#but with this done I can start it guilt free!
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AHHH I finished a fic! Finally. Not the fae one but a prequal to the only ateez fic I've posted. I've been trying to get myself to finish it forever. It was sitting at like 60% done for a while and then like 90% done and now fucking finally actually done!
I still need to let it sit for a day or so and do some edits and formatting so I'm not posting it just yet but ugh it feels good to finish it.
#almost 30k words of smut with the barest hint of plot#at least that's how I see it... there is so much smut... sorry not sorry?#OH fuck.... now I have to do the hardest part of all.... come up with a title and a summary lmao#Its also good I finished it though because I've been being haunted by another idea but I didn't want to have more than 2 wips#but with this done I can start it guilt free!#shibari pirate ateez here I come lol .......... no pun or double meaning intended....#ugh I'm hyper from the endorphins of actually finishing something lol
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ITS ALWAYS AT 2 AM. WHY CANT I WRITE AT A NORMAL PERSON TIME????
#styx says#i dont have a title for this one cuz i Just started it and in docs its called “whats this guys problem” so erm. sorry.#also idk if i can post it when its done its embarrassingggggg#HOWEVER this time i didnt promise anyone i was going to bed >:] guilt free fanfiction /lh
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funniest thing that ever happened when we were playing botw was my sister was playing and she had made it up to the top of the tower in hyrule field (the one surrounded by guardians) and was looking down at the guardians through a slot in the like railing and i was like "you should shoot the guardian" because i thought they were out of range and so she shot the guardian in the eye with an arrow and it came alive and immediately hit link with a laser and link instantly died ragdolled and fell through the slot and miphas grace activated and my sister immediately teleported away while mipha was still doing her thing. and i was just laughing so hard.
#its just the image of link limply falling to the ground miphas ghost around him then turning into tendrils of blue light. i wish i had#filmed it. but there was no way i couldve predicted it would happen i was living in the moment#after i finish minish cap i will finish botw it has been over a year...im sorry daruk i left you hanging (when we stopped i had just entere#vah rudania)#though i might do naboris first bc . i dont want to fight thunderblight last when it has even more hp thats scary.#(weve already done vah ruta and vah medoh)#its kind funny in totk i got like all of the towers right away (although the one on mt lanayru was a struggle bc#i did not have enough cold protective stuff but i was just scaling the mountain out of pure spite)#one of the gerudo desert ones i also didnt have any heat protection so i was just trying to do the thing while link was just taking damage#anyways but in totk i got all the towers i think b4 we did any main quest stuff but then in botw#there were some towers that i just. i tried but i didnt get until i had revalis gale lol. shout out revalis gale.#anyways speaking of funny things in botw totk the other day i was playing totk and i was#i put link in a christmas outfit (dyed the rito shirt and pants and the cap of the wild red)#and made a sled to attach to my horse so link could be santa. and i was trying to make it to rito village#but the bridge on the map was smaller in real life than it looked on the map and the horse refused to walk on it but i kept trying to force#him to inch forward to try and make it across. and then my horse CLIPPED THROUGH the bridge and started FREE FALLING#and in a panic i teleported straight back to the stable and took out another horse as fast as i could. the horse was fine but i did#go to malanya and cook him some food to upgrade my horse immediately afterwards lol#botw lowkey traumatized me bc when i was playing twilight princess i did not use epona as much as i could because i was afraid of bringing#her into danger. and even though i logically knew that she cannot die in twilight princess the years of playing botw still had alarm bells#ringing. but like why do the horses have to die in botw totk...come on...#they dont even disappear the corpse just stays there to let you stew in your guilt!! like the livestock on farms and in stables#cant get hurt! so why can your horses :(
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WAHOO!!!!
#One of my friends said that he wa staring at my lips on the drawing WHICH WAS NOT INTENTIONAL AND I IMPLODED ON THE SPOT 💥#anyways I just got done with my exams so that means I can start drawing again GUILT FREE!!!!!#And also maybe.. perhaps friend’s selfships but we’ll see..#the informant#seekers notes#seekers notes: hidden objects#seekers notes: hidden mystery#f/o#f/o community#self insert#selfshipping community#Selfship art#art tag!!#bipoc selfship 2023
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Anyway I feel like it kinda gets glossed over that Knives was a child when he caused the big fall and idk I think that's kind of important because he's lived with that for over 100 years and just like Vash has lived with knowing the people he loves and fights for don't see him or his kind as anything more than a tool at best or a monster at worst, Knives has most definitely lived with knowing he's the leading reason why this system has remained in place
#knives millions#millions knives#like he can and most definitely does rationalize away conscious guilt by going 'this is what humans would have done anyway'#but like#goddamn alisduflsiafuh he was a child#and for all his resentment toward Rem she was still his mom#and he still initially intended for her to be saved with them#and this isn't me wanting to handwave everything else he'sdone#but i think it's an important part of his character to remember#(especially in the trimax manga where imo he's had a death wish of some sort constantly since he found out about tesla)#(the only thing keeping him going was Vash staying alive and freeing the other plants)#(and when he failed to take the other Plants away with him. he starts asking Vash to just shoot him already)#(like idk man sometimes i just remember that he was a kid when he caused the big fall and my heart hurts)#(he was already building his self fulfilling prophecy)#(and then tristamp has him find conrad way younger than in the manga and the forced witness of a Plant being killed happens as a teen#(and OW)#(like the fact that he and vash experience so many of the same things but have key pieces of formative disconnect...)#(their story breaks my fucking heart)
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trying to think of a reversed IA/Hunter AU where they switch roles in the story but it's not...exactly working. food for thought, though
#ooc#for starters eight would be the same#and then cipher hunter would still annoy and follow him around trying to bug him to death#i do think there's some merit to be had in a more villainous eight but his motives would be less caring who he's working for#and more trying to get the codex for reasons unknown#as the kind of free agent who you can never tell is on whose side#i do like the idea that he's not interested in controlling hunter as much as their vanilla roles#but he pushes him into playing his piece by being an enforcer and an enemy#and then there's his relationship with ardun kothe. ardun who mostly knows him as a serious type who needs to let go of the past#instead of keeper being his rock he shares whatever guilt ardun has from being with him from the start#the woes of being SIS cause him to take action on his own#and in some way ardun *knows* but trusts him to do the right thing#and the final choice when all is said and done is eight extending a hand to hunter and being like give the codex to me. i'll keep it safe#from *everything* and that's the sort of trust he asks of the only other who might understand him#very intriguing if you see this as a replacement AU where he takes hunter's role instead as well#would a cipher trust another ex cipher.#anyways. i really need more kothe content
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To do what I want and to do what makes me happy.
