
carlossainz55: just being able to win in front of the most important people in my life is enough
user19: does anyone else think it was weird that y/n wasn't at the race?
user20: like y/n loves australia she litr says that she was an aussie in a past life...
user21: also the most recent carlos comment... is y/n not one of the most important people in his life?
user22: do we think something has happened? like maybe he thought she should've cut her holiday short to come home to support him?
user23: also the fact that her and charles were immediately like joking around with each other? maybe it just rubbed him the wrong way
user24: but not even considering her an important person to him? and also that just seems like he's shifting all the blame to charles when it's ferrari who haven't extended the contract
maxverstappen1
liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 892,309 others
tagged: kellypiquet & yourusername
maxverstappen1: she says she's a professional third wheel, i call that being a LEECH
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user29: unlikely trio but somehow my favourite
user30: y/n really be their overgrown child
yourusername: how am i the leech when i paid for the ice cream mr millionaire 🤨
maxverstappen1: ever thought about how i want to spend quality time with my girlfriend?
yourusername: won't someone think of the children
maxverstappen1: ur 23
yourusername: that's it! p and i are unionising against this if you find suspiciously well drawn crayon graffiti on your walls it was NOT me
maxverstappen1: don't threaten my walls if you still want to come to races
yourusername: low blow 😩
user31: does that mean... she's not going to races with carlos?
user32: she's always been in his garage tho like even with how close her and max have always been SHE'S ALWAYS IN GARAGE 55
user33: i feel like this has something to do with the whole seat situation i'm not sure how but like i think there's something weird going on here
kellypiquet: don't worry @yourusername it might be max's house but it's p that has the final say
yourusername: no one gets bluey like i do
maxverstappen1: yeah but while you're here you get the best seat at the tea party IT'S NOT FAIR
yourusername: well one of us can name all the disney princesses and one of us can't
user34: so.... y/n is living with max? but i thought her and carlos shared an apartment in madrid?
user35: guys i'm so confused
user36: we need the twitter detectives on this asap
charles_leclerc: no lec... when i specifically sent you a PR bundle, you hate to see it
maxverstappen1: you only sent that to us for y/n
charles_leclerc: maybe! but i have it on good authority that you loved the vanilla
maxverstappen1: ummmmmmm no i'm a professional athlete, y/n ate all of it
yourusernames: FALSEHOODS
charles_leclerc: i know who i believe
maxverstappen1: why is everyone ganging up on me in this comment section
user37: charles sending lec to max's house just for y/n WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN
user38: and does it have anything to do with carlos maybe kicking her out
yourusername
liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 673,892 others
yourusername: gotta make sure i give p a reason to tell me stick around
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user39: charles is always in the likes before me and i have notifications on
user40: they seem like such close friends it's so annoying that they're never spotted together at a race and we have no pictures of them :(
charles_leclerc: why do i never get any baked goods i literally sent my ice cream to my arch rivals house just for you
yourusername: you're never in the fucking country that's why
charles_leclerc: i have this kind of demanding job i don't know if you knew
yourusername: i also have the demanding job of being sexy and i cope just fine
charles_leclerc: i heard you got employee of the year, hard to be too upset when you're the competition
yourusername: better luck next time babe
user41: openly flirting with the guy that caused her brother to lose his job, this girl is just shameless
yourusername: do you think charles is the literal ceo of ferrari?
user42: why are you defending charles more than your actual brother?
yourusername: i feel like i gotta make this statement every three buisness days on here but like you people don't know what happens in our personal lives and i can defend my friends if i feel they're being unnecessarily questioned
user43: queen snapped omg
user38: they always be out here trying her like she's not a writer and poet SHE WILL READ YOU FOR FILTH
maxverstappen1: pretty sure she'd replace you with me in like two seconds so you're safe until [redacted] gets home
yourusername: i'm pretty sure with the right campaign i could sway jimmy and sassy to my side as well
user44: who the FUCK IS REDACTED
maxverstappen1: wouldn't you like to know 🤨
yourusername: max ???
maxverstappen1: what? i didn't have friends growing up i like that you tell me secrets
yourusername: oh :(
maxverstappen1: you wanna tell me more?
yourusername: NO YOU ALREADY KNOW THE BIGGEST ONE
maxverstappen1: true 💅🏻
user45: so like the secret is defo a relationship right?
user46: do we think carlos knows?
user47: by the fact that he's not in these comments... probably not
user48: so like he looses his seat and finds out his sister is in a secret relationship? someone give the guy a break
user49: or maybe, just maybe, there's a reason that y/n hasn't told carlos and he's not the guy we all think he is
liked by charles_leclerc
user50: OH? this war is so on ....
f1teaspill
liked by user51, user52 and 31,845 others
tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc
f1teaspill: the war at ferrari is heating up... turns out there's a lot carlos didn't know and FOR YEARS. yes, you're reading that right, y/n sainz and charles leclerc have been in a relationship for at least two years and believe us we have a VERY credible source like WITHIN THE FAMILY level source.
the most important thing about this whole relationship is how carlos did not know for years, so how much more was hidden from him? did y/n know about the seat swap for lewis? was she leaking strategies to charles? was she sabotaging her own brother?
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user53: OH SHITTTTTTTTTT
user54: cancel me if you will but i think the hottest couple in f1 just dropped
user55: the fact we've been robbed of content of them for years .... i'm angry I NEED THE POETRY ABOUT CHARLES
user56: i'm gonna need y/n or charles to drop all the pics in response
user57: y'all a source "within the family"? did these fools find out about y/n's relationship and immediately run to an f1 TEA PAGE???
user58: that's some goofy ass shit
user59: i find it funny that instead of sitting down and thinking about why their daughter/sister didn't feel comfortable enough to tell you about her relationship they're like i know EXACTLY who needs to hear this
user60: the way it's proved her completely right to not tell them
user61: do you guys think this is like a tv show or like fan fiction? in what world is y/n sharing strategies to fuck over her own BROTHER?
user62: also be for fucking real... strategies? ferrari? at least try and be realistic
user63: also.... walk with me .... why would y/n and charles conspire to put lewis hamilton in carlos' seat? LEWIS FUCKING HAMILTON AND SEVEN TIME WORLD CHAMPION? WHY WOULD CHARLES WANT TO TAKE HIM ON OVER A GUY HE'S ALREADY BEATEN TWICE
user64: see this is the point! sainz camp you can try and demonise charles and yOUR OWN DAUGHTER all you want but we all know it's bull shit
user65: one thing about this that really rubs me the wrong way is that the sainz camp clearly expected that if y/n was in a relationship with charles that she would've been a double agent for carlos? and because she's not fucking insane they're now going for character assassination of their own SISTER/DAUGHTER
user66: THIS THIS THIS
user67: carlos won't even consider y/n an "important" person in his life but expect her to sacrifice or exploit her relationship for cheap psychological points
user68: also y/n isn't even at most races so how is she getting carlos' strategies to give to charles? this shit doesn't make any sense
user69: carlos himself has said in an interview that y/n is useless when it comes to racing that she's just a supportive figure rather than someone who has any in depth racing knowledge
user70: this is insane level hating with all the evidence out here... and against your own family...
user71: this just makes me think that y/n wasn't in australia for a reason - like was she banned from carlos' garage
user72: and the fact she's been staying at max's it just makes me think that y/n was kicked out of her and carlos' apartment
user73: now tHATS INSANE
espnf1
liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 1,025,788 others
tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & yourusername
espnf1: well... this could be awkward
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user77: espn babe you're just like me
user78: *slides $5 across the bar* get a camera in the ferrari garage?
espnf1: we're working on it 😩
user79: pierre and max here... they really are the paddock gossip girls
maxverstappen1: i guess carlos couldn't handle that i knew who redacted was before him 🤷🏻♂️
carlossainz55: really?
maxverstappen1: don't put your sister on the streets and i won't dunk these jokes on your head
user80: is this like the official f1 civil war?
carlossainz55: you don't know anything max, i'd really keep your nose out of our business
maxverstappen1: i actually know exactly how you guys move, you tried it on 17 year old me and it becomes my business when my best friend calls me with no where else to go (also i know you changed the locks while you were in maranello so she wouldn't be able to go to charles, you're not slick)
carlossainz55: i never took you as a lap dog max
yourusername: calling him the lap dog when you're the biggest bitch on the grid - bold
carlossainz55: you're burning a lot of bridges for a talentless slut who had to start fucking my teammate when we cut you off
yourusername: keep throwing your PR to the fire and see who fucking hires you, i guess we'll both be unemployed bums
user80: also imagine calling her talentless like she isn't a well established poet LOL
user81: guys this is getting so bad so quickly
user82: we got the whole rest of the season of this
user83: mad respect to max for sticking up for his bestie
user84: and her actual boyfriend isn't?
yourusername: charles will do his talking on the track like he always does. he won't debase himself with bickering in instagram comments, funnily enough ferrari don't like that - might be the reason he still has a seat and someone doesn't
carlossainz55: or he's a pussy who has his woman talk for him
yourusername: at least he has a woman to talk for him, he doesn't behind his dad at any sign of trouble. i've always known i didn't matter to dad the moment i wasn't a boy but i'm not afraid of him or you and i know exactly how you work. good luck
user85: do they know we can all read this?
user86: when i'm in an oversharing contest and the sainz siblings walk in
user87: those ferrari debriefs are gonna be AWKWARD
yourusername: especially since he doesn't have binotto to hide behind any more
user88: girl you good?
yourusername: i've never been better, this has been building for years even before charles and i got together
yourusername
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 908,487 others
tagged: charles_leclerc
yourusername: i love you, it's ruining my life
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user89: y/n i'm gonna let you finish but we could really get the best poetry out of all of this
user90: for real like yeah i'm sorry your brother tried to make you homeless, exposed your relationship, accused you of treason and called you a talentless slut - but think of the poetry!
charles_leclerc: i love you and i hope you're okay
yourusername: i'll always be okay with you
charles_leclerc: it's out now and no one can take us away from each other
charles_leclerc: i'd actually love to see them try
yourusername: i'd go through this fortnight of hell over and over again if it meant i'd still keep you
charles_leclerc: i'd like to say this is the end of it but i think we're in for the long run now
yourusername: i'm prepared to go to war for you
charles_leclerc: there's no one i'd rather be on the front lines with
user91: oh brother... YOU'RE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH A POET WE GET IT
charles_leclerc: * in love with
user91: oh my bad
charles_leclerc: no worries
user91: STILL GROSS BRO
liked by maxverstappen1
charles_leclerc: max ???
maxverstappen1: you guys need to calm down cause i'm not good with words and kelly is gonna start scrutinising my cards and i DO NOT HAVE THE VOCABULARY FOR IT
yourusername: lol
maxverstappen1: lol? LOL? did our brief yet forced stint as roommates mean nothing?
yourusername: fine i'll ghostwrite your valentines cards
user92: so this is all a bit melodramatic
user93: he CHANGED THE LOCKS BRO SHE HAS THE RIGHT TO BE MELODRAMATIC
liked by charles_leclerc
user94: okay so now we're in full blown f1 civil war - who is on each side?
user95: well max and pierre are on charles' side. i'd also add in lewis, seb, oscar, esteban, george, alex, yuki and daniel
user96: so carlos has lando and fernando?
fernandoalo_oficial: it might not be blood but that's my daughter
user96: ????
user97: did he just show up to diss carlos and then refuse to elaborate?
user98: sounds like a nando thing to do .... also just leaves carlos with lando lol
user99: this feels a bit unfair
yourusername: all is fair in love and poetry
fin.
note: so as soon as i had this idea (litr TTPD release day) i have been so busy and WHACKED with the worst writer's block but i hope this is a good start and rest assured knowing the beef will only get worse... I LOVE DRAMA
taglist: @aadu2173 @rhythmstars @kqliie @booksandflowrs @2bormaybenot @firelily-mimi @evie-119
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1#f1 social media au#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc#guilty as sin?
