#but by the end when he realizes he's starting to get older and if he's going to achieve something he'd better start now I think his

[oldsoul007]

Guess

older!joel miller x brat!younger!reader

summary: Joel never asked to be saddled with you—wild, reckless, and always testing his patience—but what started as a favor turned into something he couldn’t ignore, and by the time he realized he was in far too deep, it was already too late.

a/n: I never got over brat summer, forced proximity, tension, banter, kissing, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

The first time I see Joel Miller, he’s scowling.

Like, really scowling. Deep line between his brows, mouth set in a firm, unimpressed line, arms crossed over his chest like he’s already exhausted before I’ve even said a word.

And that just makes me want to push his buttons.

He was older—forty-five, maybe—but damn if he didn’t wear it well. Tall, broad, built like a man who knew hard work and even harder days. The kind of man who didn’t waste words or time on things he thought weren’t worth it.

“Y/n,” Tommy grins, throwing an arm around me, “meet my older brother, Joel.”

Joel gives me a once-over, slow and deliberate. I feel his eyes drag over me, taking in my short dress, the bare skin, the slight smirk tugging at my lips. And just for fun, I shift my weight, tilting my head, letting my smile turn just a little more smug.

Tommy, oblivious, keeps talking. “Figured you two should finally meet since you’re always hangin’ around.”

Joel sighs, clearly already over this interaction. “Yeah. Great. Nice to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. So warm. So welcoming.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head, eyes flicking back to Joel.

Joel just stares at me, like he’s debating whether or not to entertain me. Finally, he mutters, “Serious.”

I grin. “And I’m guessin’ Tommy here told you I’m the opposite?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw flexes tells me enough.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I step a little closer, watching him carefully, waiting to see if he pulls back. He doesn’t—just watches me, unimpressed, unreadable, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, like he’s restraining himself.

“You got somethin’ against fun, Miller?” I tease.

Joel exhales through his nose. “Just don’t got patience for trouble.”

I grin. “Good thing I ain’t trouble then.”

His eyes flick down to my lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

Tommy laughs, clapping Joel on the back. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before looking back at me. “You always this much of a pain in the ass?”

I beam. “You always this grumpy?”

His jaw tightens. I know I’m getting to him. And I love it.

Something about Joel Miller tells me he’s the type to resist—to hold himself back, to act like he doesn’t want.

But the way he’s looking at me now?

Yeah. He wants.

I never planned on ending up at Joel Millers house.

But life has a funny way of screwing with me.

One busted pipe in my apartment—water everywhere, maintenance useless, and suddenly, I had nowhere to stay. Tommy was out of town, and before I could even think of booking a motel, he was already on the phone, talking to Joel.

“Just for a few days,” Tommy had said. “Joel’s got the space.”

Joel, who was already looking at me like I was a problem before I even stepped foot in his house.

Now, standing in his doorway, duffel slung over my shoulder, I give him my best grin. “Miss me?”

Joel just sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises.”

His jaw tightens, like he knew I was gonna say that.

I step past him, into his space, and the second the door shuts behind me, something shifts. It’s one thing to tease Joel out in the world, to push his buttons when there’s always somewhere else to go. But here? His house?

There’s nowhere to run now.

And by the way his eyes flicker over me—quick, sharp, like he already regrets agreeing to this—I can tell he’s thinking the same damn thing.

The first night at Joel’s place is… tense. In a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my apartment is currently unlivable and everything to do with him.

He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when Tommy volunteered him to take me in. He just grunted, muttered something about “just for a couple nights,” and now here we are.

Joel’s house is simple. A little messy but lived-in. It smells like sawdust, coffee, and whatever soap he uses. I shouldn’t be noticing those things, but I do.

“You got a spare bedroom, or do I gotta fight you for the bed?” I ask, dropping my bag by the couch.

Joel gives me a look like he’s already regretting this. “Spare room’s down the hall. Not much in there, but it’s got a bed.”

I smirk. “A bed and a grumpy host? Wow, I’m spoiled.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to summon patience. “You need anything, just… don’t.”

I grin. “Don’t what?”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

Oh, but that’s my favorite thing to do.

—

It’s late when I finally settle in. The house is too quiet, too still, and I can’t sleep. Not used to this place, not used to him just a room away.

I pad down the hall, oversized t-shirt hanging off me, socks silent against the wood floor. The lamp in the living room is still on, and Joel’s sitting on the couch, looking lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He looks up, eyes flicking to me—just for a second, just long enough to make me feel barely covered. He exhales, looking back at his floor. “Didn’t expect you to be the quiet type at night.”

I snort, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Bet you thought I’d snore or talk in my sleep.”

Joel shrugs. “Still debatin’ it.”

I watch him for a moment, the way the lamp casts shadows over his face, the way he looks at everything except me. There’s something charged in the air, something neither of us want to acknowledge.

“You don’t like this, do you?” I tease, nudging his knee with my foot. “Having me here.”

Joel takes a slow look up at me. “Ain’t about likin’ it. It just is.”

I hum, watching him closely. “You’re so bad at lying.”

Joel’s jaw flexes.

And I know, I know, if I keep pushing, I’ll get something out of him. But for once, I don’t.

Instead, I stand, stretching dramatically. “Alright, Miller. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

Joel huffs. “Doubtful.”

I grin, heading toward the hallway. But just before I disappear into the dark, I hear him mutter—just low enough that I almost miss it.

“Sleep tight, trouble.”

And damn it, that shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does.

—

The thing about living with Joel? It’s too easy to mess with him.

I’ve been here for three days now, and I swear, every time I walk into a room, he looks like he’s debating whether or not to strangle me or throw me out. And honestly? I love it.

Like right now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, flipping through the mail like it personally offended him. His shirt is still wrinkled from sleep, hair a little messy, eyes heavy with whatever dreams he never talks about. And I? I’m perched on the counter, swinging my legs, eating the last piece of toast he made for himself.

Joel notices. His eyes flick to the empty plate in my hand, then to his own very empty hands, and then—then—he exhales so sharply it’s almost funny.

“Really?” he grumbles, setting the mail down with way more force than necessary. “You ain’t got hands to make your own damn food?”

I grin, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Yours just looked better.”

Joel mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse, and turns to pour himself more coffee.

“Y’know,” I continue, voice sweet, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like me being here, you sure do take good care of me.”

Joel tenses. His grip on the coffee pot tightens.

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself,” he mutters, taking a sip.

I smirk. “Aww, Joel. You worried about me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just glares over the rim of his mug like he’s daring me to push him further.

So, of course, I do.

I hop off the counter, stepping closer, my bare feet silent against the floor. Joel watches me warily, like I’m a stray cat that might bite. I stop just in front of him, tilting my head.

“You sure you don’t like having me here?” I tease, my voice dropping just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. But his eyes darken just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You really wanna test me this early?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The challenge sends a thrill down my spine. I grin, leaning in just a fraction, enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “Depends on what happens if I do.”

Joel huffs a laugh—one of those deep, frustrated, you’re-gonna-be-the-death-of-me laughs. Then, suddenly, his turn to get close. He leans down, voice right against my ear.

“You keep pushin’,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, “you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

My pulse jumps. My smirk falters—just for a second.

Joel sees it. And the bastard smirks.

Then he pulls back, grabbing his coffee, walking away like he won this round.

I exhale sharply, watching him go, my skin still tingling.

I really need to stop underestimating him.

—

I know he’s awake the second I step through the door.

The lights are dim, but Joel’s still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-empty beer. He looks relaxed—pretends to be, anyway—but his eyes flick to me the second I walk in.

I smirk. “You waitin’ up for me, Miller?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just happened to be up.”