#dadbots.txt#catering this year to purely interests of mines and whatever I’d like to focus on. No excuses. No interruptions. Just putting myself as -#- priority. Something I’ve not done as much and caused too many events and memories to transpire when it could’ve been avoided.#But I won’t make those mistakes and this year will be no different. We’re all getting older and I need to start making the first move -#- in things instead… of putting it off just because. Something something change starts with you. Bad habit of mines.#But I’ll figure it out.#last year has revealed a lot of my predictions to be true and some were needed to move forward. Each one became real in days —#and I’m thankful for that. Spirituality has been a wonderful addition to my life years ago and am still continuing my practices.#I am interested in possibly moving beyond that. But I need to think about it some more and research. But I think it might be obvious#Which path I’m learning towards with what’s been on my mind lately. A goal to keep in mind this year.#I’d like to post my art on here sometime too and currently working on allowing my creativity to take me wherever it decides to go.#Messy sketches. Random poetry and lines on pages. Whatever. It’s so freeing to not care anymore tbh. To just have fun and be myself.#Not that I haven’t yknow. In everything I do is all based on my own choices. But sometimes you have a voice that is a killer of all choices#Don’t do this. Don’t do that. It’s not worth it. So forth. And I hope this year we can all break free of that guilt. Be free and explore.#This year… I am hopeful for better results and experiences. Peace and love. 🤞🏽
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CLASSROOM HOOK UP | n.rk
kinktober day 8! back to the masterlist here!
☆ classmate!niki x reader
; you really hated the physical education class, and so did your classmate niki. but skipping it together didn’t keep you from finding another way to burn some calories.
genre ; smut
taglist ; @blushbunini @moonpri @blackp1nkfan @mitmit01 @pasteltheghost16 @harukayoiiiiiiizzz @mlywon @lhspeachie @seraphira @kaykay11sworld @winuvs @yuniesluv @shhth @rizzki09 @mylettterstoyou @d-dilemma @aanniikkaa
the sound of your footsteps echoes down the empty hallway as you and niki run, the muffled shouts from the gym growing quieter behind you. your heart is pounding, a mix of excitement and nerves tightening in your chest as the two of you make your escape. skipping PE wasn’t the plan when the day started, but niki had given you that mischievous look, the one that always spelled trouble, and somehow you ended up here—racing through the hallways, trying not to get caught.
"this way," niki whispers, pulling you around a corner and into your classroom. the door swings shut behind you with a soft click, and the sudden silence feels almost too loud after all the rushing.
you’re both breathless, hunched over slightly as you try to catch your breath, the air in the classroom still and cool compared to the heat of the gym. niki straightens up first, running a hand through his tousled hair, his grin wide and unapologetic. he looks like he’s done this a thousand times before.
"we're good," he says, glancing around the empty room, the rows of desks standing like silent witnesses. “no one saw us.”
you lean against the teacher's desk, trying to calm the wild thumping of your heart. the thrill of skipping PE is still fresh, mixing with a bit of guilt at the back of your mind, but niki’s excitement is contagious. he moves to the window, peeking through the blinds like he’s checking for any sign of pursuit. when he’s sure the coast is clear, he turns back to you with that playful glint still in his eyes.
"think they'll miss us?" you ask, half-joking, though there’s a small part of you that wonders how long it’ll take before someone realizes you're gone.
niki just shrugs. "probably not for a while. besides, who needs dodgeball when we’ve got the whole classroom to ourselves?"
you can’t help but smile at that. there's something freeing about the idea of hiding out in here while the rest of your classmates are still sweating it out in PE. the quiet feels almost too peaceful after the chaos of the gym, the soft ticking of the classroom clock reminding you of how much time you're stealing away.
"so... what now?" you ask, not entirely sure what to do with this unexpected freedom.
"well," he says, his voice low and teasing, "i guess i have an idea."
he walks towards you slowly, a smirk playing on his lips as he closes the distance between you. before you can even process it, he reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your face as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. his touch is gentle, almost too intimate for the moment, and for a second, you feel yourself drawn in—heart pounding, pulse quickening, your mind going blank under the weight of his gaze.
but then reality snaps back like a rubber band pulled too tight. you take a small step back, your breath catching in your throat as you shake your head. "niki," you murmur, your voice coming out softer than you intended. "we said we wouldn't do that anymore."
his smirk doesn’t falter, though you can see the flicker of something else in his eyes—something darker, more persistent. he takes another step closer, and suddenly the air feels heavier, the space between you almost nonexistent. his presence is overwhelming, and you realize, with a slight jolt, just how close he is now.
"do what?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin. his body hovers near yours, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, pulling you in despite yourself. his eyes lock onto yours, challenging, daring you to say it aloud.
your throat feels tight, the words lodged there as you try to hold onto the distance you’d promised to keep between the two of you. but standing here now, with niki so close you can feel the thrum of his heartbeat in the air between you, it’s almost impossible to think straight.
you swallow hard, your lips parting to respond, but no sound comes out at first. niki’s gaze never leaves you, watching, waiting.
your breath is shallow, every part of your body hyperaware of how close he is. you should step back, break the moment like you’ve done before, but for some reason, your feet feel glued to the floor. niki’s eyes haven’t left yours, his head tilting just slightly as if he’s reading every thought racing through your mind. you’re trapped in this moment, caught between what you promised yourself and what you can’t seem to resist.
he takes another half-step, his body now almost brushing against yours. “you didn’t answer,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, pulling you in further. “what won’t we do anymore?”
you swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but it only gets more difficult as his hand moves again, this time lightly trailing down your arm. goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch, and your pulse quickens. the weight of his question hangs in the air, thick with all the things left unsaid between you two.