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Text
Detecting Love
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader
Summary: A person with the power to detect lies meets the spy who has been trained to lie her entire life.
Warnings: fluff, light angst
Words: 6169
You have the power to detect lies.
Now, it’s not exactly strong enough to be a hero, but you can honestly say that it has been useful in your life.
Sure, it gets annoying at times, but one of the many lessons you’ve learned is to ignore minor instances of dishonesty — white lies or small things like that — since it helps reduce unnecessary confusion or chaos with others.
People lie. That is an undeniable fact of life.
And while one may believe that being able to detect such things is great, the truth is there are times when you find yourself resenting your power.
Because, of course, everyone experiences moments when they wish that someone important to them isn't lying.
Like when your fiancée tells you she loves you.
There wasn’t really a malicious reason behind why a usually affectionate statement suddenly became so hurtful.
There was no cheating.
There was no fighting.
It was just another one of the many lessons you’ve learned in life.
That sometimes…a truth can also become a lie.
It’s just unfortunate that this lesson happened to you in such a way.
These kinds of moments make you wonder if maybe it’s better that people shouldn’t always know when someone is lying to them.
Then they don’t end up alone, drinking at a bar late into the night, trying to numb the pain of a broken heart.
You let out a heavy sigh as you stare at the pair of rings resting on the bar top, remembering the conversation that ended with one of them being returned to you.
It was a heart-wrenching discussion where your fiancée confessed her steadily changed feelings for you, leading to the resolution to remain friends.
And while neither of you is completely at fault for why things ended, you can’t help but blame your stupid power for putting you in the situation in the first place.
You sigh heavily once more before swiftly downing the glass the bartender had set in front of you.
At least your current attempt to drown your sorrow is going well, judging by how the rings start to blur in your vision.
With a sad sigh, you reach for the rings to put them away, but in your clumsy state, one slips from your grasp and tumbles to the floor.
Just as you move to retrieve it, a hand beats you to it.
Looking up, you find a red-haired stranger standing before you, offering the ring to you with a charming smile.
She looks familiar but the drunken haze in your brain makes it hard for you to remember where you’ve seen her before.
“Here, you dropped this,” she says, her voice low and smooth.
She’s beautiful and her voice sounds perfect. You think to yourself as you take the ring from her.
She chuckles lightly, “Thanks.”
Oh, did you say that out loud? You must be more drunk than you thought.
The woman offers her hand to you in greeting, and with a confident smirk, she introduces herself.
“My name’s Natalie. Natalie Rushman.”
Immediately, a red aura surrounds her, causing you to roll your eyes and return your attention back to the bar.
“Liar,” you mutter tiredly as you gesture to the bartender to close your tab, not really in the mood to deal with any more lies tonight.
At the corner of your eyes, you see the stranger give you a slightly impressed look.
Ready to leave, you stand up quickly from your seat.
However, the action makes the room suddenly spin in your vision, causing you to stagger backward.
A hand steadies you, resting gently on your back, and you unconsciously lean back against her surprisingly strong frame for support.
There’s a soft chuckle near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Let me try again,” she whispers smoothly, guiding you upright and turning you around to face her.
Offering her hand once more, she reintroduces herself.
“My name’s Natasha Romanoff. I’m here to recruit you to work for the Avengers.”
You blink slowly, trying to comprehend her words through your drunken haze. You wonder if the alcohol is affecting you more than you thought when no red aura appears this time at her words.
Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head in disbelief, unfortunately worsening the pounding in your skull.
Work for the Avengers? That has to be a lie.
Before you can think about it any further, you feel yourself falling once more, unable to remain upright.
Strong arms catch you, and as your consciousness fades, you see a blurry glimpse of her striking green eyes before succumbing to darkness.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
You wake to the pounding in your head and the bright sunlight streaming through your window. Turning away, you groan into your pillow, remembering that your fiancée – your ex-fiancée – would typically close the curtains before leaving for work.
Now that she’s gone, you’re going to have to adjust to living alone once again.
A cup being placed on the nightstand startles you into sitting up, as you turn in surprise to find the beautiful red-haired stranger beside your bed.
“For your headache,” she explains, placing some medicine next to the cup.
Your mouth hangs open as you struggle to remember the events of last night, some of which are honestly a blur.
You examine yourself, checking your clothes and finding them unchanged from the previous night, and then you scan your surroundings again and realize in relief that nothing was out of place.
Well, except for the presence of this stranger in your home, who’s patiently waiting for you to gather yourself.
Searching through your drunken memories, you think you vaguely remember meeting her last night. She had mentioned her name was — Nata…?
“Natalie?” you ask with uncertainty.
At her raised brow, you quickly apologize, feeling bad for not remembering correctly.
“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember, but did we…did something happen between us last night?” you ask hesitantly.
Her face twists in genuine sadness and disappointment, causing a panic to run through you as you struggle to recall what could’ve possibly happened between the two of you for her to have such an expression.
“I’m hurt,” she finally says, placing a hand on her chest, “And after you even said that it was the best night of your life.”
Seeing the familiar red aura appear around her at her words, you let out a brief sigh of relief before realization sets in, and you give her a hard glare.
“You’re lying.”
Her hurt expression quickly morphs into an impressed look, and you are slightly startled at how effortlessly she was able to shift her emotions.
The woman straightens her posture and crosses her arms, adopting a commanding stance that seems more likely her typical demeanor.
“So it’s not just luck,” she remarks, studying you curiously.
At her words, you quickly rise from your bed in confusion.
However, the action causes you to wince in pain at the pounding in your head.
Shutting your eyes tightly, you hold your head in comfort and lean lightly on the nightstand for support.
As you do, your hand brushes against yesterday’s newspaper that you had been reading moments before your ex said those fateful three words that led to the heartbreaking conversation between the two of you.
When the pain subsides, you slowly open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the front page before doing a double take.
The front features an article about the opening of the new Avenger Compound, including a photo capturing the Avenger members posed in front of the completed building.
What catches you off guard is the uncanny resemblance between one of the Avengers in the picture and the woman standing before you.
Pointing at her in disbelief, you stammer.
“You’re…,” then, gesturing at the newspaper, you continue, “…her?”
She doesn’t respond to your question but instead nods toward your other room, inviting you to follow.
“Let’s talk,” she says, heading toward your door, then gestures at the medicine on your nightstand. “But drink those first.”
After freshening up in your bathroom, you take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the remnants of last night’s tears in your slightly puffy, red eyes.
Sighing, you brush away the depressing thoughts of your failed relationship before taking the medicine and exiting your room.
You are greeted by the sight of your unexpected guest comfortably seated at your kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine with casual disinterest.
“You’re Black Widow,” you say confidently this time, positioning yourself on the opposite side of her.
She closes the magazine with a snap, placing it on the table before clasping her hands atop of it and meeting your gaze.
“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects you, before nodding at you. “And you’re Y/n L/n.”
“How did you…?”
She holds up a wedding invitation draft, displaying you and your fiancée’s names printed in fine lettering.
Realizing that she must have been snooping around your things, you give her a disapproving glare, snatching the card from her hand and hastily stuffing it into a drawer.
Feeling a mixture of emotions—irritated, sad, hungover—you turn to the fridge, deciding to make breakfast to give yourself some focus.
After you retrieve the eggs and other ingredients, you heat the stove before glancing at Natasha briefly, asking, “So, what does an Avenger want from me?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see her resting her head against her hand, watching you with interest.
“I told you yesterday,” she replies.
You roll your eyes, giving her a deadpan look, knowing she’s aware that you don’t remember.
“Remind me again.”
Natasha gives you an amused smirk, straightening up in her seat.
“Alright, I’m here to recruit you, more specifically for a sort of managerial position at the new Avenger Compound.”
Furrowing your brows, you question, “Why me? I don't have experience with that sort of thing.”
“But you can tell when someone is lying, can’t you?”
Pausing briefly in your cooking, you contemplate her words and its possible implications. Not many people know about your ability, and you don’t think you did anything to reveal it to the spy who’s currently staring expectantly at you.
So, in response, you shrug, replying as casually as possible.
“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people…psychology degree and all.”
A silence ensues, broken only by the sizzling of your cooking, until Natasha finally nods, seemingly accepting your explanation.
You breathe a silent sigh of relief, returning your attention to your current task.
But then she pulls out a folder filled with documents and places it on the counter, causing your nerves to rise again.
“Well, you’ve helped solve hundreds of cases with your interviews of the suspects,” she remarks casually, flipping through the folder before glancing up at you through her lashes.
“100% accuracy rate in the information that you provided to the detectives,” she continues, nodding at you in acknowledgment. “For a part-time profiler, that’s impressive.”
“Thanks,” you respond with a polite smile, but beneath the surface, a hint of suspicion creeps in as you begin plating the meal you made.
Natasha closes the folder with a definitive snap, making you look at her.
“You could say it’s almost impossible,” she muses, before a confident smirk forms on her face, and she tilts her head at you with a raised brow in challenge.
“Unless there’s some way you can guarantee that they’re telling the truth.”
Honestly, you should’ve known better than to think that the experienced spy hadn’t already completed thorough research and investigations into you and your powers before meeting with you.
If anything, this was likely just a test for her to confirm what she already knows about your abilities.
Sliding a plate across the counter to Natasha with a pointed glare, you relent, deciding there’s no point in denying it anymore.
“Fine, what do you know?”
Instead of responding, Natasha’s gaze lingers on the plate before her, a hint of confusion in her expression.
Her plate holds a fluffy omelette accompanied by a side of crispy bacon and a slice of golden-brown toasted bread.
As she glances back up at you with a questioning look in her eyes, you take a seat across from her, setting down a similar plate in front of you before also placing a stack of fluffy pancakes at the center.
“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the meal.
“Breakfast,” you reply bluntly, taking a bite from your plate.
Natasha raises a brow at you, remarking plainly, “It’s noon.”
“Brunch then,” you correct with a roll of your eyes.
Natasha's lips quirk up in amusement, and she shakes her head.