Uh-huh.

I ignore him, walking into the kitchen, feeling his eyes drag over me as I move. The dress I’m wearing is short, tight, and backless—very backless. My tattoo is on full display, the black ink running across, teasing the dip of my lower back.

I reach for a glass, pouring myself some water, letting the silence stretch, letting him look.

Finally, I hear him shift behind me. “Where the hell were you?”

I take a slow sip. “Out.”

“With who?”

I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Didn’t know I had to check in with you, dad.”

Joel clenches his jaw. His fingers flex on his knee. “Y/n.”

I turn fully now, leaning against the counter, glass in hand. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” The lie is so blatant, so immediate, that I almost laugh.

I take another sip, watching him. “You sure about that?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks lower, over the curve of my back, the exposed skin, the ink. His jaw tenses even more—like he’s mad. Like the tattoo itself is personally offending him.

I set my glass down, smirking. “Something wrong?”

Joel exhales, drags a hand down his face. “You got no damn shame, you know that?”

I grin, stepping closer, closing the space between us. “And you got no damn claim,” I say, tilting my head. “So what’s your problem?”

Joel watches me, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

I lift a finger, tracing a slow, teasing line down my own spine, over the tattoo he won’t stop staring at. “You like it?” I ask, voice low.

His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

Then—just like always—he forces himself to lean back, to put space between us, to shove all that tension down deep.

I take my time walking past him, making sure he gets a real good look at what’s been driving him crazy all night. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my water again, taking a slow sip, just to draw this out a little more. Joel exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“You always go out dressed like that?” His voice is low, rough, like he’s forcing himself to sound casual.

I smirk against my glass. “You always staring at me?”

Joel lets out a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

I finally turn, leaning back against the counter, crossing my arms so my dress shifts even higher up my thighs. His gaze flickers, betraying him for half a second before he locks it back on my face.

“I just don’t get why you feel the need to—” He waves a hand vaguely at me. “—put everything on display.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “What, you don’t like my tattoo?”

He clenches his jaw. “Ain’t about the tattoo.”

I tilt my head, watching him closely. “Then what’s it about?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us, slow and deliberate. “Is it the tattoo, or is it the fact that other people got to see it?”

Joel tenses. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

And I know.

I smirk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice drops, just above a whisper. “You don’t like that someone else got to look at me like this.”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his fists clenched at his sides. “Go to bed, y/n.”

I step even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faded whiskey and aftershave clinging to his skin. “Make me.”

His jaw flexes. His hands twitch. For a second, I think he might actually do something, might finally snap and grab me, kiss me, claim me like we both know he wants to.

But then—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning away from me. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”

I grin, victorious. “And you love it.”

Joel mutters something I don’t catch, shaking his head, still refusing to look at me.

I lean up on my toes, just enough to whisper near his ear. “Sweet dreams, Miller.”

Then I turn and head toward my room, my steps slow, unhurried, knowing damn well he’s watching.

Knowing damn well he won’t sleep tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

—

Joel is a walking contradiction.

Always looking out for me, always acting like I’m some damn problem he’s gotta fix. But then, when he thinks I’m not paying attention? He watches me.

Like right now.

I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck, sipping a gas station soda, swinging my legs while he loads up the last of the supplies he picked up. The summer heat is thick, sticking to my skin, making me feel slow, lazy.

Joel, meanwhile, looks like he’s one deep breath away from losing his patience.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” he asks, not looking at me.

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

That gets me. I raise an eyebrow. “You are keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel exhales, setting down a case of water a little harder than necessary. “Just know when you start trouble.”

I grin. “Who says I started trouble?”

He gives me a look.

Fair enough.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him work, the way his shirt clings to his back, damp from the heat. My stomach tightens, and I blame it on the weather.

“You got somethin’ to say?” he mutters, not turning around.

I smirk. “Nope.”

“Then quit starin’.”

I laugh, kicking my feet against the truck bed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s that mean?”

I tilt my head. “Means I see you lookin’, too.”

Joel freezes.

It’s quick. A small thing. But I notice.

For the first time, he actually looks at me, really looks. And there’s heat there, burning under all that restraint.

I set my drink down, hopping off the tailgate, stepping close—too close.

“You ever wonder what’d happen,” I murmur, “if you stopped pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Joel’s breath is slow. Measured. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he says, voice low, gruff.

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Maybe I do.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something dangerous.

For a second, I think maybe—maybe—he’s gonna snap. Gonna grab me by the waist, drag me in, let all that tension finally break.

Instead, he just exhales, long and slow, before stepping back.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

I grin. “You like trouble.”

Joel shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath as he turns away.

But his hands? They’re clenched into fists.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

—

Joel’s been trying to ignore me all damn day.

Which, honestly? Fair. I’ve been making it real hard for him.

I’m leaning against the counter in his kitchen, the space between us just enough for me to feel that slow, simmering tension that’s been building up all afternoon, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of—well, that’s the game, isn’t it?

Joel walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest just enough to make me look. He barely glances at me as he grabs a water from the fridge, pretending I’m not there.

Like I’ll just let him get away with that.

“You ever gonna put on some damn clothes?”

I smirk, not even looking up. “I am wearing clothes.”

Joel exhales sharply, taking a long sip of water. “Not enough.”

That makes me grin. Gotcha.

I stretch, letting the hem of my shirt ride up just a little. “Oh, relax. It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel scoffs, finally looking at me. His eyes flicker down, slow, then back up, jaw tightening. Yeah, he noticed.

“Guess,” I say suddenly, watching him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

I sit up, tilting my head. “Guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

Joel exhales, shaking his head. “Not playin’ this game, y/n.”

“C’mon.” I stretch, making sure the hem of my shirt lifts just enough to tease. “Just one guess.”

“Clothes.”

I grin. “Not much of ‘em.”

That does it. His grip tightens on the bottle, jaw going stiff. He still doesn’t turn around, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes a little heavier.

But then, to my surprise, he plays along.

Joel finally turns, slow, lazy, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

Slow. Controlled. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to me.

And I feel it—his presence filling the space, the heat between us thick and undeniable. Joel stops just a breath away, too close for comfort, but I don’t move. I won’t.

“You’re awful pushy tonight,” he mutters, eyes dark as they settle on me.

I tilt my head, not backing down. “You’re awful curious for someone who doesn’t wanna play.”

Joel’s eyes drag over me, deliberate and slow, as if he’s taking in every inch, every detail. Then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in a little more—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence.

His breath hits my cheek, and I’m sure my heart skips a beat. I freeze, barely able to keep my focus.

The space between us is thick with something heavy, something that has my pulse racing, but Joel’s not moving. He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s debating something—maybe whether or not to keep playing. I keep my eyes locked on his, deliberately challenging, just to see how long he’ll stand there before he breaks.

I know he can feel it too—the weight of the air between us. It’s thick. Electric.

But I’m not the one to crack first.

I lean back a little, letting my hands slide across the cool counter, trying to act casual, like I’m not aware of every inch of space between us, of how close he’s standing now.

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while. He just watches me—his eyes intense, like he’s studying every move I make, waiting for me to slip up.

And then, in one smooth motion, he steps forward, close enough that I feel his presence without him even touching me. Just the weight of his gaze, the pull of his body.

I freeze for a second, breath catching in my throat. Damn it.

He doesn’t rush—he never does. Joel’s always deliberate, calculating. But I can see it now, the way his lips press together, the faintest twitch of his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back.

Without saying a word, his hand moves slowly to the bottom of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing the skin of my thigh. The touch is light—almost too light—but it still sends a shiver through me.