“niki, we can’t…” you finally whisper, though the words come out weak, lacking the conviction you’d hoped for. you know what you’re supposed to say, what’s right, but in this moment, with him standing this close, logic feels slippery.
“can’t what?” he presses, his lips curving into a soft smirk, his voice still that same, teasing drawl. “you’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”
before you can answer, his hand shifts to your waist, not grabbing, but just resting there, warm and solid, like he’s testing the boundaries. your skin burns under his touch, and your mind races, torn between pulling away and staying exactly where you are. the intensity of his gaze pins you in place, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the way the air crackles between you, like something electric, something inevitable.
you manage to shake your head, your breath shaky as you force the words out. “we agreed… no more of this. it’s just… too complicated.”
niki’s smile softens just a little, but he doesn’t move away. instead, his fingers tighten just the slightest bit against your waist, as if daring you to push him away but knowing you won’t. “complicated doesn’t mean bad,” he murmurs, his voice so close it sends a shiver down your spine. “maybe it means we’re just figuring things out.”
your heart stumbles at that, but before you can react, the sound of footsteps from the hallway sends a jolt through both of you. without warning, niki grabs your waist tighter, and instead of stepping back, he pulls you down with him in one swift movement. you barely have time to stifle a gasp as the two of you fall into the cramped space beneath the teacher's desk, his body pressed close against yours.
your heart is racing, both from the sudden fall and the way your knees bump together awkwardly, his arm wrapping around your back to steady you. the footsteps get louder, closer—someone must have opened the door. you hold your breath, trying not to move, trying not to make any sound. but niki’s face is so close to yours, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his lips hovering just an inch from yours.
the space under the desk is small, too small for the both of you to fit comfortably, and you’re forced even closer, your bodies practically tangled together. his knee presses against yours, your hand accidentally resting on his chest as you steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat, quick and steady beneath your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.
his gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and you can’t help but notice the way his breath hitches slightly. the tension between you is unbearable, your lips almost brushing, the heat radiating from his body making it impossible to think about anything other than the fact that he’s right there, so close you could lean in just a little and—
a shuffle from the door snaps your attention back. you try to focus, but your head is spinning, the mix of adrenaline and proximity making your pulse thrum in your ears. whoever entered the room pauses, their footsteps slow as if they’re scanning the space. you don’t dare look, too afraid that any movement will give you both away.
niki’s hand tightens slightly at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin as if to remind you to stay still. you can feel the tension in his body, but there’s something else too—something more deliberate in the way his thumb brushes lightly against your side, sending a shiver up your spine.
his lips part as if he’s about to whisper something, but the closeness is unbearable. his mouth is just a breath away from yours, and the way his eyes are fixed on you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything other than him. the silence stretches out, heavy, charged with everything that’s unsaid between you two.
you swallow, your throat dry, your body betraying you as you lean just slightly closer, almost instinctively, your lips brushing against his for the briefest second—
but then, the footsteps retreat.
the second the door clicks shut, the tension snaps.
before you can even process it, niki’s lips crash into yours, fierce and demanding, igniting something deep inside you. it’s not soft or gentle—there’s nothing careful about it. it’s raw, desperate, like every unspoken feeling between you is pouring out all at once, burning through any hesitation. his hand tightens around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away.
your body reacts instantly, like instinct, melting into him as the kiss deepens. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends a rush of heat through your veins, his lips demanding, relentless. you kiss him back with just as much force, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pull him even closer, desperate to close the distance between you.
there’s no space, no air left between your bodies as you press against him in the cramped space under the desk, your legs tangling together awkwardly but neither of you caring. all you can feel is the heat of his body, the way his lips devour yours, like he’s been waiting for this as long as you have. every inch of your skin feels electrified, your pulse pounding in your ears as the intensity of the kiss takes over.
niki’s hand moves from your waist, sliding up your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer still, like he can’t get enough of you. his other hand cups the back of your neck, his grip firm, keeping you locked in place as his lips move against yours with a fire that consumes every thought, every bit of logic.
you respond with equal intensity, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough, your body burning with a need you didn’t realize you still had. his teeth graze your bottom lip, just enough to make you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, setting your whole body alight.
the space is too small, too tight, but it only adds to the heat, the desperation between you both. your back presses against the desk’s edge, but you don’t care—you don’t want to stop, don’t want to think about what this means, only that niki’s mouth is on yours, his body against yours, and it feels like fire spreading through every nerve.
his lips leave yours for a second, trailing hot kisses down your jaw, his breath heavy and ragged as he moves. every brush of his lips against your skin sends sparks through you, and you tilt your head back slightly, giving him more access as his mouth moves to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.
you bite your lip to hold back a moan, your fingers tightening in his hair as his lips return to yours, crashing back into another kiss, this one even more urgent, more desperate than the last. it’s like you’re both trying to make up for lost time, for every moment you’ve spent holding back, and now there’s no going back.
with a natural swing, niki pulls both of you up from under the desk, and without any second thoughts, he is carefully pushing you down the teacher desk, making sure you lie down properly as he opens your shirt buttons, licking his lips hungrily. he reveals your chest, hidden behind a basic white bra, yet so hot from his view in that moment, when the tension reached roof height and the passion grew over the minute.
he stuck out his tongue, running it down on the middle of your chest, from top to bottom. niki acted playful now, even untightening his tie for a second, feeling out of air. if you were caught, then you could simply say goodbye to graduating in 2 months, but this moment felt to die for, so no expelling would be worth pushing this moment away.
niki spread your legs apart, his lips moisturised again by his tongue. “let’s do it fast, okay?” he asked on a caring tone, palming himself in front of you for a second. he looked incredibly sexy, his tie loosened, his hair messy, his bulge enormous. all you could want right now is feeling him all the way inside, no break, no mercy, just taking your minds away.
niki swallowed and pushed down his pants, his hardness shocking you once again. not to be pathetic of you, but you could have sworn it didn’t look like this last time. “niki-“ you meant to whispered, but he told you to close your mouth, his index finger against his lips. you nodded and let your head fall down on the desk, legs starting to cross from the nervousness.