“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”
The red aura appears around her, and with your mouth full of food, you give her a pointed glare.
“Right,” Natasha says in realization, remembering what you can do. She pulls the plate closer to her with a soft thanks.
The atmosphere that followed was unusual but surprisingly not awkward. Despite being practically strangers, you find yourself slightly comforted by Natasha’s presence.
If she wasn’t here, you probably wouldn’t have dragged yourself out of bed today after what happened yesterday.
After a moment of eating, Natasha breaks the silence.
“So, how can you tell when someone’s lying?”
Pausing to contemplate your answer, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before responding.
“Well, when someone lies, there’s always this rush of chemicals that happens in their bodies,” you explain. “It ends up causing the typical indicators — things like fidgeting, sweating, or tone changes in their voice.”
“I didn’t do any of that, yet you still knew I was lying,” Natasha points out.
“No, you're right,” you admit, nodding. “You’re a perfect liar.”
From what you have seen so far, every expression and comment of hers appears genuine and honest, and if it was anyone else, they’d probably believe anything she says.
However, thanks to your ability, you know better.
Gesturing at her, you clarify, “You still give off the same chemical reactions though, and I have the ability to see that.”
Natasha leans back in her seat, crossing her arms as she processes your explanation.
“It’s mainly visual then,” she concludes before asking curiously. “You don’t even need to hear what they said to know that they’re lying?”
You nod, ruefully adding, “Yep, my world’s just filled with people glowing red at random.”
“And how long does this ‘glow’ stay around them?”
“Depends,” you reply with a shrug. “Usually not long, maybe a few seconds.”
Natasha hums in interest, tapping her chin, her brows pinching lightly in thought.
You can’t help but smile amusedly at the sight.
For a person who has such an intimidating reputation, the spy in front of you right now looks kind of cute rather than scary.
After a moment, you break the silence this time.
“So, what’s the job?”
Natasha’s eyes focus back on you at your question.
“Nothing too complicated,” she assures. “You’ll be in charge of interviewing the new employee candidates and conducting continuous reviews of the current ones.”
“You mean like screening them?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion, already aware of the rigorous and difficult process required to work at the Avengers buildings.
“Don’t you guys already do extensive background checks before hiring people? Why do you suddenly need me?”
At your question, a charming smile appears on her face, effortlessly shifting her expression like before, though now you understand she’s just hiding her true feelings about the situation.
“That’s confidential.”
You scoff in disbelief and cross your arms.
“You do know that just makes it harder to trust you, right?”
Natasha mirrors your posture, her pretty grin still in place, masking any other emotions.
“Fair point,” she admits. “But to be honest, you should never put your trust in people like me anyway.”
“People like you?”
“Spies,” Natasha clarifies as she begins to gather her empty plate and utensils. “Which is one of the types of people you’d be looking out for in this position. Their deception skills would be on a similar level to mine.”
You chuckle at that, causing Natasha to pause in her actions, raising a brow at you in question.
“Sorry, but everyone lies, whether you’re a spy or not,” you tell her, standing and taking the empty plate from her with a small smirk. “You’re just slightly better at it.”
A tiny offended look slips through Natasha’s expression at your little jab, her brow furrowing for a brief second.
Your grin widens at the sight of seeing a glimpse of her real self as you turn to place the dirty dishes in the sink.
Natasha quickly regains her composure, moving around the counter to lean back against the table next to you.
“In any case, the decision is still yours. I’ve already confirmed your abilities. It’s up to you to decide if you want to accept.”
At her words, you pause to consider your options.
A new job working with the Avengers is a great opportunity, but it would be a significant change in your life.
Then again, you’re already facing a huge change.
Your eyes unconsciously drift to the drawer next to where Natasha is leaning, where the wedding invitation draft remains, and your face twists in sadness at the memory.
You guess it wouldn’t hurt to add a career change alongside your new relationship status.
At least this way you can still earn a salary while also distracting yourself from the depressing thoughts of your failed engagement.
“Okay,” you decide, meeting Natasha’s gaze with a sigh, “I’ll take the job.”
“Great, I knew you would be agreeable,” Natasha remarks, extending her hand to you.
A red aura appears around her, causing you to huff and roll your eyes.
You take her hand in yours, giving her a tiny glare.
“Liar.”
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”
You say that as you dodge another swing from Natasha, ducking under her arm to get behind her, only for her to twist her body around and deliver a kick that you narrowly block with your arms.
Still, the impact has you stumbling back.
“Really?” Natasha asks with an innocent tone as she circles you. “I thought I mentioned to you that training was a part of your employment.”
A red aura begins to appear around her, but you don’t have time to comment before she swings her leg at you again.
You catch it against your side with a small grunt of pain.
Having been a profiler for criminal cases before, you do have basic defense training, and you always believed that you could hold your own against most aggressors.
At least you used to.
This current fight is making you reconsider your skills.
With her off-balance position, you attempt to throw her to the ground, but Natasha swiftly regains her footing, catching herself on her hands and executing a fluid movement to flip upright. She then bends low, sweeping your legs out from under you.
You land on the mat with a groan, feeling the impact reverberate through your body. Another pained breath escapes you as Natasha expertly pins you down.
You catch the faint red aura fading from her before throwing your head back against the mat with an exhausted sigh.
“You’re such a liar,” you breathe out, your voice tinged with both exhaustion and playful accusation. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to catch your breath.
Natasha's laughter fills the air, resonating above you, her amusement infectious and drawing a small grin from you. You peek open your eyes, watching as she disengages from atop you and heads over to her water bottle at the side.
“I’m a spy. It comes with the job,” she says casually, taking a sip.
“Okay, and I’m basically just HR,” you counter, pulling yourself upright into a sitting position. “So how does combat training fit into that?”
Natasha gestures towards you with a sweep of her hand.
“You need to be prepared to defend yourself if you ever expose someone dangerous and find yourself without backup,” she explains.
“That’s unlikely considering I haven’t even encountered anyone suspicious since I started,” you remark with a sigh.
It's been a month already, and you're starting to question if your presence here is even necessary.
Before you can dwell further on your thoughts, the cold touch of a metal water bottle against your cheek startles you.
Recoiling, you look up to see Natasha holding it out to you.
Raising a brow, Natasha waves the bottle lightly in offer.
You snatch the bottle from her with a tiny glare, but she only smirks in response.
Apart from the new job, the other surprising addition to your life is your budding friendship with the Avenger.
After the whole recruiting ordeal, you honestly expected to only have passing encounters with her at the compound.
However, to your surprise, on your first day here, Natasha was the one who volunteered to give you a tour of the place, and in the days that followed, the two of you would often share coffee and chat before you had to head off to your respective jobs.
Those regular interactions with her also earned you a fearsome reputation among the other workers, which actually works out in your favor since they’re already nervous by the time you call them in for a review. This way they are more likely to slip up and reveal anything they may be hiding.
But, like you said, you haven’t found anything substantial yet.
With a heavy sigh, you pull your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, feeling the weight of failure bearing down on you.
Then you hear Natasha plop down beside you.
“Back when we met, you asked me why we needed you,” she begins.
Curious at her words, you turn your head slightly to glance at her, waiting for her explanation.
Natasha leans back on her hands, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she continues to speak.
“A couple of months ago, our surveillance revealed that someone within the compound staff was plotting an attack during the opening ceremony of the new building. However, we couldn’t confirm who it was without risking exposing that we knew of their plan."
Your eyes widen in confusion at the revelation. From what you remember, the opening ceremony was a success. There hadn’t been any news of an attack that day.
“But you caught them, right?” you inquire.
“No,” Natasha responds, shaking her head before meeting your gaze. “You did.”
Surprised, you straighten up, giving her a questioning look.
Natasha offers a small smile, elaborating, “You had recently interviewed him as a suspect for another case, and in your notes, you labeled him as dangerous and untrustworthy, despite everything about him proving otherwise.”
“And you believed me?” you ask incredulously.
Natasha shrugs, “Well, I had no other leads at the time anyway.”
You scoff in exasperation at her teasing, playfully pushing her away.
She chuckles softly before adopting a more serious expression.
“Trust in your abilities, Y/n,” Natasha says with a genuine tone. “If it’s you, not finding anyone suspicious is a good thing.”
You watch her closely, waiting for the red aura to appear.
But as a couple of seconds pass and nothing changes, you tuck your forehead back against your knees, this time to hide the smile threatening to spread across your face.
“Alright, break’s over,” Natasha announces, giving your back an encouraging pat. “Let’s go again.”
You groan in reluctance, remaining in your curled-up position.
“Come on,” Natasha urges, her tone coaxing. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”
You don’t even need to look up to know the red aura is surrounding her.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
“What’s this?”
Natasha's voice draws your attention away from the task of pouring cooked popcorn into a bowl.
She's sitting on your sofa, examining a small, elegant card that you had accidentally left on the table.
Widening your eyes in realization of what she’s found, you hurry over to her, but her narrowed eyes tell you that she has already read the names on the card.
“She’s inviting you to her wedding?” Natasha exclaims, disbelief coloring her tone. “It’s only been a year since your breakup, and now she’s already getting married?!”
Sighing in disappointment, you had hoped to keep this information from Natasha, who developed a strong dislike for your ex after you shared the details of your breakup during one of your girls' nights.
Placing the bowl of popcorn on the table, you take the invitation from her hand and head to the kitchen, intending to tuck it away in a drawer.
As you slide it open, you catch the sight of the old wedding draft buried at the bottom, which causes a tiny pang of sadness in your chest at the memory of that time, of how everything changed so suddenly.
You can't help but wonder how your life might have unfolded if your engagement hadn't ended.
Would you still have accepted Natasha's offer if you hadn't been seeking a distraction from your failed relationship?
“You’re not thinking about going, are you?” Natasha's voice interrupts your thoughts.
Glancing up, you notice a peculiar look in her eyes, though it quickly shifts to a neutral expression at your gaze.
After a whole year of spending time together, you could tell underneath her impassive expression that she was upset about something; though, you figured it was just outrage at the situation.
Tossing the invitation into the drawer and shutting it, you offer her a small reassuring smile before returning to your seat beside her to start the movie.
“No, of course not,” you tell her.
As the opening scenes play, you maintain a normal, nonchalant expression, aware of Natasha's gaze still lingering on you even as the red aura fades from around your body.
After a while, Natasha huffs in disbelief before finally settling into the sofa, pulling the bowl of popcorn into her lap.
“You better be sharing that, Romanoff,” you tease, your eyes fixed on the screen.
Natasha scoffs before tossing a piece of popcorn at you.
“Of course, I will.”
Just as you're about to turn your head to look at her and confirm her honesty, she swiftly shoves a cushion pillow to the side of your face, blocking your view.
After a few seconds, she releases it, fluffing the cushion casually before leaning her head against your shoulder and tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth.
You chuckle at her antics, amused by her playful behavior, before returning your attention to the screen.