I stay still, even though every part of me is aware of what he’s doing, of the way his hand hovers, teasing, as if he’s testing my patience.

“Alright,” he drawls, voice lower now. “Guessin’ you want me to say somethin’ like… lace?”

My mouth goes dry.

Oh.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I recover fast, tilting my head. “Maybe.”

Joel takes a slow step closer, his eyes locked on mine, like he knows he’s caught me off guard. Like he’s finally flipping the script on me.

“Red?” he guesses, voice all deep and rough.

I swallow. “Wrong.”

“Black, then.”

I press my lips together, refusing to react.

“Bet they even have a little bow”

Joel just huffs a quiet laugh, taking another slow sip of water, looking way too satisfied with himself.

I narrow my eyes, sitting up. “You think you’re real smooth, huh?”

He just shrugs. “Ain’t that hard, darlin’. You’re an open book.”

And then, just as I’m about to respond, he shifts again—moving in, just enough to make the back of his hand brush mine. The contact is so light, but I feel it like a damn spark.

His lips are so close to my ear now, and I know he’s teasing. He’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

But I don’t move. I hold my ground, staring up at him, willing myself not to let the heat get to me.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

I try to keep my cool, but there’s a hitch in my breath.

Joel steps back then, like it’s nothing. But I can feel the pull, the weight of what just happened. I know he’s not done with this—not by a long shot.

—

Joel is pissed.

I see it in the way his shoulders tense as he shoves open the bar door, his grip firm around my wrist, dragging me outside like I’m some wayward kid in need of a lesson. The humid Texas night air wraps around us, thick and sticky, but it’s nothing compared to the heat burning between us.

“What the hell was that, y/n?” Joel snaps, letting go of my wrist just to turn and face me, standing toe-to-toe like he’s ready for a fight.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “I was having a drink, Joel.”

“You were flirtin’ with every damn guy in there,” he growls, his hands landing on his hips like he’s holding himself back.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Didn’t realize you were keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel huffs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “I am keepin’ tabs on you. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on you, and you—” He gestures toward the bar behind us, exasperated. “You don’t make it easy.”

I laugh, the alcohol warming me but not enough to dull the way my pulse spikes at his words. “I’m twenty-five, Joel. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Well, you sure as hell act like you do,” he shoots back, eyes dark and burning with frustration.

That gets me. My spine straightens, my chin tilts up, and suddenly, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation.

“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, poking a finger against his chest. “I don’t belong to you, Joel. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales sharply, like he’s trying to get a grip, but it’s useless because I can see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his sides, the way his eyes flicker down to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh, he hates this.

Hates that I push him.

Hates that I get under his skin.

Hates that he wants me.

“I didn’t say you belonged to me,” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher.

“But you sure as hell act like it.” My voice is quieter too, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling.

Joel clenches his jaw, breathing hard, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something—admit something. But instead, he just lets out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand down his face.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters.

I grin, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing his. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel goes still.

I see it—the moment something shifts between us, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, pull me closer, do something about it.

But instead, he just exhales sharply, turns away, and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake me off.

“Get in the damn truck.”

I laugh, but there’s something breathless about it, something shaky. Because if he had made a move—if he had snapped—I don’t know if I would’ve stopped him.

Hell, I know I wouldn’t have.

But for now, I just smirk, walking past him with a slow sway in my step, knowing damn well he’s watching me.

And as I climb into his truck, I wonder just how long it’ll take before Joel Miller finally breaks.

—

Sometimes, Joel does the dumbest shit, and I can't help but laugh at how he digs himself deeper without even realizing it. I've been pushing him all night, just little jabs here and there, watching him get more and more frustrated. It's my favorite game-seeing how long I can mess with him before he finally cracks.

But this time? This time, he really crossed a line.

He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and the way he treats me like some helpless kid? It drives me insane. I’m 25, not a teenager, but he always acts like I need someone to babysit me. It’s honestly infuriating.

But I guess he just couldn’t let it go anymore.

I’m standing there, crossing my arms, staring him down as he tries to come up with something to say, but all he can do is look at me like I’ve broken his favorite damn toy. He’s so damn stubborn, but right now, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—guilt.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel drops to his knees in front of me.

What the hell?

For a moment, I just stare at him, caught off guard.

I'm not even sure what he's doing, but the way he looks up at me-like he's some kind of punished dog-throws me off balance. He's trying to make a statement, I can tell. He's not embarrassed, but he's also not letting this go.

"I messed up," Joel says, his voice gravelly, as he slowly slides his hands up to rest on my thighs.

I blink at him, not sure how to react. The tension is different this time-this isn't about him giving in; this is something else entirely. There's no fear in his eyes. No submission. He's still the same stubborn bastard he's always been, but there's something else there too-something challenging.

He wants to make things right, but he's doing it on his terms.

"You're not sorry enough for this to work," | tease, holding back the grin that's threatening to break free.

He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. He's still got that damn cocky attitude, even with me standing over him, and I don't know whether I want to slap it off him or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his hands tightening on my thighs, but there's no hesitation in his voice. "But I'm not getting off my knees until you know I'm serious."

I let out a laugh, not backing down, my body giving off every signal that I'm in control. "And what's that supposed to mean? You think this is gonna impress me?"

His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me in closer, and now I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. But instead of giving me an inch, he's still staring up at me with that damn challenge in his eyes.

"You want an apology? You got it," he says, voice low and steady. "But l'm not some puppy you can just command. Don't think for one second you're gonna play me like that."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. I was expecting him to grovel, to at least try to show some weakness. But Joel? Joel doesn't do weakness.

"I never said you were a puppy," I murmur, looking down at him with a smile that's too smug for my own good. "But you are on your knees."

His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, not backing down, not even a little. "Yeah, and I'm here because you deserve the apology, not because I'm asking for permission."

The heat between us shifts again, and it's not the playful teasing anymore. It's something more-something a little darker, a little more real. He's not going to give in, but he's also not letting me win either.

"So, what do you want?" l ask, my voice almost a whisper, the challenge still there but mixed with something else.

Joel doesn't hesitate. "I want you to stop testing me and accept that I'm not going anywhere."

And for just a moment, it feels like he's got me right where he wants me.

But then, I realize-he's not the only one who knows how to play this game.

"Well, if you're so eager to apologize," | start, running my fingers through his hair, "maybe you can make it up to me in a way I actually want."

Joel looks up at me, his hands still gripping my thighs as his breath catches. There's a flicker of something in his eyes-something wild, but also totally surrendered.

"Name it."

The words land between us with the weight of a promise. And for the first time, I feel the air between us change completely. I step back, my body a little off balance from how suddenly he's shifted everything.

But damn, if that doesn't make my heart race.

And then—

His hands are on me.

Gripping my waist, dragging me in hard, pinning me against the wall like he can’t hold himself back another second.

“You happy now?” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. His breath is hot against my lips, his hands firm, possessive on my hips.

I grin, breathless. “Ecstatic.”

And then he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s everything he’s been denying himself—all the tension, all the frustration, all the goddamn hunger crashing down on us at once.

I moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, deep and low, like he needs this, like he’s craved this for so long it’s driven him mad.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against him. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as my back presses harder against the wall, his body solid and hot against mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, dragging his lips down my jaw, my neck, biting just enough to make me gasp.

I laugh breathlessly, tugging his head back up, eyes locked on his. "Took you long enough to admit it."

Joel glares at me, but there's something wild behind it now, something dangerous. "You got no idea what you just started."

I smirk, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath shudders at my touch.

"Then don't stop," | whisper.

And he doesn't.

—

It’s like once we started, we couldn’t stop.