“i didn’t say you could close them” he whispered, following to spit on the tip of his dick, spreading the liquid all around his length to make sure you get a bit of comfort. niki pushed your legs open again, this time holding your left thigh down with his hand. you closed your eyes, not ready to have your cunt ruined by him, yet they opened immediately when you felt your walls stretched out slowly, his thrust full of care and adjustment.
you looked at him, eyes already unable to control, not to roll back, and you smiled naively, just the perfect time for him to start thrusting into your harder and pushing all of himself inside you, your bodies making a beautiful harmony with the clapping sounds. his cock felt incredible inside you, stretching you out, making you clench around him, feeling your soul living your body each minute.
“n-niki” you moaned his name, louder than you would have expected, and he let a quiet “fuck” leave his mouth as he sped up his rhythm, his eyes only staring at the way his dick was sliding in and out your pussy, fitting so perfectly inside you, like you were made just for him.
“harder? faster?” he asked, biting his lower lips and moving his gaze to you, making him go harder on you before you could even give him a response. but how could he wait? you looked so beautiful lying on the desk, your chest exposed only for his view, your neck with fainted marks and your mouth moaning his name like it’s the only word you know.
“s-slower-” you ask him, whining inside your mouth while trying to grab onto something. “what was that?” niki said on a sarcastic tone, his smirk never disappearing from his face “did you say harder?”. you disagreed, closing your eyes again and trying to deny but he was faster, so was his pace, each thrust sending electric shivers through your body, your chest bouncing along.
yet you are not the only one that feels so affected by his choice, he himself feeling like your walls will be painted white any moment now. and careful as he is, he pulls out just in time, pumping his dick fast enough to shoot all of his cum on your chest, throwing his head back and moaning while his hand going up and down his dick. “fuck” he whispered again, looking at your fresly new coat of sweetener.
#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen smut#enhypen hard#enhypen reactions#enhypen x you#enhypen x reader#niki smut#enhypen niki#ni ki#nishimura riki#enhypen riki#riki x reader#niki x reader#niki hard thoughts#niki hard hours
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crushin' | jason todd
Summary: Barbara invites you to dinner with the Bats. She's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the Bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. Little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings/tags: batfam shenanigans, dick is a good meddling brother and deserves a fruit basket, fluff and humor, kissing, crushes, love confessions. just wanted to write something sweet and light :)
the divider
"So you're gonna press this," Barbara says, demonstrating on her own screen.
You follow along, clicking and typing. She nods.
"Good. Then you're gonna do this."
You open the file. A video of what looks to be Bruce drunkenly hula-hooping pops up. Your eyes widen.
"And that's how you keep Bruce in check," Barbara says, patting your shoulder. "Use sparingly. Only when he's getting on your last nerve."
"Wow," you say. "Babs, I... I don't know if I should have this kind of power."
"No, it's cool. I have dirt on everyone in this family, so really, it's my power. You're the only one who gets to see the vault."
You look at her. "You scare me."
She grins. "Thanks! Anyway, you're free to go. They'll be back from the mission soon, so our job is pretty much over."
The computer beeps. She checks the notification and types back. Then she hums.
"Or, you can, y'know, join us for dinner. Alfred keeps wondering when you'll do so."
You press your lips together. "I dunno, Babs... are you sure? I don't want to intrude."
"You're not. Seriously. And you know what I just found out? Jason will be here too."
Well. That does certainly stop your refusal in its tracks. You haven't seen Jason properly since he returned. You feel a pang of guilt at that; true, he's never at the Manor, at least not when you're around. But you could've reached out by now.
Still, being able to see him again properly is a wonderful opportunity. One you can't pass up.
"Okay," you say. "I'll join you all. As long as Alfred's okay with it."
She rolls her eyes, smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. C'mon."
You follow her to the elevator Bruce got installed for her. In the Manor, most of the family are sitting down to dinner. Damian and Cass are on one side of the table. Bruce is at the head. Alfred is still bustling in the kitchen.
You start to pull out the chair next to Cass, but Barbara startles you.
"That's Dick's chair!" She smiles sympathetically. "Sorry. He's particular. Isn't he, guys?"
"Yes," Cass says. "He's comfortable here."
"I've no idea what you're referring to, Gordon," says Damian. He nods at you. "Hello."
You smile. "Hey, Damian. That's fine. I'll sit next to you, Babs." You sit in the middle of three chairs, with Barbara on your right and an empty chair on your left.
"Hi, Cass. Hello, Mr. Wayne."
"Bruce," he reminds you. That's not happening. It feels way too weird to call him Bruce, even though you've known him since Jason was Robin. Just, no.
Cass smiles. "Hello. Glad to have you."
"Where's Tim and Duke?" you ask.
"Thomas is at university," Damian says. "Drake is probably with that idiot clone he calls a boyfriend."
Bruce looks up. "Tim and Connor are dating?"
"Good God," Barbara mumbles.
"Well, yes, Father. They've been dating for quite some time, even shared a room together. Last month, Drake went undercover in Atlantic City and the clone—"
"Old man! Where are you?"
"Jason, just—"
"Shut it, Dickhead."
The grandfather clock swings open, revealing the Cave entrance. Up stomps Jason, followed by Dick. Jason has a smear of purple goo on his forehead, but otherwise is clean. His back is to you.