A few days later, you find yourself standing on the outskirts of the wedding area, observing as servers and workers hustle to complete the finishing touches.
A sad, bittersweet expression tugs at your lips as you recognize familiar details chosen by your ex, mingled with hints of a stranger’s preferences in the decorations.
To be honest, you don’t intend to stay for the wedding. You're just here to confirm something for yourself.
Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, conjuring your ex’s face in your mind, and whisper to yourself.
“I’m in love with her…”
Opening your eyes, you exhale slowly, a content smile on your lips as you notice the red aura surrounding your skin. It's a relief to be able to find closure regarding your feelings for your ex.
“You know, I don’t need powers to know you were lying,” a voice remarks from behind.
Startled, you turn to find Natasha approaching.
She stops beside you, her gaze fixed at the scene ahead as she accuses, “Saying that you weren’t going to come here.”
You look at her briefly before returning your attention to the field.
“I got curious about something,” you admit. “Figured that this was one way to confirm it.”
Excited and happy chatter fills the air as your ex appears, surrounded by friends and family.
Suddenly, thoughts of what-ifs from the other night resurface, prompting you to ask out loud unconsciously before you can stop yourself.
“Do you think I should’ve just pretended that she was telling the truth at that time — when she said she loved me?” you ask Natasha. “Maybe it might’ve worked out between us if I just kept my mouth shut.”
There’s a beat of silence before Natasha finally responds, her tone tinged with wistfulness.
“From my experience,” she begins, “I can tell you that living a lie would not make you happy…no matter how much you wish for it to be true.”
You chuckle lightly, “You’re probably right.”
“Of course I am,” Natasha says confidently.
A comfortable silence falls between you as you both observe the preparations from a distance.
“She is a fool for letting you go, though,” Natasha suddenly adds, her tone casual.
You laugh softly, gently chiding her, “You can’t call the bride that on her wedding day.”
“Alright then,” Natasha concedes, turning to you. “You’re an even bigger fool for coming here by yourself.”
She returns her gaze to the field, muttering under her breath with a hint of irritation, “…still visiting the one who broke your heart.”
Amused, you tilt your head to catch her eyes, chuckling at her words, as you tease, “You know, it almost sounds like you’re jealous.”
When Natasha doesn’t respond or look at you, you raise a brow in surprise and poke her side.
“Wait, seriously, are you jealous?”
She swats your hand away.
“Stop that,” Natasha reprimands, before gritting out, “I’m not jealous!”
A small grin forms on your face as you notice the red aura appear, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and walk away.
“I’m leaving,” she declares firmly.
“Aww, come on, Natasha,” you call as you trail behind her.
Glancing back at you and seeing your pleased expression, she points at you in warning.
“That smile better be off your face by the time I pull up, or else you’re walking home,” she states before continuing on her way.
Watching her go with a fond smile, you find yourself softly repeating the words.
“I’m in love with her.”
Looking down, your smile widens when you don’t see the red aura appear, confirming what you already knew about your feelings for the red-haired spy.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
As you sit in your office at the Avenger compound, you feel a sense of fatigue wash over you at your busy schedule of back-to-back interviews.
Across from you, the final candidate squirms in her seat, clearly nervous under your scrutinizing gaze.
A chill sweeps through the room, courtesy of the cold blast of air from the AC, and you can't help but regret your decision to have it set so cold, a choice originally intended to maintain an intimidating atmosphere during interviews.
With a sigh, you reluctantly pull your hands from the cozy warmth of your hoodie pocket and turn to the next page of questions.
"Let's talk about handling confidential information," you begin, your voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Can you share a time when you had to ensure the secure handling of sensitive data?"
The candidate responds with some slight hesitation, but you sense it’s more from her nerves than any dishonesty, so you continue, moving on to the remaining questions.
Luckily, the rest of the interview goes by quickly and smoothly with her answering the other questions without any problems.
However, now comes the final question of the interview.
“Among the Avengers, who do you consider to be the hottest?”
Clearly caught off-guard, she stumbles over her words, “W-what?”
Maintaining your serious demeanor, you repeat the question.
“Who do you believe is the hottest Avenger?”
After a moment's pause, she softly answers, “Black Widow..."
Setting your clipboard down, you extend your hand.
"Thank you for coming. It was nice meeting you," you say, signaling the end of the interview.
As she thanks you and leaves, you flip to the last paper on your clipboard, revealing a sheet with tick marks beside the names of your Avenger friends.
With an amused smile, you add another mark at the end of Natasha’s already leading line.
“I don’t think that last question was approved by Steve,” a voice accuses from the doorway.
Glancing up, you see Natasha leaning against the frame, her arms folded.
You shrug in response, “Makes it more interesting though.”
Natasha hums curiously before moving to your side, perching on the edge of your desk. Her narrowed eyes fix on you.
“Is that my hoodie?” she asks in suspicion as she tugs at your sleeve.
“Maybe,” you reply, hastily pulling the hood over your head to conceal your guilty eyes.
Natasha had left the piece of clothing at your place after her last visit, and given the chilly room, borrowing it seemed harmless enough.
“Don’t you have a briefing to get to?” you deflect, attempting to change the subject.
Natasha huffs knowingly before responding, "I had some spare time, so I came to bother you."
"I’m honored," you quip sarcastically, though inwardly your heart warmed at the fact that she thought of you.
Natasha chuckles lightly, then gestures towards your clipboard.
"Ask me some questions," she prompts, her tone playful yet eager.
Deciding to indulge her, you reach for your clipboard and adopt a serious demeanor.
“Name?” you begin.
Natasha shoots you a deadpan look, prompting you to show her the document with the question written on it.
“If they lie about their name, then that’s a red flag already,” you defend, giving her a pointed look.
“Natalie,” you mock.
Natasha chuckles, shaking her head at the memory before extending her hand.
“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects, playing along.
Skipping past the other general questions, you delve into more targeted inquiries related to threat assessment.
“Have you ever been associated with any extremist or radical groups or organizations?” you ask.
“If you consider working undercover to gain intel on them, then yes,” Natasha responds without hesitation.
“Have you ever participated or been involved in any violent behavior where someone was hurt?”
This one makes her pause for a moment before she finally admits softly, "…yes."
As the questioning continues, Natasha's playful demeanor gradually fades, replaced by a rueful tone.
By the time you reach the final question, she places her hand on your clipboard, gently setting it down on the desk.
"Maybe these questions aren’t meant for people like me," she says sadly, her tone filled with regret.
Observing her disappointed expression, you scoot closer and rest your hand on hers to draw her attention.
“Do you still want to hear my final assessment?” you ask gently.
After a contemplative pause, Natasha nods, curiosity evident in her eyes as she gestures for you to continue.
“Well, based on your answers,” you say with a dramatic pause, flipping through the papers before shaking your head firmly.
“Absolutely not. Extremely dangerous. Definitely a high-risk candidate.”
Natasha huffs in disbelief at your teasing and gives you a playful push. As your laughter subsides, you soften your tone, meeting her gaze sincerely.
“But…I’d trust you,” you admit genuinely.
Natasha's eyes widen slightly before she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. Her fingers toy with the clipboard, flipping to the last page and seeing the score sheet, before chuckling in amusement.
Turning back to you, she tilts her head with a raised brow.
“I don’t get the special question?” she asks.
You take the clipboard from her, offering a knowing look as you begin to organize the documents on your desk.
“I think we both already know your answer to that question,” you reply.
“Then ask me another,” Natasha insists.
Her request makes you pause as you ponder what to ask. Only one thing comes to mind, the question you’ve been hesitating to ask her for a long time.
Meeting her expectant gaze, you find yourself wanting to know the answer, despite the fear in your mind at the possibility of causing another big change in your life again.
Summoning your courage, you face her directly.
“Would you…,” you start, faltering momentarily before gathering yourself with a deep breath.
“...would you say ‘yes’ if I asked you out on a date tonight?”
There's a moment of silence, and just as you consider retracting the question, Natasha reaches out and adjusts the hood atop your head.
Perplexed by her action, you watch her suspiciously. Then, in one swift motion, she pulls the hood down over your eyes, obscuring your vision.
“No,” her voice responds to your question.
Hearing her stand, you quickly remove the hood to see Natasha already making her way out of the door, but before she disappears from your view, you catch the red aura surrounding her slowly fading away.
As an excited smile spreads across your face at the revelation of her true answer, your phone on the desk pings with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you see a text from Natasha.
I’ll pick you up tonight.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
a/n: Thank you for reading! I know I said I was going to take a little break, but I had some time so I ended up finishing this and decided to post it now instead of later.
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff x you#black widow x reader#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff
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oasis
dbf neighbor! joel miller x f!reader. one shot.
main masterlist | ao3 | kofi
summary: your dad's friend is tasked with looking after you while he's out of town. he ends up finding you somewhere you absolutely shouldn't be. blackmail ensues. 8.3k words.
for @iamasaddie's writing challenge! my genre was dark and the prompt was "please don't tell my dad!" thanks for the amazing challenge! 💌
warnings: 18+ MDNI! dark themes, joel is pervy and sleazy, age gap (reader is under drinking age but an adult so 18-20, joel's age unmentioned but he calls himself an old man and he's 50+ in my head), consensual but there are elements of coercion and blackmail so... (it's dark! okay!), unprotected piv, lap sitting, lap dance, thigh/crotch riding, orgasm denial, pussy pronouns, dirty diiiirty talk, cumshot?, reader has hair that can be pulled and wears lingerie but otherwise is undescribed.
a/n: this is less edited than my usual work but i hope i did it justice! it was very fun and silly to come up with this idea and i ended up loooving how crazy it got!
Keep an eye on her while we’re gone, eh?
The words from your father ring through Joel’s ears when he hears the start of an engine from where he sits in his living room, his view on the plush couch offering a perfect view through the large picture window on the front of the house. Right to where you live with your dad, where he can see the lights of your car come on. Bingo. He’s got you now.
Obsession felt like a strong word, but Joel could describe it no other way as soon as you’d moved in across the street - your dad was a longtime friend and neighbor, talk of his little girl rampant for years before he’d had the chance to meet you. You were going to be going to college nearby, so you moved from where you lived with your mom in California down to your father in Texas, right across the street from where he’d had the pleasure of laying eyes on you for the first time.
Young. Supple. Beautiful. And so damn shy.
He hated just how much it turned him on when your timid eyes would find his. The pervy old man who couldn’t keep his eyes off a young girl - what a god damned cliche he’d become. He kept tabs on you, at first not really realizing he was doing it, eyes peering out the windows to catch you on your way out the door or coming home soon escalated to trying to see into your bedroom window at the front of the house. His time with your father mysteriously seemed to double, then triple, any chance he could to get close to you, see you in your natural habitat, hoping to learn more about this special girl that had captured so much of his attention.
You dressed modestly, too - far too modestly for his liking - he knew your father was a strict man, and assumed just as much about your mother from the way your dad talked about his ex-wife. He never got to see enough of you, except for the few times you had on shorter dresses when the summer heat just got to be too much to bear, and those rare occasions burned themselves into his memory, a bank of images to pull from when he took a hand to his cock and thought of you.