Every touch, every look, every little moment of tension we used to ignore? Now it’s all fire.

It starts in the kitchen. I brush past Joel to grab a glass of water, my fingers barely skimming his arm, and I swear I hear his breath hitch. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know how much I get under his skin.

And then, before I can even turn around, he’s on me.

One hand grips my waist, the other presses into the counter beside me, caging me in. His body is warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You do this on purpose,” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly, just enough that his lips graze my neck. “Do what?”

Joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on my waist. “Brat,” he murmurs, but it sounds wrecked, like he’s already given in.

And he has.

Because in the next breath, he spins me to face him, pressing me against the counter. His hands grip my hips, his body hot against mine, and I can feel the tension rolling off him.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warns, lips barely an inch from mine.

I grin, dragging my fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Joel groans, kissing me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like every ounce of restraint he had is just gone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, gasping into his mouth when his fingers dig into my skin.

We barely make it to the hallway before he grabs me again, pressing me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.

“You just can’t help yourself,” I murmur against his lips, breathless.

Joel groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his grip firm like he's staking a claim. "Neither can you."

And he's right. Because the second we're alone again, I'm on him-hands in his hair, pulling him down, both of us too far gone to stop now.

Because now that we've started?

We're never stopping.

—

I leave the bathroom door open on purpose.

And the glass shower door? Yeah, that stays cracked, too.

The hot water cascades down my body, steam curling through the air, fogging up the glass just enough to blur the edges but not enough to hide me. I know Joel’s home. I know he’ll walk past. And I know he won’t be able to help himself.

It takes a minute, but then—there he is.

I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way he pauses in the doorway. I can’t see his face through the steam, but I know that look—the one where his jaw tightens, where his fists clench like he’s fighting every urge in his body.

I smile to myself and tilt my head back, letting the hot water pour down my neck, dragging my hands slowly over my skin.

Joel exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, y/n.”

I bite my lip. Bingo.

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension. And then—I hear him move. The rustle of fabric. The soft clink of a belt buckle. The sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.

My pulse spikes.

The shower door swings open wider, and suddenly—Joel is there.

Steam clings to his skin, droplets forming against the hard planes of his chest, his broad shoulders.

His eyes are dark, locked on mine, his expression somewhere between exasperation and something dangerous.

“You really are a damn brat,” he mutters.

Before I can reply, his hands are on me, gripping my waist, pushing me gently but firmly against the cool tile. His body is hot, solid against mine, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in.

“You left that door open on purpose,” he accuses, voice rough, wrecked.

I smirk, fingers sliding up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Maybe.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But there’s something else in his eyes now—something wild, something hungry.

His hands grip my hips, fingers pressing hard into my skin, and he kisses me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like he’s been waiting for this, like every ounce of restraint he’s ever had just snapped. I moan into his mouth, pressing up against him, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands roam, gripping, claiming.

"You gonna keep playin' games, sweetheart?" he mutters against my lips, his voice rough with need.

I grin, breathless, pulling him closer. "Always."

Joel groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath heavy, his fingers digging into my skin like he needs this.

And then he kisses me again.

And this time, neither of us stop.

—

The first night back in my apartment should feel good. Should feel like a breath of fresh air. No more waking up to Joel grumbling in the kitchen, no more stolen flannels, no more him lurking in doorways like he’s just waiting for me to do something reckless.

But it doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong.

I don’t like waking up alone. I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like that Joel just let me go without a damn word.

So I do what I always do. I go looking for trouble.

And I find it at his doorstep.

Joel barely reacts when he opens the door and sees me standing there, arms crossed, wearing one of his shirts I forgot to return. His face is unreadable, but I know him. I see the way his shoulders tighten, the way his jaw clenches.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, voice low, cautious.

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past him like I belong there. Because I do.

“I dunno,” I say, throwing myself onto his couch. “Figured I’d see if you missed me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Y/n—”

“—You didn’t even call me.” I cut him off, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head, pacing like a man who’s got too much in his head and no idea how to get it out. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

I scoff, leaning back against the cushions. “Bullshit.”

Joel stops pacing, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I push, sitting up. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know why,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are tired. Guilty. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.”

I laugh. A short, bitter thing. “Let things go as far as they did? You mean you finally gave in? You finally admitted you wanted me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, turning away, but I’m already off the couch, already closing the distance between us.

“You do want me,” I say, softer now. “You just don’t want to let yourself have me.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, looking like a man at war with himself.

“You think it was a mistake?” I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. And that silence? It kills me.

Finally, he exhales, voice rough. “I think it ain’t fair to you.”

I stare at him, disbelief creeping in. “Fair? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus, Joel, I’m not some kid you need to protect. I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I snap. “I waited for you to stop fighting it. I waited for you to stop treating me like I’m too young, too reckless, too much for you. And the second you let yourself have me, you run?”

Joel’s breathing is heavy now, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I ain’t runnin’—”

I step closer, forcing him to look at me. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

His face twists, something breaking behind his eyes. “I call it tryin’ to do right by you.”

My chest aches. God, he’s so damn stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

Joel looks at me, looks through me, and I see it—that need, that longing, that war inside him.

But I won’t beg.

So I take a slow step back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Fine,” I say, voice carefully even. “You wanna push me away? Go ahead. But don’t you dare pretend it’s for my sake.”

I turn, heading for the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

And I wait.

I wait for him to stop me.

But the door closes behind me, and Joel lets me go.

—

I should slam the door in his face.

I should.

But I don’t. Because it’s Joel. And even after everything—even after he let me walk out that door without a fight—I still want him.

And the bastard knows it.

He stands there, looking rough around the edges, like he hasn’t slept. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know how to say whatever it is he came here to say.

“I fucked up,” he says, finally.

I snort, arms crossed. “No shit.”

Joel exhales, glancing down for a second before his eyes meet mine again. They’re dark, tired, but honest.

“I was scared,” he says, voice lower now. “Ain’t used to wantin’ something this bad. Ain’t used to thinkin’ maybe I could have it.”

That stops me.

Because this? This is new. This isn’t Joel pushing me away, telling me I’m too young, too much, too reckless. This isn’t him trying to convince himself he doesn’t need me.

This is him admitting that he does.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You can have it, Joel. But not if you keep pulling this shit.”

He nods, like he knows, like he’s been sitting with that realization since the second I left.

I should make him work for it. Make him suffer a little. But then he steps closer—slow, cautious, like he’s making sure I don’t shut him out first.

And when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“Come back.”

It’s not a demand. Not a plea. Just Joel laying it all out, raw and real, for me to decide.

I let out a slow breath, studying him, making him wait.

Then I step forward, just enough that I can tilt my chin up and brush my lips against his—light, teasing, cruel.

His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch me.

And I smirk. “Took you long enough.”

Joel groans, grabs me, and finally—finally—kisses me like he’s making up for every second he wasted.

[diushek]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...

[jd-loves-fiction]

Sorry, two requests in one go but I NEED TO GET THIS OFF MY SYSTEM OR I FORGET

Same platonic dynamic with Boothill, Welt, Jing Yuan and Blade with reader who turned into a small child all of a sudden (around 2-3 years old, so toddler)

🌑 RAAHHH FEED ME (I couldnt resist the angst sowy :)) Also am I crazy or do they all give girl dad... they all feel like girl dad's to me, expect maybe Jing Yuan 😅

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Possibly the most experienced in this field actually???