Jason points an accusing gloved finger at Bruce. "You owe me a new bike, new guns, new gear, new phone, new—"
"Jason, slow down. Why exactly do I owe you new things?" Bruce asks.
"Because Tweedle-Dum here didn't scan the fuckin' spaceship that landed in Syracuse and melted my bike with purple goo!"
"It said it was empty," Dick says tiredly. "How was I supposed to know an abandoned ship would spit goo?"
"Okay, alright, boys, don't fight. Yes, Jason, I'll compensate everything you lost in Syracuse."
"Yeah, you will. And a new fridge." Jason thinks. "And a new TV."
"Master Jason," Alfred begins, walking into the dining room with a dish of roasted potatoes. "You may continue your bargaining with Master Bruce after dinner. Wipe that alien sludge off your face and have a seat."
Jason sighs. "Alf, I appreciate the invite, but you know I don't dine with most of the folks at this table. Gets real fuckin' crowded."
"Master Jason, watch your language," Alfred says sternly. "We have a guest. Behave like the young man I raised you to be."
Jason scoffs. "Who, Barbie? She doesn't—" He turns and stops, staring at you.
You smile, suddenly self-conscious. "Hi."
He swallows, eyes wide. "Hi. Hey."
"Aren't you staying for dinner?" you ask, confused. "Barbara said you were."
"I—" He glances at Barbara, then looks at you. "Uh. Well. I don't really..."
"C'mon, Jay, you guys should catch up!" Dick says brightly, already seated.
Jason's mouth sours as he turns to Dick. You pull out the chair next to you and tap the seat.
"You can sit next to me," you say, looking up at Jason.
He immediately turns back to you, lips parted. "Oh. I—y-yeah. Sure. Thanks."
"Master Jason. The goo," Alfred reminds, raising a brow. "And hang up your jacket."
Jason quickly backs up and bumps into the table corner. He winces.
"Right. I'm gonna... yeah. Be right back."
Jason disappears down the hall. Dick grins wolfishly at Barbara.
"You're amazing," he says.
"I know," she says, shrugging.
Alfred serves the last tray of vegetables, then sits. Jason soon returns, gloves and jacket away and goo-free.
"Did you style your hair, Todd?" Damian asks.
"No. Shut it." Jason scoots in his chair, glaring at his brother. But when you pass him the tray of roast, his expression softens. He smiles at you.
"Thanks," he says, and puts three slices on his plate. "Great roast, Alf."
"You haven't tried it," Alfred says, but looks very pleased.
"Don't need to."
"We're very glad you're here, Jason," Bruce says. "All things considered—"
Jason holds up a hand. "Ah-ah. I'm not here for you, old man. Save the speech for another day."
"And who are you here for, Jason?" Dick asks, propping his chin on his hands.
"None of your beeswax, Dick."
Dick shrugs. Damian begins to talk about an art project in school. You pay the appropriate amount of attention until Jason nudges your arm.
"Hey," he says, nodding at your empty glass. "Didja get something to drink?"
"Oh." Heat creeps up your neck. "Um, no. Sorry. I didn't know where to get the drinks."
"'S okay. Alf doesn't put out drinks anymore 'cause everybody drinks something different. You just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I'll get it for ya."
"Jason, you don't have to—"
He holds up a hand, smiling. "C'mon, none of that. You're a guest. Orange Fanta, right?"
You blink. "You remembered."
"Uh." His cheeks go pink. "I mean, yeah. No biggie. I'll be back."
Jason stands. Immediately, the others pounce.
"Are you going to the kitchen?" Dick asks.
"No," Jason says.
"Can you get me another Diet Coke?"
"Todd, if you're going to the kitchen, I would like another lemonade, please," Damian says.
"I just said I'm not going to the—"
"Master Jason, will you please bring this into the kitchen?" Alfred asks, holding up an empty tray.
Jason heaves a sigh. You wince.
"Sorry," you whisper.
He shakes his head and winks. "Nah, 's not you."
Obediently, Jason takes the tray and goes to the kitchen. He returns with a Diet Coke, which he tosses at Dick, who catches it with one hand, and a bottle of lemonade, which he throws to Damian who also catches it with one hand and a scowl. Finally, Jason opens the Orange Fanta for you and gently pours it into your glass, then sets the half-full can next to your plate. He sits down.
"Of course they get special treatment," Dick mumbles into his drink.
The table rattles, and Dick winces, squinting at Jason. The table rattles again, and Jason hisses.
"Boys," Bruce says wearily. "Enough."
"Yeah, Jason," Dick says, sticking his nose up. "Y'know it's my birthday soon. I deserve a brother who doesn't kick me."
"Oh, I'll tell ya what you deserve," Jason begins.
"Are we doing laser tag?" Cass pipes up from the end.
"'Course we are! Everybody's gonna be there." Dick looks pointedly at Jason. "Except my own brother. He refused."
You look at Jason, who's got a nasty glower aimed at Dick.
"You're not coming?" you ask.
Jason's expression melts away when he turns to you. "Uh, I mean—"
"No, he's not," Dick says, pulling the saddest pout you've ever seen. "He said he wanted nothing to do with my stupid birthday."
"Those weren't my exact words."
"They were very close," Damian says.
"Shut—"
"Jason, I can't believe you aren't going to Dick's birthday," Barbara says, shaking her head.
Jason's mouth falls open. "Et tu, Barbie?"
"You should come," you say, touching Jason's arm.
He immediately looks at your hand. You slowly remove it, smiling sheepishly.
"Then we can be a team," you say. "We're playing doubles. I'm horrendously bad at laser tag, but I bet we'd win together. I'd watch your six."
"Leaving them in the lurch, Jason?" Barbara tuts. "So unlike you."
Jason heaves a sigh. "For God—okay. Alright, brother mine. You win."
You beam. "So you'll come?"
"'Long as you and I are a team," Jason says, a little shy.