He’s up in a flash, smiling softly to himself as he quickly slides on his shoes and swipes his keys from the front table, exiting the house and seeing your car still parked in the drive. You always sit there too long before driving off, probably playing on your phone, texting your friends, whatever the hell young girls like you do. All Joel knows is he’s grateful it gives him enough time to sneak to his truck before you can get too far, waiting until you pull out and start down the street before starting his own car.
Joel checks the time as he starts down his driveway and sees it’s well after 9:00 pm. Where the hell could you be going, you naughty thing? Your dad has a strict curfew for you, he knows, and if he’s tasked with keeping an eye on you, he might as well do it right.
So he follows you. You get on the highway, heading towards downtown, and Joel’s eyebrows raise as he turns up his music, cruising along behind you, so unaware as he sees the outline of your own head bopping along to your music when he can get a clear enough view.
When you finally park, the city streets bustling with people out late on a Friday night around you, Joel sits in his truck, eyes peeled as he watches you round a building, disappearing. Oasis, the glowing sign on the front says. It looks a bit seedy, this area of town, a bouncer on the outside that you’d given a curt wave to sending Joel’s expression into pure shock before a determined smirk crosses his lips.
It turns out it’s not as exclusive as having a bouncer would make it seem. Joel waits in line with the others, feeling a bit out of place but his appetite to bust you outweighs all of it. Not more than ten minutes later he’s inside, the dark hallway opening up to a massive room laid out in front of him. It’s busy - bodies everywhere, the smell of sweat, alcohol, and arousal permeating everything and Joel blinks to adjust his eyes to the dim mood lighting. A dance floor takes up most of the middle, crowded to the max as music bumps through the speakers, and two bars flank either side, fully packed as well. There are lounges everywhere - cushy leather couches with tables, and as Joel’s vision comes in in full, he sees more private spots along the edges of the room on a slightly elevated area, curtains closing them in.
Too busy taking everything in, he doesn’t even notice the most important detail right away - the waitresses. More specifically, the way they’re all dressed. Gorgeous bodies of all shapes and sizes, parading around in what is essentially lingerie - a lacy black bra paired with a matching set of panties, sheer black stockings and a garter trailing down their legs all the way to the heels that adorn their feet. Joel feels a twinge inside his belly, pulling low and taut when he spots one of the waitresses with thick thighs and a plush stomach grinding on a woman sitting on one of the couches, the receiver throwing her head back in teasing, pleased laughter before taking a long sip of her drink. He continues scanning the room, seeing another man closer to his age being straddled by a different waitress with one of the nicest pairs of tits Joel has ever seen in that same uniform, her hips swaying and grinding so close to his crotch as she gives him a lapdance.
Fuck.
His mind spins faster, blood going hot as it runs through his veins, his cock twitching under the denim of his jeans. It’s been too long - all the pining, the built up frustration, and he’s needy. He finds it hard to believe you’d just be out partying at a place like this, certainly not the neighborly girl he knows. Bringing over leftovers you’d cooked for you and your dad, always with a little treat on the side and a soft smile, your frilly socks and white tennis shoes, collars that never revealed much past the very top of your gorgeous tits. But it still made him fucking crazy, all of it. He wanted to be the one to ruin it, to see who you really are underneath all of the fluff and sweetness. Because at the end of the day, he knows he wasn’t imagining that glint in your eye that told him you had more to offer.
Joel shakes the distractions and his dirty, racing thoughts, eyes scanning the room for you, remembering his mission. He is about to internally ask himself the question when your appearance answers everything he needs to know. Slack jawed, he looks on as you step out from behind one of the bars, tossing a smile over your shoulder at one of the other workers as you start to move carrying a tray full of drinks.
When you emerge in full, strutting your way across the room, you’re wearing it. The outfit. The skimpy bra and panties to match all of the other servers. Your coworkers. Oh, he’s so thoroughly fucked right now, he thinks in a rising panic. But then again, so are you.
“Thank god you’re here! You’re seriously such a life saver,” Kristina says breathlessly as you breeze into the locker room. She’s one of the supervisors here at Oasis, the club you’ve been working at since the beginning of the summer. Sure, you were underage to serve alcohol, but the owners of this club seemed willing to turn a blind eye to a lot of things to gain good talent. Good pay, direct cash, and an insane amount in tips. Enough to pay your way through college, you hoped. Beyond all of that, once you’d gotten into the swing of things you found that you liked it, too. The power you felt in these heels, the way eyes followed you everywhere, you’d never felt so desired, so free or sexually open in your life. Although the only time you’d actually had sex was with your one ex-boyfriend, and it never felt like you do here - sexy, with raw desire filling the air, something so tangible you feel you can reach out and touch it sometimes.
You pull your shirt over your head, unclasping your regular bra and swapping it for the black, lacy one that lives inside your locker. Kristina stands nearby, unfazed by your bare chest as she thanks you. She’d called you about forty five minutes ago, begging for you to come in on your night off when another server, Rochelle, got sick right as things started to pick up. Friday night tips hadn’t sounded so bad when you had no plans apart from watching TV in your dad’s empty house, so it felt like a win.
“No problem,” you say, smiling at her. “Happy to help.”
“You’ve got section five tonight - Justin has Laura covering right now, just switch out when you’re ready, kay?”
You confirm, quickly finishing up your swap into your uniform, admiring yourself in the mirror with a soft smile, still getting used to the look of lingerie on you. You’d have been stupid to keep something like this in the house with either of your parents, not worth the risk if they found out about it.
The noise of the club blares, making you wince for a quick moment as you step out from the calmness of the locker room to the deafening noise beyond and get your bearings behind the bar. It really is busy, but all you can see is money when you glance around, admiring how full the place is tonight.
You’re stopped in the middle of your flow after swinging by the bar to pick up drinks for one of your tables. It’s an extra flirtatious group of men who are practically ready to feast on you, but for all the poorly managed things about this club, they at least have a strict no touching rule with the staff that is enforced by any number of the security guards around. So you get to have your fun, keep your distance, and hope they pay extra for a lapdance from you and tip you well for it.
“You’ve got a, uh, private request,” Justin says, speaking quietly but leaning close to your ear so you can hear him. You pull back, a look of surprise on your face, a questioning glance that he confirms with a nod. “We’ll cover your tables. Room seven.”
Your mind spins faster as you walk towards the room. The rooms aren’t fully private, just a halfway curtain that gives the impression you’re more alone than you are. That luxury doesn’t come cheap, so whoever booked this room and asked for you must mean business. In fact, management hasn’t even put you on serving private rooms regularly yet, reserving that right to the more tenured employees until you work your way up the ladder. You smile, wondering who it could even be that specifically requested you - a regular that loved the banter you’d offered? A new customer who was drawn to you from across the room? It makes your heart skip a little, anticipation and a hint of nervousness coursing through you as you reach the curtain, stepping beyond to see your mystery customer.
Holy shit.
The sultry smile you’d plastered on fades right off your face, replaced with a deep set frown, your mouth open but unable to speak. Your stomach is rapidly dropping to depths it's never known before as your face starts to burn hot, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. Your arms fly up to your chest, crossing them over as some kind of futile cover of yourself, but his eyes are trained there unashamedly, seeing the way your arms have really just accentuated your cleavage. He’s spread out on one of the loveseats, completely alone, knees wide apart, lap open and desperately inviting when it absolutely should not be.
“M-Mr. Miller?”
Joel was having far too much fun with this. The priceless look on your face that had wiped off the pretty grin you’d had was worth every damn penny he’d spent on this ridiculous room just to get you alone. You think you can cover up, somehow, but it only really offers Joel a better view of your bottom half, the lacy shorts style panties a treat for his weary gaze, the garters sitting against your soft skin one of the most enticing things he’s ever seen. He instantly feels his cock getting hard as his eyes rake up and down your body, settling on where your tits are now pressed together against your crossed arms.
“Mr. Miller?” you stutter out after a long, dense silence between the two of you.
“Don’t cover up on account’a me, sweetheart,” Joel replies cooly, threading his hands together behind his head, looking even more relaxed than when you’d first walked in. Your arms seem to tighten around you, the complete opposite of Joel.
“Wh-what are you -” you start trying to ask, and Joel notices how you suddenly look unbalanced, legs shaking underneath you. You attempt a step forward, bringing yourself further into the room and it gives Joel an even closer look at you, and god damn you’re gorgeous. Your skin looks flawless, so smooth and soft looking - the apex of your thighs coming closer to eye level as you move forward, all adorned by that lace that’s making him wild. He’s never seen anything close to this much of your skin before, and he has half a mind to grab you right here and toss you over his lap, taking everything he wants from you.
“Could ask you the same thing, couldn’t I?” he questions you, enjoying the tease, the way he sees your face screw up a little tighter at the very valid point he was making. You’re caught, and there’s no way around it now, he thinks smugly.
Your face falls, eyes going to the ground and watching your feet shift nervously in your heels. “I-I get it. You made your point. I’ll go home, okay? I know I shouldn’t be here -” you stammer out, and the guilty look on your face tells Joel what he’d already suspected - your dad knows absolutely nothing about this job of yours.
“No, you shouldn’t,” Joel says, but he makes no move to get up, keeping a steady, unrelenting gaze on you. When you flick your eyes up to him, he sees they’re watery, and it makes his insides twinge with a strange mixture of regret and pleasure as he sees the tears brimming along the edges of your eyes, the subtle panic he can see growing.
“You’re bein’ very bad, ain’t ya? ” Joel tuts, and you seem to almost flinch at the words from where you awkwardly stand in front of him still, unsure of what to do, where to go. Joel feels that pleasure growing warm in his gut, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “I mean, look at that outfit, sweetheart -” Joel starts with a low whistle, sitting forward slightly so you can see just how much he’s admiring it, his eyes narrowed in inspection, the weathered lines in his face apparent with the way his brows are raised. “Thas’ a far cry from those clothes you wear on my doorstep, play actin’ a good little girl.”
“N-no! I don’t - I didn’t mean - I am good.” You’re more and more visibly flustered, your arms wrapping around yourself as Joel continues to tease you, intent on bringing you down a few more notches.
Joel gives you a condescending glare. “Darlin’, ain’t nothin’ good about this. Lemme tell you what I think…” He leans back again, staring up at you, not once inviting you to sit, and knowing you won’t unless he does - he wants to make you sweat. “You never got to have that rebellious streak w’ both your parents bein’ who they are, did ya? An’ you thought you deserved it, to have a little fun, didn’t you?”
Your lip quivers and you blink back another set of hot, embarrassed tears, eyes trained back on the dark, faux marble floors, refusing to speak.
“Didn’t you?” he asks again with more bite. Fucking brat. Good thing Joel had plenty of tactics up his sleeve to whip a wannabe brat back into a good girl, he thinks with a sly smile to himself.