Not to remind y'all of the absolute angst of his backstory, but he adopted a little kid in the past so... he's actually pretty knowledgeable when it comes to kids

Doesnt make this smooth sailing tho

Firstly, he's super confused on how this happened and how to undo it - spends so much time stressing about it that he almost forgets he has to take care of you now until you start screaming

Now that he's looking at you, oh you're so cute it should be illegal

Cuteness aggression to the max with the most self-restraint a man could possibly have (knowing he could easily seriously hurt you)

Once he accepts that his only option is waiting it out, he's focusing on making sure you're comfy

Surprisingly very in tune with your wants and needs

Overall, you'll be well taken care of with him, though the moment you're soundly asleep, memories of the past come back to haunt him, reminding him of all he lost

Though he reasons with himself that the past has passed and all he can do is keep going without letting it drag him down

And you're helping him do just that ❤️

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

Utterly confounded

Mostly just curious

How did this happen? Do you still have your memories? Did your brain also revert back?

But he also cant deny how freaking cute you are🥺

Very gentle, holding you close, whispering softly even if you're screaming - makes you sleepy immediately

If you start screaming incoherently he's gonna have a hard time figuring out what you need but will try his best and remain calm the whole time

Does anything you want him to, literally

Want to play dolls? He's making a cute voice and everything. Want him to read to you? Putting on the softest tone known to man and putting you to sleep before you're through the first page

This also applies to food - whatever you want to eat, he's letting you, since he knows this situation must be pretty stressful and he doesnt want you start screaming at him :(

Once it's over he probably wont mention it again to you in case you think it's embarrassing, but will keep the sweet memory close to his heart - it makes him feel fuzzy to think he could take care of you when you're so vulnerable

Also you're just so damn cute, he cant get over it 😭

✦ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 ✦

Give him a second he's gonna have to laugh about this for a while

Decent experience with teens and older children because of Yanqing and other students he's trained, but toddlers?

No clue, he's so lost

Genuinely tries to apply lion cub logic

It's the closest experience he's had to raising a kid ok?! He's trying 🥺

Probably ends up getting yelled at by Yanqing because no, human children do not work in any way similarly to lion cubs >:(

After that he's trying a little harder

He's surrounded by people who know more than him on this so he's putting you on his hip and carrying you around while he asks them what to do

Comes back to his office after and puts you down, not realizing that you're crawling over to Mimi

Nearly has a heart attack once he does realize but it's all good, Mimi's a good boy and just naps while you play with his mane

He was honestly ready to use you as an excuse to not do this work and seeing you napping with Mimi just solidifies it for him

The next time Yanqing comes by to make sure you're ok, he finds you all cuddled up on Mimi, so he leaves with a fond sigh

Jing yuan was totally awake btw

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Oh sweet god he is not equipped for this AT ALL

Immediatly running to Kafka or Firefly for help (Silver Wolf is suddenly not so mysteriously absent) and they are somehow even less helpful than he is

Grumbling the whole time but does try his best to care for you

Does NOT know why you're screaming pls stop 😭

Has a surprising among of patience - he knows what children are like, so he's not blaming you for anything you do or losing it on you

He's good at keeping himself calm when the situation doesnt require him to lose his shit

Excels at... napping :)

Honest to god cant think of much else to do with you besides putting a sword in your hand, which both Kafka and Firefly scold for even thinking about

Cant really blame him, that's what his parents did and he turned out just fine :) (Note the sarcasm)

Something in his cold (literally) dead heart warms at the sight of you fumbling about and smiling sweetly at him

He never thought himself particularly inviting but he sure doesnt mind that you think so

The whole situation has him pondering his past but most of all, his humanity - what he lost of it and what he still has

[beelanddiavolosimp-blog]

The brothers take MC to a kink club

*NSFW obviously*

Lucifer

He was only going because MC had asked him to. He also feels he would keep you the most safe there so he didn't think twice. He stay close to your side when there and once he started getting into the flow of everything he ended up basically showing you off. Stating you could use almost all the toys set out with ease since he uses a lot of them on you. Or that you can take some pain because he likes to be rough. Just him feeding into his pride and indulging in you his two favorite activities.

Mammon

You asked him and he was reluctant at first. Since he parties with asmos often he has seen and been around those types of things often. He isn't grossed out or anything just finds some stuff extreme. He caved since you really only need to ask twice for him. He never let you out of his sight and had a pretty red hue that deepened the more as time progressed. He was often taking notes of things to do to you when walking around the club.

Levi

You basically tricked him by getting him to even enter such a place. He thought it was something anime related and once those doors shut and he saw someone being spanked he realized this was not for anime. He clung to you in fear instead of protectiveness alike his older brothers. He did however get a little excited when you whispered to him about the things you were planning on doing to him once you two were done.

Satan

He went because asmos couldn't attend with you. He was there more so for your safety he says but he was curious. He has read a lot about kinks and such but never saw it in person. He kinda was taking mental notes not being a good bodyguard because he would stand and admire something happening or an item. You often times had to find and drag him around with you. He did however stall a little longer on a pet play scenario. You attempted to drag him away when he suddenly stated "I think about you that way" and you suddenly stall and your face flushed a deep red.

Asmos

He takes you to these things for fun or for inspiration if you two were experimenting with stuff. He often times joins in just for a little as you watch or he sometimes gets you to join as well. He somehow makes it a fun time instead of only freaky. It's still highly sexual but still.

Beel

He went alike Satan as a bodyguard for you. He did protect you well from people who wanted you to join in a lot of different things. He if you agreed would stay and watch with a red face and hard on. He wouldn't do anything but admire you. After you two exited he suddenly asked if you'd be willing to do such things for him. Why would you ever deny?

Belphie

He went for shits and giggles at first. But once inside he didn't find it as funny. He watched as you interacted with things and took notes about you. When you asked him his opinion on something he purposely teased you by placing you in the sub position as he spoke. He ended up enjoying teasing the hell out of you throughout most of it.

[dollwhite]

Singing death [hc]

Made by dolling

Siren reader is a flirty little shit.

Doesn’t matter who it is SHE has flirted with them. ( unless they’re underage)

Sometimes she doesn’t even realize she’s flirting that just her personality.

“Oh dear don’t touch that”

Or a “baby that color looks delicious on u!”

“Ya know I could just eat u up right now”

Siren reader has a heavy accent because I said so <3 and it mostly comes out when they’re angry. Like just imagine Tim ( idk why it’s him…) does something stupid and reckless on a mission with Jason and Dick. And just so yk Tim told Jason the ending to a book he was reading, so Jason told Reader what Tim did.

And now all of a sudden Tim has this having accent having personal screaming at the top of their lungs at him because he was being reckless. And getting branded for it? I mean it’s not like he hasn’t been granded before.. It’s just he didn’t even know he was being granded, Tim’s not dumb he’s very intelligent. It’s one of the few things people first learn when the meet him, but trying to understand you when you crying and yelling. He just can’t do it…

Siren reader had her apartment renovated to make more room for Tim to have his own bedroom. So now her three bedroom is now a four! And it’s not like she count just move her extra things into a storage unit? No reader just didn’t want to drive 30 minutes just to see if her gold shoes were there. No why do that when she could just have a walk in shoe closet?

And instead of getting another renovation for Damian, reader just decided to move all their shoes into her walk in closet. Reader did not want to deal with Tim getting upset again because Damian keeps staying the night in his room and leaving small holes in the ceiling from throwing his knifes.

I’m so sorry but Readers relationship with dick and Jason are soooo complicated but also cute. Like with Dick reader and him just can not be in the same room without throwing hands. (I mentioned in one of my posts that reader celebrity cushe is dick and this is before they met)

But with Jason, they have more of a, older sister looking at your outfit and making u want to change type relationships. Like their so siblings coded that from one glance at them,and anybody that doesn’t know them personally would think they were siblings.