You bump his shoulder with yours. "Of course."
Dick looks at you. "You should join us for dinner every night."
You laugh bashfully. "Thanks, Dick."
Dinner goes on. Bruce excuses himself early, as do Cass and Damian. Soon, it's the four of you plus Alfred cleaning up after dinner. You and Jason are loading the dishwasher when Jason hisses. He pulls out his hand, revealing a thin red cut on his palm.
"Are you okay?" you ask, hovering worriedly.
"Yeah, 'm fine. I'll take the tray—"
"Jason, no," Dick says, herding him away from the dishwasher. "You have to get that wrapped immediately."
"What are you—dude, it's a tiny cut—"
"Yeah, but there was food on there, and you have no idea what can get into the wound and make you sick," Barbara says seriously. "You need to get it cleaned right now."
Jason rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. There's a first aid kit in the closet."
"There isn't!" Dick says, shooing Jason toward you. "Alfred hasn't restocked it. You have to go to the Cave. You should both go."
"Yes, great idea," Barbara says, looking at you. "You have medical experience, don't you?"
"I mean, a little, but—"
"More than us!" Dick says, shoving you both towards the hallway.
"I don't think so..."
"You take care of Jaybird here, he needs that hand," Dick says cheerily, opening the Cave entrance. "Go on, go."
"Christ on a bike," Jason mumbles, and heads down the stairs.
You follow, confused and concerned. The entrance slides closed. Jason goes to the medbay, muttering under his breath as he digs through one of the drawers with one hand. You join him, searching the top drawer for the antiseptic spray.
"Is the cut really bad?" you ask, trying to get a better look.
"No. My brother's just an idiot. Nothin' new."
You pull out the spray, some gauze, and a bandaid. Jason nods in thanks and goes to take it.
"I can do it," you say. "I do have medical experience, after all."
He snorts. "Fine by me."
You both sit on the edge of a cot. You turn to Jason and pull his hand into your lap. He inhales sharply. You stop.
"Is this okay?" you ask.
"Y-yeah. Fine. Sorry. I don't get touched a lot." Jason's mouth screws up. "Ugh. That sounded weird."
You laugh. "It's fine, I know what you meant."
He scratches the back of his neck while you clean his hand. He has big hands. Bigger than you remember. They're deeply scarred and calloused. You rub your thumbs over the pads of his fingers without thinking.
"You got soft hands," Jason says quietly.
"Heh. Thanks. The computer life."
He hums. "I didn't know you were working with Babs."
The guilt swims back full force.
"I know. I'm sorry. I should've reached out, Jason. I-I basically ignored you. Not on purpose! I just... I guess I wasn't sure where we stood and I thought maybe you'd be mad I was working for Batman after everything and I was afraid that we wouldn't—"
"Hey, whoa. 'M not mad." Jason finds your gaze. You frown. "I'm serious. I don't mind that you're working for Bruce. I mean, hell, I do too, on occasion. Mostly I just bitch at him."
You giggle. He smiles. You're still holding his hand. You don't really want to let go. Jason doesn't seem to want to pull away either.
"Well, even so, I'm sorry for not reaching out. I did miss you, Jason. And I'm glad you're back."
He clears his throat, ducking his head. "Huh. Well, I missed you too. And y'got nothin' to apologize for. I could've asked about you."
"Well—"
"Uh-uh, no, I'm the king of self-deprication. Y'can't take that from me," Jason says, eyes dancing with mirth.
You sigh dramatically. "Fine, fine. Can we say that we both could've reached out?"
"That's agreeable. And, uh, while we're clearing the air, I'm so terribly sorry 'bout my dumbass brother."
You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"
"Ah, huh. Hm. Well, funny thing. I kinda had a, um, crush on you, before. And Dick has it in his head that I... that I have a chance now. So... yeah."
"Before?" you ask.
You don't know why you're disappointed. It's not like you knew. Except maybe if you had, you wouldn't have missed out. Maybe you wouldn't have lost so much time.
Jason glances at you. "What... why are you sayin' it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you wish... that I..." He shakes his head. "Forget it."
"Jason," you say, barely a whisper.
He looks at you. His eyes flick to your lips, just for a millisecond. "Yeah?"
"Can I kiss you?"
A beat. Your heart falls.
"Yeah." Jason nods. "Yeah, kiss me."
You heart soars.
You hold Jason's face, still holding his hand. He gingerly touches your neck with his uninjured hand, strokes behind your ear with his thumb. Every nerve alights. You're kissing Jason Todd. The boy you've loved since you were thirteen.
"They did it! They're kissing!"
Jason growls against your mouth. You know it's not aimed at you, but it makes lightning shoot down your spine. Wow.
"'M gonna kill 'im," Jason mumbles.
You smile and pull back, just an inch. "It's nearly his birthday. At least wait till next week."
"Hm." Jason kisses the corner of your mouth. You like him so much. "Fine. Y'know you can convince me of pretty much anything? Wield that power carefully."
You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason braces you with a hand on the small of your back.
"I'm very flattered, but I think you're confused, Jay." A kiss to his jaw. "It's you who has a hold on me."