“Y-yes! Okay? I wanted to do something… for me,” you finally admit, feeling yourself shake a little at his demanding words.
“Now was that so hard?” Joel asks, becoming acutely aware of just how hard he is, almost painfully so now that he’s been teasing you, fantasizing about this moment for far too long. You shake your head, still hung downwards in shame before bringing your eyes back to his. They look soft, youthful and desperate, and Joel has never felt so turned on in his goddamn life, all the power he’s feeling rushing right to his cock.
“J-just… please don’t tell my dad,” you say, almost quiet enough Joel can’t hear it over the distant bump of the music. But he made it out, the words he’d been hoping you’d say, the ones he knew you’d have to utter.
“I won’t,” Joel starts, seeing the relief flood your face, nearly laughing at how quickly you put stock in his words before even hearing what else he has to say. So naive. “But what’s in it for me, hm? Ain’t gonna keep a secret without a little… incentive.” Joel’s hands plant on his thighs, running up the length of them as he watches your emotions shift in real time, your jaw going slack, eyes widening and barely blinking. You just stutter, completely taken aback and Joel had expected as much - you’re too good of a girl to navigate a situation like this. Good thing he already has his next words planned and loaded up to help you along.
“Laps feelin’ mighty empty, y’know…” Joel muses, leaning back and spreading his palms out on the leather couch next to his thighs. You flash your eyes to his legs, then his face again, mouth gaping open, finally realizing just what he’s asking for.
You can’t believe this is happening to you. You should never have taken this job, kept such a big secret from your dad that you knew he’d absolutely kill you for if he found out. You were technically an adult now, but that didn’t mean you could just throw away his rules while you lived at home with him.
And now you were being blackmailed by his friend. His very handsome friend, but you’re trying hard not to think about that right now. There’s no way he’s serious about this, no way he could actually want this from you? The neighbor girl, his friend’s daughter? Mr. Miller had always been kind, just a bit of a grumpy edge to him but he loved to joke around with your dad. You often caught them laughing together, too shy to have inserted yourself enough with someone who made your skin grow hot just from glancing into his dark, chocolate brown eyes. But without that buffer of your dad, here alone in the dim lighting of the club, it was like he’d become another man.
“Y-you want me to…?” you say, blinking hard as you stare at his thick thighs and crotch, all spread wide open. It’s enticing - normally even with an attractive customer you find yourself thinking of it more as work - fun work, but still work. But with Joel… you’d felt heat pooling between your thighs as he observed you this entire conversation, the desire starting to outweigh the embarrassment you were feeling.
“Paid for it, didn’t I?” he remarks practically, a nip of impatience edging his voice as you swallow hard and step forward.
“Y-you don’t have to… we can get a refund if you don’t want me to do it…” you say, trying to remind yourself not to mumble, but your nerves are getting the best of you.
Joel’s head shakes slowly, his hand drifting out smoothly from his body towards you, tenderly locking on to where your wrist dangles at your side and pulls you closer. Closer. Closer, until he’s pulling you down so that you have to bend down, coming face to face with him. Your cheeks burn, breathing heavy and stunted as the tension in the air thickens, his lips so close to yours. You can’t help but glance at them, the inviting curve of his lips drawing you in, but Joel’s eyes are elsewhere, peering down right between your bodies where your tits are on such display for him, spilling out of the bra at this angle.
“Like I said,” he coos softly, eyes obviously drifting up towards your face, “I need a little incentive to not spill your dirty little secret, darlin’.” A smirk grows on his face before he lets go of your wrist, and you stumble backwards a little.
“Y-you -” you stutter again, trying to counter him, but you come up short. “O-okay…” you mutter with a sigh, taking a deep breath before you hesitantly turn around, facing your back to him.
Joel tuts immediately at your lack of enthusiasm. “None of that, gimme the full show, sweetheart, or the deal’s off.”
You huff quietly, taking a few steps away from Joel, readying yourself. He can see the change in your demeanor already, the more confident strides you take before turning around, facing him again. Then you begin your routine, practiced and ready, pacing towards him with a feline, graceful energy, heels clicking on the floor as you slip one leg in front of the other, heading towards him. You almost hesitate, pushing yourself through the doubt as your hand reaches out, grazing along his shoulder, moving inward towards his collarbone.
Your fingers drag along his chest, where one button of his flannel shirt is open, wishing you could delve your whole hand inside and feel the more than likely gorgeous planes of his chest. Christ, he’s so meaty, so thick everywhere you touch.
A soft rumble escapes his chest before you turn around, grinding your ass downwards and then back up, teasing him by getting a little lower each time. But it’s not enough, he knows you’re holding back, your movements a little stilted and awkward. His cell phone is out of his pocket before he can think much more about it, snapping a photo of the way your ass is grinding down towards him, just enough of your side profile in the photo that it’s undeniably you.
“Come on, know you can do better’n that.” Joel clicks his tongue, making you freeze, hovering awkwardly above him. “Do this for a livin’ lord knows how many nights a week. If you ain’t gonna give me what I paid my hard earned money for I can call your daddy right now… maybe jus’ text him this picture. What d’you think about that?” Joel asks, holding his cell phone forward and into your eyesight. You gasp, hands grabbing for it just as he snatches it away.
“D-delete that! Please!” you cry out, feeling panic squeeze at your chest. Fuckfuckfuck you are so thoroughly fucked right now if Joel has photo evidence.
Joel smiles down at his phone, peering at the image one last time before pocketing it. “No can do, sweetheart. Now, I don’t really wanna have to ask again, yeah?”
You only gape at him for a moment longer before snapping your mouth shut and positioning yourself above his lap again. “F-fine. Jesus,” you mutter angrily, finding that the irritation you’re feeling is starting to spur you on as you begin to move again, feeling yourself turned on by Joel’s musk in your space, the heat of his body radiating towards yours in this close proximity. Not to mention you can sense just how turned on he is, how much this is affecting him as you move with more conviction, hips delicately swinging in front of him. If he wants a show, you’ll give him your best yet, you think with determination.
“F-fuck… attagirl,” Joel lets slip when you brush his crotch with your ass. He’s barely holding it together with your curves swaying tantalizingly in front of him, something even his wildest dreams likely couldn’t have conjured up. He’d never think he’d see you like this - so sensual, so fucking gorgeously in control of your sexual aura that it could make a man lose control. Your customers were beyond lucky, he thinks with a pang of jealousy shooting through him, making his blood boil hotter, his possessive side come out. While he’d been at home pining over you, thinking about you with a hand stroking his own cock, you’d been here - rubbing your pretty ass on all those lucky fucks and their undeserving crotches.
The thought makes him insane, the image of you doing this to any other man, so when you lean back against him, pressing your back to his chest, your ass just beginning to grind on his jeans, his hands go to your hips instinctively trying to bring you down onto him, to claim you. You slow your movements to a stop, leaning your head back towards his ear so that you’re almost entirely pressed against him now.
“Not s-supposed to touch,” you say, you voice the only thing giving away just how nervous you still are.
“Don’t fuckin’ care, if I’m honest,” Joel huffs back quietly, his voice husky and breathless. You bite back a moan as his rough hands wrap around each side of your waist tightly and help guide you that last inch downwards, sending your ass fully rolling over his crotch.
“H-holy shit…” you whimper when you feel the rough denim brush along the outside of your panties. You feel a flush run through you, your skin burning hot as you realize you won’t be able to hide how wet you’ve gotten for very long. It began slowly, just with his brooding, questioning eyes on you, now reaching a fever pitch as you’re in his space and feeling the prominent bulge in his pants.
It’s been far too long since you were satisfied. Truly satisfied.
Your breath catches as Joel fingers wiggle inward a little after hearing how much you’re getting into it, even closer to the waistband of your panties, the two of you facilitating the grinding motion together as you bear down a little more on his lap. Joel lets out a pleased hum, still somehow giving you the sense that he’s the one holding back now. His hands still have an air of respect to them, like they’re vibrating with the need to wrap completely around you and pull you to him, to roam your skin and grab at all the forbidden parts of you.
When the thought flashes across your mind, you realize you want him to.
“T-touch me…” you whisper, immediately clamping your betraying mouth shut as the words float out into the air. You hold your breath, waiting to see if Joel heard you.
“What’s that, gorgeous? Couldn’t quite hear you,” Joel says, his tone a low, mocking sound that tells you he’s baiting you, that he wants to play with his food before eating it. Your eyes narrow before they shut completely, rolling back when he forces your ass to move along his bulge again.
“F-fu- touch me,” you spit out a bit louder. “Please.”
“You poor thing,” you hear him tut from behind you, forcing your hips upwards and away before grasping onto your hands, turning you around to face him. “Can’t get us in trouble now, can we?” he asks tauntingly, his eyes giving you a heated staredown as they widen, almost looking sympathetic if there wasn’t so much of an appetite behind them.
You whimper, visibly whining as your face screws up, squeezing his hands with yours. Joel tugs, so lightly that you’d almost think it was your own idea as you start to come back down towards him, pressing the warmth between your legs against his thigh. You sigh shakily, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly swing one leg over top of his and bear down a little more, straddling his thigh.
“We w-won’t… we won’t…” you breathe out, knowing it’s not the complete truth, but room seven is especially tucked back, hardly getting any traffic. In fact, it was known for bending the rules a bit.
“She’s so needy, huh? You all wet for me, sweetheart, that it? She need a little relief?” Joel taunts, and when you open your eyes to meet his gaze, he’s practically pouting. Your cheeks burn at how desperate he’s making you sound, but your hips twitch of their own accord, sending a zing of pleasure up your spine and you whimper quietly again, giving yourself away even further.
“Y-yes, Mr. Miller…”
“Keep on doin’ your little dance, pretty girl, jus’ right there,” Joel urges you, a hand finding the small of your back, the other locked onto your hip as you start to rock forward, then back again. Relief instantly floods you as your clit brushes against the ripples in the hard denim, making you move harder against him, mouth popped open in fresh ecstasy.
“Close that mouth before I shove somethin’ in it, you fuckin’ tease,” Joel grits out, his eyes burning wildly, finally giving you a glimpse at how affected he is as he keeps his stare on your face, starting to sheen with sweat. Your mouth snaps shut, a stifled moan pulling from your throat and behind your closed lips, threatening to burst out of you.
“This ain’t against the rules? Havin’ a pretty girl ride my thigh?” he asks in cruel teasing, flickering eyes glancing down to where your hips are shamelessly rocking on him.
“I- I don’t - know-“ you choke out, your legs starting to tremble as the pleasure slowly, steadily builds deep inside of you. “I d-don’t care…”
“Riiight, she’s on her rebellious streak now, ain’t she?” Joel mutters facetiously, smiling a devious grin as he watches your face screw up in concentration. You truly don’t care, you can’t care anymore when whatever the hell is going on feels so good. Damn this job, damn Joel’s games, you’re going to get what you need out of this right now, too. Your head is thrown back as your whines and moans escalate, showing Joel just how close you’re getting.