I just wanted to give u all a little something before school starts kicking my ass again, and I can’t get my EarPods to work so now I have to sit in that hell house with no music 😭

[digitaldiary]

february 9th, 2025

i have a pounding headache as i write this, most likely brought on by the adderall i took this morning. usually adderall = productive day for me, but somehow i got carried away and then next thing you know, i'm looking up from my phone and laptop and realizing i've been doing nothing for the past 4 hours. i went to a friend's place for a super bowl party but by then the headache had started and i was already sort of sad. i just decided it'd be best for me to go home.

new york winters bring a mix of emotions for me. i love when the snow falls, but hate the next day when it's slushy and slippery and my shoes and socks get soaked no matter how hard i try to avoid puddles. the cold is depressing and brutal, but a welcome, tangible indicator of change and the passage of time. two years ago i got my heart broken during a new york summer and since then, i find relief and comfort in the other three seasons. by the time summer rolls around again, i am reminded of two years ago, and then a whole different mix of emotions comes.

i moved to new york city five years ago as a wide-eyed, determined, naive, highly-motivated 20-year-old girl with dreams of working in fashion. i was born and raised in a suburb in northern california, largely quite sheltered and without any real-world experience. i still cannot drive. back when i first came here, i was very excited about life and my future, albeit very very very anxious and clueless. i had good intentions in everything i did, and still now, if one thing about me persists, it is that.

today i am 25 years old, working a 9-5 fashion job. unfortunately and disappointingly, i am much less concerned with my career as i used to be as it's taken a backseat to my never-ending struggles with mental health. most big dreams i had have been extinguished by reality and the ups and downs of life. i think also, maybe as i've gotten older, i've found that simple pleasures are enough to keep me content. maybe that is cope, i am not sure, i go back and forth on whether i am lying to myself because i've half-bakedly accomplished some of my dreams and realized that some may never come true. but that's another internal dispute amongst the thousands i must filter through every day of my existence.

when i got my heart broken two years ago, it was like a big bang of sorts for me - the breaking acted as a catalyst for lots of internal change, tough conversations with myself, and self-discovery. somehow i pushed through the excruciating emotional and existential pain and in the time after, i was able to build myself up from scratch. in that painstaking building of self, i became confident and assured of my identity, my core, my values, who i was and who i am. i had spent so much of my life trying to transform myself into what i thought others wanted me to be, so to get to a place where i was myself and no one else and i was happy to be myself... it was very unfamiliar and unprecedented for me but also very exciting.

but that newness has faded as life has continued onwards. there's a quote from the bible that says "as a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly". romance has always been THE dictator of my life, cruelly deciding my mood, my purpose, my worth, etc. in short - i have reattempted to find love over the past two years only to be left disappointed time and time again. each failed relationship has left a chip on my shoulder, and all the cracks in my form have caused me to break once again. my niche micro-celebrity crush recently tweeted "everything falls apart all the time" (and he plays a larger role in my recent "breaking" that maybe i will one day have the courage or lack of care to share). but he was right. everything has fallen apart for me. i'm holding on to three pieces - my family, my friends, and my work. i can't even remember what my original shape was. i'm just gripping these shards as hard as i can and they're slitting my skin but i won't let go. they're all that i have.

i don't mean to sound so doomer, this is more of a stream of consciousness that i'm sharing as a life update of sorts... don't worry about me too much, i'm quite used to this feeling by now!

[lcvebuckley]

mornings with you

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

prompt : day 5 - mundane chores | word count : 672 | rated : G

i'm back! i took a quick break hence i missed a few days but i will be catching up slowly,, i'm planning to post two (usually shorter) fics per day until i catch up to the daily prompt and hopefully get back on track before valentine's!

enjoy! ♡

Mornings used to be simple for Tommy. His alarm would go off, he'd roll out of bed, shower, brush his teeth, grab a protein bar, and head out. Efficient. Quiet. No distractions.

And then Evan happened.

Or in which Tommy's morning routine is not the same anymore.

full version below or read on ao3

-------------------------------------------------------

Mornings used to be simple for Tommy. His alarm would go off, he'd roll out of bed, shower, brush his teeth, grab a protein bar, and head out. Efficient. Quiet. No distractions.  

And then Evan happened.  

Now, mornings were an entirely different experience. Starting with the fact that Tommy didn’t just wake up anymore. No, he was woken up—either by Evan draping himself over him like a human blanket, mumbling something about "five more minutes," or by Evan pressing half-asleep kisses to his shoulder, his face buried against Tommy’s neck. If the younger woke up before him (which wasn’t often), Tommy would find himself being watched, Evan grinning like he won the lottery.  

And then there was the bathroom situation. Tommy had been used to peaceful solo time, but Evan had no concept of personal space. If Tommy was brushing his teeth, he would squeeze in next to him, arms wrapped around Tommy’s waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. It was like trying to get ready with a very affectionate, overly large koala attached to him.  

“You’re making this very difficult,” Tommy would mutter, spitting into the sink. Evan, still clinging, would grin at him in the mirror. “You love it.”  

Tommy did love it. That was the problem.  

On some mornings, when Evan was extra groggy, he’d try to brush his teeth with his eyes half-closed, inevitably making a mess. Tommy would chuckle, bumping Evan’s shoulder just to mess with him—causing the younger to get toothpaste all over his cheek and waking him up almost immediately.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Evan would groan, while Tommy would try his best to bite down a laugh. Of course, Evan didn’t let that slide. He’d poke Tommy’s sides in revenge, their sleepy morning routine briefly devolving into laughter and playful shoves. Eventually, Tommy would sigh, grab a washcloth, and wipe the toothpaste off Evan’s cheek and chin while Evan smiled at him like an idiot.

Breakfast was another adjustment. Tommy used to be fine with a quick meal—just enough to get by. But Evan had decided that wasn’t acceptable. “We’re living together now, Tommy, you can’t just survive on caffeine and vibes.” So now, breakfast was a whole thing.

Sometimes it was eggs and toast, sometimes pancakes, sometimes just fruit and yogurt. Evan, being the better cook, usually took the lead, while Tommy handled the coffee. Except Evan insisted on being a distraction—hovering and wrapping his arms around the older’s waist as he poured their coffee, murmuring a sleepy, “Mmm, warm,” like Tommy was a damn space heater.  

“You do realize we have an actual heater, right?”  

“Yeah, but it’s not you.”  

And what was Tommy supposed to say to that? Absolutely nothing. He just shook his head and let Evan cling to him, because, well—he didn’t mind it. Not one bit.  

By the time they both had to leave for work, their routine ended the same way every morning: Evan stealing a kiss at the door, lingering for just a second too long, making Tommy roll his eyes playfully but also kissing him back just as much.

“Be safe,” Evan would say every time either of them had to leave for shift, and Tommy would do the same. It was something they’d said to each other from the very start of their relationship, a small reassurance in the face of their dangerous jobs. Having someone to come home to made all the difference.

Even on mornings they didn’t spend together due to different shifts, they found ways to keep the routine alive. A quick FaceTime, a “Good morning, handsome” text, a picture of breakfast even if they weren’t eating together. They love keeping each other company no matter how far apart they were and it was a quiet sort of intimacy, the kind Tommy never imagined he’d experience.

Yeah. Tommy’s mornings used to be quiet. Peaceful. Simple.  

Now they were warm, messy, and full of Evan.  