#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd fanfiction#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood fanfiction#red hood imagine#jason todd x gender neutral reader#gn reader#jason todd imagine#dc fanfiction#batman fanfiction#batman imagine#jason todd fluff
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Lol, this is from my own current personal angst in my life but I was thinking it can be used for an angsty Rafe x Reader. I have very low self esteem, I don't think I look pretty so I have a hard time accepting that a guy could be interest in me or find me appealing, especially cuz guys have called ''mid''. Right now I'm talking to THE sweetest guy. THE most greenest flag of all. Super respectful, mature and kind. I had a freakout and pushed him away, wanted to stop talking. He got super upset, send me a drunk text basically being like ''I'm so attracted to u and your everything I've ever dreamt of. I just wanna make you happy and make you smile. Your so special to me. I keep saying that your beautiful, amazing and gorgeous but you won't hear it. Please don't let your insecurites get in the way of us. I fkn miss you'' I mean...hey feel free to take whatever inspiration you want from that, change it, build on it, whatever you want! We just want a sappy head over heels Rafe who is heartbroken being pushed away (but with a happy ending)
a/n tysm for sharing this with me! and please don’t let your doubts get in the way of your happiness. you are BEAUTIFUL and you MATTER ❤️🩹 i hope u like this little piece.
warnings rafe cameron x fem!reader, reader with low self esteem, situationship, angst, fluff, rafe being a sweetheart
Rafe couldn’t really tell when it started, but he could feel it in your forced smiles and short responses. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the ache in his chest told him otherwise. Every attempt to figure out what he had done wrong was met with your dismissive shrug and a short, “I’m fine.”
But what Rafe didn’t know about was the chaos in your mind. You liked him—really liked him—but your insecurities were keeping you from letting yourself fall completely. You couldn’t ignore the way girls seemed to flirt with Rafe at parties, the way people whispered that you weren’t pretty or cool enough, to be with someone like him. It didn’t matter how many times he told you that you were beautiful—the doubt in your mind drowned out his words. So, you began to pull away, convinced it was only a matter of time before he realized you weren’t what he wanted.
And that’s why Rafe ended up going to this party alone, although it should have been a night that you two spend together. You had promised to go, only to back out at the last minute with a stupid excuse about not feeling well. Rafe knew you were lying. Obviously he didn’t want to go without you, but after Topper wouldn’t stop begging him, he gave in.
He spent the first hour trying to lose himself in the crowd, nursing a beer and pretending to laugh at Topper’s jokes, but it was useless. Every girl who tried to flirt with him only reminded him of you, and every drink made the knot in his chest tighten. Eventually, he escaped out into the yard, needing space to think—or maybe just to breathe.
The cool night air sobered him slightly, but not enough to stop him from pulling out his phone. His fingers hovered over your contact before he finally hit call. It rang three times before you picked up.
“Rafe?” You said softly, voice trembling slightly. You winced at how vulnerable you sounded.
“hi, baby.” he said, his voice breaking slightly before going right in. “What’s going on with you? Please, just tell me. Did I do something? Did I hurt you somehow? Because if I did, fuck I swear to God, I didn’t mean to.”
Your throat tightened, guilt twisting in your stomach. He sounded so desperate, so unlike the confident, self-assured Rafe you knew. You didn't know what to say, how to explain something you couldn't even fully understand yourself.
“Talk to me, y/n,” he pleaded. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep guessing what’s wrong. I care about you too much to lose you like this.” His voice cracked, and he raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “I’m completely crazy about you. I don’t care about anyone else. You’re it for me. You’re the only one I want.”
Your heart shattered at his words. He cared about you, really cared about you. But how could he? How could someone like Rafe Cameron, with his perfect smile and effortless charm, care about someone like you?
"Rafe..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. “No,” he interrupted. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. I think about you all the time—when I wake up, when I go to sleep. You’re all I want, y/n. And if there’s even a part of you that feels the same way—then please, stop pushing me away.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Rafe leaned against a tree, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. Then he heard you breathe out, followed by muffled sobs, which you tried so hard to suppress by pressing your palm over your mouth. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words sink in and erase all your doubts. But the fear was still there.
“I didn’t think I was enough for you,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “You could have anyone, Rafe. And people keep saying I don’t deserve you, and maybe they’re right.”
“Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice rising as he couldn’t believe that you’d actually think that. “Baby, you’re more than enough. You’re everything. Don’t let what other people say get in your head. They don’t know you. They don’t know us.”
Your sniffle came through the line, and he could picture you wiping your tears, head bowed like it always was when you were upset. “I just… I didn’t want to hold you back.”
“You’re not holding me back,” he replied softly. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane.” He paused. “Please, just let me in. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”
The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and you believed him. Believed that he was serious about you two. “Okay.” You said. Relief washed over him, and he exhaled shakily. “Okay,” he repeated, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m coming to you right now.”
Your eyes widened, “No, Rafe, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he said firmly. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you. We’ll figure this out together.” And with that, he ended the call, his heart pounding with determination. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. You were his, and he wasn’t going to let you go.
#blurbs ₊˚⊹♡#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron angst#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron x you#rafe x reader
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Warm me up
Joel miller x fem reader
Joel wakes to you coming into his room. You tell him how cold you are and he gives into his needs.
Warnings! Porn no plot! Age gap! (Reader is my age) oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, cum play, (?) degrading, praise and talk of male oral.
Written for my love @starkeysprincess I love you!!
“Joel? It’s so cold. Can I sleep in here with you?” He stirred from sleep, his shirtless body exposed from the messy blankets. He grunted a yes and you climbed underneath.
You were wearing an oversized tshirt, pair of black panties and knee socks. Joel felt his dick twitch. A pretty girl in his bed, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Your supple skin exposed as you moved closer to him, your arms looped around his waist, legs wrapped around his own.
Joel made a small noise and instinctively pressed you against him. His large hand splayed on the small of your back. His thick fingers feeling your cool skin.
“Better?”
“Still cold. Need you to warm me up.” Your soft voice caused Joel to groan. How could he refuse such a plea?
“C’mere.” He pulled you on top of him, your thighs caging his middle. Joel’s palms kneaded your legs, moving up to your hips and gently squeezed. “Is that helping?”
He felt a little guilt, the age gap between you both was large. Especially as you started rocking your pelvis, your pussy underneath your panties rubbing against his stomach.
“Mmmm, thank you, Joel.” He could see your smile even in the darkness. Joel broke, leaning up on his arm, he caught your lips in a searing kiss. Yours were soft, his tongue licked yours and he moaned deeply when you cupped his jaw.
You sloppily kissed each other and Joel put his whole body into it. He rocked his dick against your ass that pressed against it, his hand reaching to bury in your hair. He growled against your mouth and flipped you on your back.