“That’s it, god you’re beggin’ for it, ain’t you? So dirty…” Joel’s hands grip tighter along your hips, starting to drag you inwards, towards his aching, clothed bulge. “Beggin’ for your daddy’s friend's cock while you make a mess all over his thigh, aren’t you? Who would’ve thought a good girl like you’d be wantin’ to get fucked by an old man?”
His words make you clench around nothing, the harsh tone making your insides twist in pleasure as you roll your hips a little faster. “F-fuck… I - I need to - Mr. Miller -” you plead aimlessly, feeling your core tightening, the obscene wetness driving you to full on madness as your pussy aches, cries out for Joel.
Your leg is being dragged over top of him, forcing you to fully straddle his lap, thighs stretched wide and burning at how wide you’re going to accommodate his huge frame. You’re in disbelief at the rough, needy noise Joel makes as soon as your cunt is pulled down onto him, Joel’s hands forcing your hips to start thrusting against him. You nearly lose your balance, wrapping your arms around his neck to hang on as he looks at you with determination. Hands planted firmly on your ass, squeezing hard as he relishes in the feel of finally having you like this, feeling your warm heat seeping through his denim right to where he’s desperate to have you most.
“Joel,” he corrects in his haze, stunting your hips to press down hard on his cock, sending a gasp flying out of your mouth at the sheer size of what’s to come. Your mouth is practically watering, so close to what your body craves now, what it needs. When your fingers graze the button of his jeans, he stiffens, seeming to snap out his lustful fog as he swats your hand away.
“Fuck… later,” Joel says suddenly, using every bit of self restraint to push you back, moving your heat from his bulge, the instantaneous lack of you devastating him to the core.
Your brows quickly knit in confusion at the sudden change in course. “W-why…?” you whisper breathlessly, bringing your lips near his neck, kissing the rough skin, working your way up to his patchy, gray flecked beard. His hand is at the back of your head, yanking you backwards by the hair, tearing your lips off of him in a brutal rush. He holds you there, the pull on your scalp starting to prickle harder as you sit staring at him like a tamed animal being held up by its scruff.
“Can’t fuck you properly in here. Too many fuckin’… people. Prying eyes wantin’ to see what all the fuss is about.”
“I-I can be quiet,” you retort, hating just how much it sounds like begging but the hold he has on you right now is so intense, so inexplicable that you’d say anything, you think.
Joel huffs, a tiny, incredulous snort coming out of his nose. “No, you can’t. Not if I’m doin’ what I plan on doin’ to you. We can’t have anyone come snoopin’, can we?”
You shake your head, suddenly wondering if he’s about to drag you out of here, take you home to his bed, or your bed, you think with a shudder. You feel a pull inside your belly, thinking you just might let him if you don’t get your head back on straight soon.
“An’ you still gotta work the rest of your shift, make your money, don’t you babydoll?” Joel says with a smirk growing, making your face fall completely into a deep frown. “Call it a little punishment for bein’ such a bad, naughty girl, yeah? Then you can finish up givin’ me my piece of the pie.”
You find yourself gaping at him for the umpteenth time tonight in disbelief. He wasn’t going to just leave you… like this? Was he? You can feel your clit pulsing against your panties, your body tense and wound up, on the precipice of coming so hard you saw stars only a few moments ago.
“Up, now,” Joel says, shifting his legs so that you’re forced to move, scrambling up onto your shaky legs, feeling like a newborn fawn getting your footing again.
“W-wait… I already - didn’t I… give you what you want?” you ask, suddenly feeling yourself snapping out of the heady, lust filled haze Joel had you in. This was insane, right? You can’t fuck him, you shouldn’t. It wasn’t right for either of you, and you’d been crazy to have just been this close to letting him stuff you full.
Joel’s head tilts, watching your slightly messy hair and smudged makeup for a few beats with a discerning gaze. “Nah, darlin’, you just gave me what I paid for. This is what I want.”
Your heart and stomach sink to new depths. “N-no. Joel! You said… if I gave you the lap dance you wouldn’t tell my dad. And I gave you a hell of a lot more than that -” Joel stands, interrupting you, coming forward and crowding your space, his hulking mass like a tower next to you, shadowing you with his commanding energy.
“Watch your mouth,” he snips, a hand gripping onto your wrist. “I’m the one callin’ the shots here, an’ I changed my mind once I saw just how pretty that sweet little pussy of yours can be. So here’s what’s gonna happen…” Joel’s fingers come up to ghost along your cheek, trailing down your neck, along the swells of your breasts as he speaks. You can’t help but shudder at the attention, how good it feels on your sensitive, needy skin.
“You go on out there, tell ‘em what a great job you did in here, work the rest of your shift like a good girl, thinkin’ about just how fuckin’ wet you got these pretty panties, how bad she needs a little help from Mr. Miller.”
Your breath is caught in your throat at his words, hitching further as his touch skates further down, sending your hips twitching forward.
“An’ I’ll be waitin’ for you after, darlin’, for what I’m owed.”
Your heart pounds as you slip out the side door and into the alleyway, pausing to let the cool night air wash over you as you gather your thoughts. Your mind is at war with itself, one half of you knowing this is a terrible idea, setting you up for complete disaster in the future. How could you ever face Joel again if you two took it that far? Then again, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to face him in the daylight already, anyways, without your cheeks burning so hot they caught fire. The other half of you was winning, had been winning as you worked the rest of your shift in a complete daze, hardly recognizing your own movements as your body burned hot and needy, mind completely scrambled by the conundrum of your father’s closest friend coming onto you and more.
You spent the rest of your shift coming to terms with the fact that you do want to fuck him. So badly. Even if it’s wrong, a complete mistake in every single way. You also know your mind isn’t to be trusted right now, running on pure horniness and desperation, never having been fucked in the way you know Joel could. His experience, his power, the way his lustful eyes had drank you in like the sweetest balm - it was all too hard to turn down. You turn, looking the opposite way down the alleyway from your car, starting to think you might be able to sneak around the block and get in your car and drive off without him noticing, wondering exactly where he’s waiting for you. You don’t see a soul, hear anyone else in this alley apart from the distant music from inside and chatter from along the main street which is a far cry from where the employee exit to Oasis dropped you.
You take the risk, heart thrumming wildly as you start down the alley, saying a silent apology to Joel in your head, and then yourself for letting this secret come out, knowing Joel was definitely not bluffing if you didn’t follow through on your end of the deal. Better to face punishment from your father than have to deal with the consequences of fucking his best friend and facing the feelings that would come after. You’re only halfway down the alleyway before a warm, rough hand is slapped against your mouth and an arm is draped around your middle and tugging you backwards. A wall of muscle meets you and you whimper loudly behind the hand, starting to yell.
“Shh, shh, no screamin’,” the voice coos, distinctly recognizable. Shit.
“Tryna sneak off on me, huh, pretty girl?” Joel says next to your ear, his neck craning down to breathe you in, groaning. It’s so feminine, so light and soft, the faded scent of your perfume and body wash makes him instantly mad with need for you. His hand slips down, giving your lips some room to answer now that you’ve stopped fighting him, leaning back into his hold a little more.
“N-no,” you choke out, lying. “S-swear.”
“Didn’t change your mind? Want me to send those pretty pictures to your daddy?” Joel coos, starting to walk you towards the brick wall of the building, pushing your body forwards until you’re pressed against the cool, scratchy surface. You hold back a moan when his body leans into you fully, completely dominating you as you’re at his mercy against the wall.
“I j-just d-don’t think we should -” you utter half heartedly, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, fearing what might come next after your suggestion.
“Why’s that?” he asks, dripping with condescension. “Seemed you couldn’t wait to get stuffed full of me not too long ago, yeah?”
“I-it’ll be weird after, w-won’t it? How can we… be around my dad? How can you?” You finally find your voice, your bravery, to ask him the question you’d been thinking the entire night.
A small chuckle blows past the side of your head from where Joel’s mouth sits against your head. “Think we both learned tonight I’m willin’ to keep a secret,” he says, his voice getting more harsh, a needy coarseness to it that sends goosebumps along your skin. Joel feels a frenzy overcoming him when he notices your thighs clenching, how shallow and wanting your breaths are becoming now. He can’t wait much longer… can’t stand the torture he’s endured at your sweet teasing for a second longer.
“I-I want it…” you finally say in a harsh whisper, your resolve faded within seconds. Your ass ruts back into his hardness, an ache that hadn’t subsided in the least in the last hours as he waited for you. Patiently. Like he had already been all of these months.
“You know I’m gonna ruin anyone else f’you, darlin’, don’t you?” he asks as his lips trace along your shoulder, now clad in a tank top that you’d changed back into. The bits of bare skin he touches taste like heaven, feel almost unbearably soft and inviting against his plush lips. He couldn’t possibly deserve any of this, but he couldn’t help but take it, anyhow. He could pay for his sins later. Your neck is next on his list, another supple spot of heaven to taste as he mutters the words again. “Don’t you?”
You just nod at first, dumbstruck by the feel of his lips, turning your head to try to meet them. “Yes,” you tell him softly, knowing it’s the truth, and there isn’t a turning back from this moment anymore. His lips are suddenly all there is, devouring your own whole as he takes in bounds, your tongues and teeth and mouths in a desperate clash, panting into one another as Joel starts to tug at your jeans, fingers flying desperately to tear them down.
You let him.
The second he’s pushing into you, you see bright white flash across your vision - that pulse of pain shooting through the very fabric of your being, your nerves lit up and screaming out from deep inside of you. Joel’s groan is barely audible through the ringing in your ears as he doesn’t stop, finding solace in your tight heat when he pushes himself into you in full. It’s heaven incarnate, you are heaven incarnate, he thinks, practically panting out the words as he feels your wet tightness pulling him in, walls pulsing as you adjust to the sheer volume that is Joel. Your cheek is crushed against the brick, mouth propped open in shock, the rough scrape on your face the only thing keeping you grounded as you whine out a long, wanton sound, something completely foreign to you.
“So… fuckin’... dumb on this cock,” Joel utters as he starts to move, a slow drag of his cock out and back in before he makes good on his promise to ruin anyone else for you, to never have a comparison to the blinding pleasure you feel rocking your entire universe as he quickly ruts into you. “Fuckin’ heaven.”
“J- fuck -” you stutter out, completely speechless. When one arm wraps around you, finding your clit, needy and puffy from hours of torturous edging, everything else melts away. The dark alley, the fact that you could be seen at any moment, the way you weren’t even sure you trusted Joel to keep your secret despite you following through on your end - none of it fucking mattered anymore.
“W-wanted this so bad, y’don’t know what you do to a man, sweetheart… Jesus fuck,” Joel says, uncharacteristically soft as his hips roll, sending your own bouncing onto his hurried fingers swirling along your clit. Desperation clings to the both of you now, hot and heavy air, hurried movements like this could be torn away from the two of you any second.