And he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[a-roguish-gambit]

Continuation of my Weeb x men evolution Rogue Thoughts, Romy edition

In order to "vet" him, Kurt makes him sit through Rogue's favorite anime

Remy, being a bit older and not likely having cable, never had anime tv blocks growing up and instead watched most anime through pirated copies the guild would trade around, and as a result is more familiar with the adult side of anime than the young demographic aimed stuff (outside of really little kid stuff like the tezuka studio stuff) is genuinely concerned at first how Xavier is letting his students get ahold of weird, creepy OVAs and envelope pushing series like Excel Saga; and violent animations like Berserk, Akira, and fist of the north star and why Kurt of all people is into watching them

agrees to watch and make sure this kid didn't get ahold of something he wasn't supposed to. He may be a criminal but he has standards. He hopes it's just stuff like Astro boy, Kimba, and Ghibli...

Relaxes when he realizes she is watching shonens and shojo anime for 10 year olds mostly, with a few edgier things thrown in

Unrelaxed when he sees the Nina tucker scene, comes to the conclusion that all anime is a little fucked

Kurt meanwhile, watching Remy's body language thinking "wow, he's this on edge from Fullmetal alchemist, how is he gonna be able to handle hellsing or death note???" And is completely unaware that remy even knew what anime was before this

Both manage to pass each others test unaware the other was testing them

Gambit becomes the defacto ride to anime cons, stores, and of course getting pirated vhs tapes/dvds of new anime before official releases or airings, because simuldubs were not a thing until the mid 2010s

Rogue ends up watching the "conquerors of shamballa" movie before it can be officially dubbed for foreign audiences thanks to him. The sub is bad but she adores him for it.

He is now the one they go to for torrenting anything. He knows all the best spots.

Helps them avoid the shitty side of 2000s con culture by keeping an eye out for suspicious stereotypical bad actors at cons.

Rogue and gambit do a few couples cosplays.

One time they do one where rogue is edward, gambit is winry, and kurt is alphonse with the full suit of armor. Easily one of their favorites

When Ouran comes around gambit absolutely insists on doing a tamaki and haruhi cosplay with her

Gambit finds out about yugioh cards and totally starts using some of them for special occasions

Cute image: rogue reading a manga and laying over gambit so he cant get up. He's playing ds but his battery is dying and he cant reach the charger cable without disturbing her. Boy is trapped.

[lightwise]

Misc. Skeleton Crew Thoughts

Yeahh...I'm not done. The Lost Planets thoughts got away from me and deserved their own post lol.

Tak Rennod

A little bummed that we didn't get a firm timeline on when exactly Tak Rennod was roaming the skies and when he crashed on At Attin. Based on the wreckage, the legends amongst the pirate community, and the overgrowth burying the Onyx Cinder, it had to be well before the Empire, maybe even during or before the Prequels? Or does it go further back to Acolyte or High Republic timeline? He's achieved Blackbeard status and is ensconced in pirate shanties, and everyone talks about how the Onyx is an older ship model. On Lanupa even the hostess says that the mud pits in the Spa area were "legendarily" carved out by pirates. It's definitely been awhile.

They left it ambiguous to steer us away from the direct conclusion that the Supervisor was a droid, but then never circled back around to confirm that Tak Rennod was the skeleton with the knife through his chest. While I can understand both the secrecy through the episodes, and that ultimately he's meant to just stay in the background as a legend, I don't fully understand why SM-33 seems to believe he's alive and have no memory of him dying when he is first turned on in episode 2, but by episode 5 is sharing anecdotes of how Rennod’s concubine/crew turned on him, came at with him with a knife, and that he enacted the final "suicide/mutiny" revenge plan that Rennod had come up with in crashing the ship.

Also how long had they been looking for At Attin? How did they steal one of the Mint's own ships (how did they even know enough to know they needed to steal it?) Did they visit other At planets besides Achrann in their search? I need all of 33's memories unsurfaced and played like a movie lol.

Jod Na Nawood

What is his original backstory, before his Jedi Master found him? Why was he on the street, presumably orphaned? How old is he? (My headcanon is if he's supposed to be around 10-12 shortly after Order 66, then he's in his mid-forties during the show, slightly younger than Jude Law actually is.)

What were his early piracy days like, and how did he amass his original crew? Nobody they encounter says he was bad at being a pirate, they just say he backstabbed them when convenient. He obviously built and led his original crew for awhile before Brutus turned on him, and the older skipper on Port Borgo says he was the best captain he ever served under. Also, Brutus says "what are these kids doing in MY port"....so does that mean their gang is sort of the top or most prolific crew in that sector, and therefore when Jod was head of it he was the most impressive/top level pirate in that area/in the port?

What did he end up doing to escape being captured at the end of the season (there's no way that man went to prison again, come on). What was he looking at out the window--was he looking at where the frigate would land in the water, glad that most likely everyone would survive the crash (could they even have survived the crash?). Could he see into the vaults from there and realized he could go sneak down and steal some credits still?

Why is he always wearing the gloves, even when they’re just lounging around on the ship? It’s just…an interesting choice 👀

The Kids

I really love just how archetypal but also unique all of the kids were. Looking back at the first episode, they come SO FAR in both their individual journeys as well as their dynamic as a group. I love how brash and courageous Fern is, and how she learns how to work with others, take other perspectives into consideration, and stand up for what is right, not just for what she wants. Wim sees immense growth from being a head-in-the-clouds, somewhat naive daydreamer, to being someone who starts to understand his own areas of weakness, learn how to overcome them, help those around him instead of just daydreaming about it, AND steps into current situations with both feet to actually DO something about it--which he ends up teaching his dad to do as well. Neel learns how to overcome his innate fears and anxieties, that his kindness is a strength, and that sometimes using force is necessary in trying to keep the peace. KB learns that she can trust her friends, that it is safe to open up to them, that her judgment and intuition is worth following, and that she can take initiative on her own and not have to wait for a more extroverted person like Fern to tell her what to do.

The Parents

I love the little details they imbued each character with, like Wendle still wearing his wedding ring. We aren't given the details of what happened to his wife/Wim's mother, but it's obvious she was greatly loved and is very missed by both of them.

We don't get to spend as much time with them unfortunately, since this story is from the kids' perspective and they are mostly not on At Attin, but the parents end up having almost greater character growth than their kids. They have spent their entire lives under a surveillance society. They have known nothing else, even though they are aware there is an outside galaxy. They haven't seen what their kids have seen. They haven't been outside the barrier or ever had contact with people who aren't like them. It is a huge act of faith in their kids that they (eventually) listen to them and take a stand against Jod. Especially with Fara, who holds out the longest, they did an incredible job of showing the strain of what being taught to "obey, because it is what is best for you" and keeping the status quo does to someone's psyche, and how much it takes for them to be willing to go against the environment they grew up in. The actors all really sold that dynamic.

The Pirates

Yet another win in how well this show made everything feel realistic, in character, and lived in. Every single pirate in Jod's crew felt unique, interesting, and fully in-universe. Each one had an obvious and intriguing backstory, and I would love to see a comic on how they call came together as a crew. I really hope that Kona became their new leader because she deserves it.

Very random thought to end this:

In episode 5, in Rennod's lair, 33 double checks with Fern as the Captain before he's willing to access Rennod's log for Jod. However, two minutes later when Jod asks him to refill the chamber outside with acid, he just does it. And again when Jod asks him to tell him about the treasure, he pulls up that data without asking Fern's permission. Odd choice on their part to include that discrepancy even though it's necessary for the plot to move forward.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

smth smth about 'the thing that the character did that you thought was rly rly funny in the moment is actually linked to a terrible trauma that lies within said character.' or wahtever.