“Joel… I’m fu- I’m close, so close, please…” you rush out, feeling a pull of warmth at your center, his cock brushing along just the right spot to send you to that edge. You start to moan louder, the noise echoing in the open space around the two of you, your hand hurriedly slapping over your mouth to muffle it as the high starts to rock through you. His name screams from behind your hand, the sound still clear enough to send Joel to a state of crazed fervor, thrusting into you at an impossible pace, sending you bouncing harder against the wall. You twitch and shake, your eyes rolling back as you come harder than you have in months, maybe ever. Just like he’d promised, the absolute bastard.
“Fuckin’ creamin’ on this cock, shit, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” Joel marvels breathlessly as the obscene squelching of your bodies meeting only gets louder. “Oh, good girl, such a pretty, messy slut for a dirty old man, aren’t you?”
“G-god, yes, fuck… I am…” you whimper out with flustered nods, completely spent as you come down from your high, letting Joel use your cunt to chase his own now. You twitch at the overstimulation, your body still tingling pleasantly as he turns you into his own personal fuck toy, your body his for the taking.
“Pretty as a picture, all fucked out like this,” he says slyly one hand planted on the wall next to you now, the other playing lazily with your aching clit. “Never gonna be able to give me up now, are you?”
You shake your head, lost in the moment with your answers as you feel another orgasm washing over you, less intense but still pleasant waves of pleasure rolling through while you gasp for breath, completely full of Joel each time he thrusts heartily into you, stealing away your air.
“Please… c-can’t…” you mumble through your climax, hardly able to take the stimulation anymore but knowing the sick little part of your brain is happy to do it for him, let him use you until he’s completely spent himself.
You don’t have to wait much longer for your wish, hearing Joel grunting, almost whimpering when he’s suddenly gone from you with a wet, slick pop, leaving you cavernous empty. He barely makes it out of you before his hand grips his cock, twitching in his palm as he comes towards the ground right in between your legs, ropes of cum coating your pulled down jeans and underwear, the brick wall, the pavement below you. His forehead is pressed to your back, sticky and hot as he catches his breath for a silent beat.
You’ve never felt anything like this, this satisfaction, this pure unadulterated filthiness and pleasure. The addiction already grips you, your poor, sore cunt already anticipating the next time he could ruin you.
But then it hits you like a train, pulling you out of your reverent little bubble - this can’t happen again. It’s out of your system, out of his, and now you both have a secret to keep. You start to pull your pants up, the movement seeming to bring Joel to his senses, reaching down along with you.
“Sh-shit, here, let me,” he says in a rasp, tugging your jeans up, the immediate feeling of wetness sticking to your body and making you cringe. “Little souvenir for ya,” he comments cockily, knowing his cum is now sticking to your skin, knowing that thought will sustain him for at least the next few hours. But that’s wishful thinking, he realizes, knowing that he could find himself buried in you the entire night, over and over again, considering hauling you away to do just that when you interrupt his thinking.
“I- I’m sorry…” you mutter, not even fully sure of why you even say it. For some reason, you are sorry that you put the two of you in this position, even if it ended in something so incredible that you have a hard time even putting it into words.
Joel spins you to face him, thumbing your chin and pinching it, bringing your face to look him in the eyes. They look a little softer than they had inside the club, more like the neighbor you’ve come to know. So charming and disarming when he wants to be.
“Don’t be,” he says, leaning down to kiss you more gently than he had before, something tender and sweet that you find yourself immediately falling for, body melting into his as you hang your arms around his neck, wondering when along the way you started feeling so comfortable with this.
“Besides,” Joel adds, a devious smirk pulling his lips upwards. “Your daddy ain’t home for a few more days. Think we can find a few more ways to convince me to keep your little secret.”
#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#x reader
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good boy
words: 1.5k
warnings: established relationship, marriage, protective!rafe, (guard??) dog, fluffy
“rafe, it's literally two weeks. ill be fine!” you say, folding his clothes, having dumped out his suitcase onto the bed to reorganize it when you saw how he packed it, just chucking things in.
“two weeks where im a hours away from you by plane.” rafe sighs, watching you carefully repack his suitcase as he pouts on the bed, not wanting to leave you.
“you know, cameron, i lived a whole 20 years before meeting you.” you point out, knowing while rafes concern comes from his love for you, it will completely overwhelm what is supposed to be an enjoyable family vacation and leave him miserable the whole time.
“i don't see why you can't just come with me.” rafe groans, flopping back against the bed. you smile and round the bed to where his head is resting against the pillows. you press a smooch to his forehead, rubbing your hand over his head, petting at his soft hair.
“baby, it's just for your family. you know that.” it's not like you don't want to accompany rafe to a tropical paradise, but you would feel way too awkward intruding.
“what if something happens to you? and im not here to protect you? id be the worst fiancee ever.” rafe grabs your head from rubbing his head, holding up the ring on your finger for him to admire.
“nothing will happen. nothing ever happens here.” you laugh. you're not sure what crime is like on the other side of the island, but your neighborhood is incredibly safe.
“im still worried.” rafe sighs. “you in that big house all alone.”
“im gonna spend 99% of the time wedding planning.” you hum, thinking about the tabs pulled open on your laptop of different venues, dresses, and color palettes.
that finally gets rafe to crack a smile. “can't wait to marry you.” rafe says earnestly. he only proposed a month ago, some people would say that you were too young to get married, but rafe knew when you came into his life and turned everything around for him that he had to put a ring on your finger.
“i can't wait either.” you bend down to press a kiss to rafes lips. “but seriously we need to talk about your packing before we tie the knot, why do you only have one pair of shorts packed for an island?”
-- two years later --
“remember those two weeks you left before we were engaged? it's not really much longer. you should go, baby. it's a good opportunity.” you are sat on rafes lap, back pressed against his chest as he scrolls through his email.
“it's just work, and it's a whole lot longer than two weeks. i don't want to leave you here alone for over a month.” rafe closes out of the email, making you sigh.
“i was fine for those two weeks, ill be fine now. promise. i think you should go! it's a big conference.” you turn sideways on his lap so you can look rafe in the eye. “besides, it's still six months away. plenty of time to prepare.”
“prepare?” rafe raises his eyebrows. “so you'd be good with security cams around the whole house and personal security?”
“cameras on the outside and hell no. you don't want some random guys watching after me do you?”
you can see the gears turning in rafes head as he frowns. “yeah, you're right. no men.”
“so you'll go?” you smile. rafe closes his eyes for a brief moment before nodding.
“yay!” you squeal. you're not excited to be left alone, and you love being around your husband more than anything, but the work trip is a big deal, and you know he'll be kicking himself if he misses out on such a good opportunity.
--
“rafey?” you call, eyes sweeping across the living room as you enter your shared home, a head full of fresh highlights.
“hubby?” you call out, continuing deeper into the house until you see movement through the glass door leading towards the backyard, but it's not the typical roll of the ocean against the shore.
“rafe?” you question as you open the door. you expected to find him in his office, where he was before you left for the beauty salon.
rafe smiles, waiting for your eyes to look down, and when you finally see what is sitting at rafes feet, you let out a gasp.
“oh my gosh!” you squeal.
“wifey, meet max. our new australian shepherd.” rafe gives a command with his hand, that has max running towards you.
you sink to your knees as the young dog excitedly greets you, licking at your hands as you pet him.
“hi maxey.” you coo at the dog, you're guessing around two years old, with max being full size but still having some young features.
“rafe, you didn't tell me you were getting us a dog!” you stand up, max following close behind as you rush to give your husband a hug.
“i have a confession.” rafe says, his hands looped around your waist. you frown, worried that max was just a foster and you'd have to give him back, or that something went wrong with the adoption. you often talked about getting pets before getting married, but wanted to wait a little bit, and then time just slipped away and before you knew it, you were over a year into your marriage.
“what?” you whine out.
“ive been working with a trainer behind your back. i wanted to make sure max was ready before we chose him for sure. he knows commands, me, your scent, our house. everything. he knows his primary responsibility is to protect you and our property.”
“oh my gosh!” you slap rafe in the chest, surprised that he was able to keep such a secret from you. “how could you do all that without telling me?” you laugh, not angry, but surprised that he was able to orchestrate everything.
you don't wait for rafe to explain how he was able to find so much time, stepping out of his hold to kneel down and continue petting max.
“we have some more training sessions so he can learn with you as well.” rafe further explains, also leaning down to pet max behind the ears as he pants excitedly at his new owners.
--
“what is it maxy?” you ask as he lifts his head up, looking around the living room. “you miss your daddy?”
you sigh as max lets out a sad sounding huff, petting your hand over his head, scratching at his neck which you know is his favorite. rafe has been gone on his business trip for a month now, with only a week and a half left until he returns home.
max suddenly jumps off the couch, eyes on the backyard. he lets out a bark, claws clicking on the hardwood floor as he moves to the glass door. he lets out another bark, making you stand.
“what is it boy?” you ask, looking out the window.
max lets out another bark, this one the familiar territorial bark that he’s practiced in his training with you and rafe. you know the only reason that rafe feels safe enough leaving you home is that max is a great guard dog.
you get closer to the window, squinting your eyes to try and see in the darkness when you sudden jump back with a scream as a squirrel runs across your patio, causing max to bark and run along the glass door until it scatters into the yard.
“holy shit, maxy, you scared the shit out of me.” you press your hand to your chest before kneeling down, scratching behind his ears. “it was just a squirrel.” you reassure him with a pat.
your heart rate is just starting to calm down from the fright when you hear the front door open. max instantly takes off with you following after him, letting out a sigh of relief when you see rafe standing in the foyer.
“baby.” he sighs happily, setting his suitcase down as you run into his arms, pressing your lips together. “i missed you so much.”
“i missed you too, what are you doing home though?” you ask, giving him another kiss before he can answer.
“they didn’t need me for the rest of the week, decided to get home to my lady.” max barks, making rafe lean down to pet him, still holding you up. “and my good boy too, of course.”
“so happy to have you home.” you nuzzle your nose into rafes neck, inhaling the familiar scent that you missed so much.
“happy to be back with you, wifey.” rafe says, carrying you further into the house.
“oh, and you will be very happy to know maxy did a great job protecting me while you were gone.” you tell rafe. it mostly involved max barking in warning at any delivery guy or car turning around in your driveway, but his presence did help making you feel safer and less loney.
“hopefully not too good.” rafe huffs as he looks at your pet. “can’t have him replacing me now.”
you giggle, surprised rafe can manage to be jealous of your dog. “never.” you swear, pressing another kiss to his lips.
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Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.
I have multiple tips!
TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.
Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:
Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.
Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.
Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.
Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.
Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:
Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.
Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)
Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.
If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?
Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:
Work on re-training your attention span.
Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.
When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)
When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.
This leads into the next Big Tip which is:
Work on being less reactive
Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.
Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).
Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.
Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?
Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.
And that gets us to the last big tip which is:
Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.
We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.
If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.
A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:
Is this something I enjoy?
Do I feel good when I do this thing?
And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.
I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.
Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.
ALSO, A NOTE:
You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.
Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.
Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.
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