[bubblesandpages]

Oh. Oh. Canute didn't learn this from Askeladd, he was tough this by his father figure, that to sacrifice for what you love means to incite death. That death and control are a means to an end. It wasn't Askeladd that broke and shaped him and in who's footsteps he follows, it was Ragnar's.

"Laugh at me, if you must. Curse me, if you must. It is necessary to bring about my paradise. . .All for the sake of the love we lost." Vinland Saga, chapter 78

In some twisted way this is all for Ragnar—to sacrifice everything for what you love, which Canute claims is all of mankind—and how there are no lines he wouldn't cross for them. Because he's accepted that death is necessary for love to exist.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

I get it was an important moment but... he's so cute when he's asleep!

[britneyshakespeare]

So I was back to subbing at the elementary school today, which as I've mentioned is my favorite place to work. In some ways it's just the most comfortable to me; this is now my fourth year in a row I've had some kind of job associated with kids of that age group who attend that school, so I know a lot of the students and faculty. Actually, a lot of the faculty who work there today have been working there since I was a student.

Most of them recognized me immediately when I started showing my face there, like I didn't graduate from there over a decade ago, age 11. There was one para, who now works as a library assistant, but who used to monitor lunch and recess. I didn't remember her name but I knew her face. The first time she saw me subbing she was just like "oh, hi Diana."

I was talking to her this morning before school started because a first grade teacher unexpectedly called out, so I filled in for her for the first hour of the day before I started the job I clocked in for and a replacement could be found. But this library assistant usually leads the morning meetings with this first grade class and would help me with attendance and all those other beginning-of-the-day responsibilities.

She was saying to me "You know, why don't you work here full time? You're good with kids. You'd be good at it." In other small talk we'd had last year she had asked me similar things, like if I'd ever consider taking up a steady job at the elementary school, how my school was going, etc. I'm in between college right now but currently not taking classes. And I mentioned how I'm trying to take more sub jobs at the middle and high school so I get more well-rounded—that actually is the age group my education major is in. I've been working with the preschool-to-fifth-grade age range but my plan has always been middle-to-high school English.

And I was telling her about that, and I was like "You know what? When I tell people I want to teach older kids, some say to me stuff like 'oh you never know, you might change your mind'—and only recently I've been wondering if I really would. But I hate it when they're right!"

And that made her laugh. But it's true! I do really love working with the littles, as it turns out. Been doing it several years now. But in terms of anyone who's ever mentioned that to me unprompted, I wanna be like... hey, what do you know?!?!

[lonaami]

i just

hm

[princecosmosanon]

Ooooh I like the idea of Zuko, while he’s supposed to be trying to find the avatar, ends up engrossed in old, barely salvageable Air Temple writings and scrolls. He starts off thinking he’ll find some clue to the avatar’s whereabouts or at least their habits, but ends up becoming more and more engaged with what he learns. How they write, the way they choose their words, the strange buoyancy that just permeates Air Nomad culture.

By the time Aang shows up Zuko has already visited each temple and is more excited about the prospect of meeting a knowledgeable Air Nomad who could tell him so much more about this lost culture… only to be disappointed that it’s Just Some Kid.

Free day of @zukaangweek and I proudly present the begining of my AU with an Air Nomad Zuko.

[screampied]

you don’t really realize you’re growing old with satoru until you spot a grey tress inside the roots of your hair as you’re looking in the mirror. the thing about marriage and life itself was that time really doesn’t stop—for no one. as you entrap the lock between your fingers, you murmur out to satoru with a cheeky grin. “satoru baby, c’mere.”and as he’s lying in bed with a wrinkled nose, he reads some book titled ‘three men in a boat.’ as he flips a thick page, his cerulean blue reading glasses crook down the bridge of his nose before he turns his attention toward you.

“yesss, honey?” he rubs his eyes, bringing a palm up to his growing stubble. as he got older, you noticed how he moved a bit slower. satoru was still fit as he aged, but he’d have a bit of a waddle whenever he walked. it was cute—how his limbs were getting more and more fragile, but he was still labeled as the strongest despite his inevitable aging.

he makes his way behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you make eye contact through the mirror that reflects you both, a happy married couple. “look, we’re finally matching now,” and his face softens once you bring the silvery colored strand up to his view. ‘matching,’ because his hair was naturally a snowy white . . almost similar to the strand of hair you just showed him.

although as the years progressed, satoru was growing ashen grey streaks too.

“i guess we are,” he replied in a gentle tone, his hands remaining on your hips. satoru’s touch was always gentle and ginger. he presses his lips near the back of your nape before letting off a soft sigh. “you’d look pretty with white hair, actually.”

“prettier than you?” you hum, glancing at him through the mirror. satoru towers over you as he holds you, the band of his wedding ring grazing against your hip.

again, you watch as the corners of his lips crease into a smile. a toothy genuine one where his dimples show.

“haha, veeeery funny,” and as he buries his face into your neck, he deeply ponders to himself for a moment.

to think . . how much time has passed, out of all the countless tiresome battles he’s had to face—

all those years at trying to keep the world safe and now, he could finally relax. having his arms around you gave him a peace of mind, and in the end it was all worth it because at the end of the day, satoru gojo—the strongest, came back to you. you were his personal safe haven and he was yours.

“but honeyyy,” he yawns with rosy pouty lips, shifting his chin up to rest against your left shoulder. satoru starts leading you toward your side of the bed. “ ‘s pretty late, let’s getcha back to bed, hm?”

“okay,” you mumble, already feeling your eyes starting to get heavy again. satoru’s still got his burly arms wrapped around your waist as he leisurely guides you back to bed. he was clingy, and that never changed. satoru gojo’s always been clingy ever since the two of you met. as he pulls down the cover for you to enter, you crawl back in and he gets beside you.

satoru slings an arm around you, pulling you close as his hooded eyes starts a staring contest with the swaying wooden ceiling fan.

it’s moving slow. . just like time was.

whenever he was with you, it felt as if time stood still. and as the both of you cuddled against each other with your head resting against his beating heart, he sighs. it’s a content happy sigh, and satoru’s hands find their way near the top of your head. his thin fingers maze it’s way near your soft grey growing strand before he leans in, giving the crown of your head a goodnight kiss. “mwah,” and he watches as your eyes briefly widen before glancing away, growing sheepish. “get some rest, my love. i’ll be here when you wake up. promise.”

you nod, too drowsy to reply and he pulls you closer. satoru’s heartbeat was steady and slow, and each pulse that bested against your ear made you felt more and more protected. as he holds you firm and close, a hand of his softly caresses your forehead—brushing against the soft hairs that cling onto your skin.

as your breathing starts to relax and your eyelids finally close, he realizes you finally drifted off to sleep. satoru exhales lowly, almost forgetting to take off his reading glasses. as he places them near the nightstand, he lies back down, giving your sleeping state once last glance.

“i love you,” he whispers against your ear before reaching for the pearled lamp switch. “so much.”your head nuzzles against his chest and he assumes that was your non-verbal way of saying it back, even in your sleep. cute.

the only sounds that could be heard were the faint tick tocking of the grandfather clock that stood near the hallway and your soft breathing as you deeply slept. satoru feels a smile tugging against his glossed lips yet again, but this time it’s different . .

it’s not the same smile from when you showed him that you were graying, it was a more genuine smile that was satisfied at everything—primarily at life. satoru’s long crystalline lashes gradually flap shut as he smiles to himself, a thumb brushing against your forehead. all those battles was worth it in the end, because right now, he’s at the only place he wanted to be . . with you.

life wasn’t a competition, but satoru finally felt at peace, true peace—and that peace was being in your presence. he wasn’t one for believing in good endings, but maybe this particular one wasn’t so bad.

“i . . won.”