“God, I don’t know if you know what you’ve done, little one. Rubbing your pussy on me.” He snarled and yanked your shirt up. Exposing your panties.
He dragged his fingers against your slit, feeling your arousal and smearing it on your clit. “Fuck, you’re wet. I bet you’re sweet,” He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking softly. Joel felt something unlock in him, an animalistic urge taking over and he pushed you back. You landed in a heap with your head on the pillow and he hauled your legs apart. He shoved your panties to the side, pressing his nose to your inner thigh and inhaled deeply.
“You smell so good.”
He shoved his face in your cunt, very gently nipping your clit before sucking it between his lips. You threw your head back, clutching his hair as Joel spit on your pussy and licked it up with his tongue. Whines and whimpers escaped you as he fucked your entrance with his mouth.
He was aggressive, moaning and palmed himself as he kept you against his face with his free hand. Your pussy was fluttering and leaking all over him. You were wailing, reaching your peak and finally it broke. You cried out and trembled.
“J-Joel!” You squeaked as he climbed up. Joel’s thick hands gripped your knees and pushed them up. He brought them over his shoulders and you noticed his boxers were gone.
His thick dick, throbbing between his legs was noticeable even in the haze. Joel slapped his tip against your clit, merging his precum with yours and then he pushed into you. The bulbous head straining and you mewled. Your nails dug into his shoulders as Joel thrusted into you.
“Atta girl, that’s a good little slut. Taking my dick like you have nothing else to live for.” He huffed and pounded into you harder. “Bet you’ll never be fucking cold again.”
Drool slipped from your mouth and Joel reached down to grip your jaw.
“Stay with me, baby girl. Need you awake so you can take it. Fuck, your pussy’s squeezin me. That’s it, yeah?” His vocal appreciation made you impossibly wetter and your eyes rolled back in your head.
Your second orgasm came embarrassingly fast and Joel grunted. He fucked you through it, still lasting as his hand wrapped around your throat. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. I know, I know, there you go.” He smirked as you jerked with aftershock.
“Gonna cum in you. Watch it spill out from that pathetic little hole then cover you with it.” He promised and amped up his depth. His balls slapped against your ass as he fucked you deeper.
Seconds went by and Joel let out a sigh. His cock twitched inside you and his cum coated your insides. You let out a shudder as he pulled out, jerking his dick and more cum sprayed on your stomach.
“Messy girl,” He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. He let go of your legs but didn’t remove contact. Joel lifted you by underneath your arms and set you on his lap.
“Give me five minutes, doll and I’m gonna train your throat.”
“Who said I need training?” You giggled as he smacked your ass.
“Training for a man’s dick, sweetheart. And you’re gonna be a good girl and suck it clean.”
Tagging: @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @userchai @stillwjk-channie-lixie
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller the last of us#the last of us#the last of us smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut
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Omg I love the domestic caitvi and their kid😭
How about one where cait or vi was so stressed and tired from work or something and reader just wanted to play but instead cait or vi accidentally lashed out on her and she ran out of the room to her bedroom and started crying and started to think that maybe her mom doesn’t love her anymore or something, in the end cait or vi apologize to reader, they made up and cuddle or play together
SOFT APOLOGIES
Caitlyn x Vi x kid f!reader
Synopsis: Being Vi and Caitlyn’s little kid had some difficulties, especially when Caitlyn was already tired with work, while you were a little bundle of energy wanting attention. Sometimes leading to some needed apologies.
Request: Anon 🤍
A/N: Part two of Motherly Love.
The sun had barely dipped below the horizon, painting the house in soft, dusky light. Dinner had been eaten, dishes half-done, and the usual hum of warmth filled the home. But something was different tonight. The weight of the day had settled heavily on Caitlyn’s shoulders, her normally pristine posture sagging ever so slightly as she worked through a pile of paperwork at the kitchen table. Her brow was furrowed, her movements sharp, a quiet tension radiating from her.
Vi wasn’t home yet, stuck with her own share of responsibilities. That left you, five years old and bursting with energy, darting around the living room with Bunny in one hand and a superhero cape tied around your neck.
You didn’t notice Caitlyn’s tight jaw or the way her sighs grew heavier each time her pen scratched across the paper. You only saw your mommy—your kind, brilliant mommy who could do anything—and you wanted her attention.
“Mommy!” you called, skipping into the kitchen. Bunny bounced against your side, his floppy ears trailing behind you. “Mommy, look! I’m a superhero!”
Caitlyn didn’t look up. “That’s wonderful, darling,” she said absently, her tone clipped.
Undeterred, you twirled in place, your cape fluttering behind you. “Mommy, did you see? Did you see how fast I can go?”
Another sharp sigh escaped her lips. She set her pen down, finally glancing at you. Her smile was thin and tired. “I see, sweetheart. But I’m very busy right now. Why don’t you play in the living room for a while?”
“But I want to play with you,” you insisted, bouncing on your toes. Bunny jostled in your hand as you held him up toward her. “Bunny wants to play too! Please, Mommy?”
Caitlyn’s patience, already stretched thin, snapped.
“For the love of—darling, not now!” she said sharply, her voice louder than you’d ever heard it. “I have so much to do, and I can’t focus with you underfoot! Just go to your room for a little while!”
Her words hit you like a gust of cold wind. Your small frame stilled, your wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Bunny dangled limply in your grip.
“Go on,” Caitlyn said, her tone softer but still firm. “Please, darling. I just need some quiet.”
Without another word, you turned and ran. Bunny’s ears trailed behind you as you bolted down the hallway, your small feet thumping against the floor. Caitlyn called your name only a minute after you ran, but you didn’t stop.
In your room, you curled up on your bed, Bunny clutched tightly to your chest. The superhero cape now felt silly, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. You buried your face against Bunny’s soft fur, the first sob breaking free as your mind spun with unfamiliar and frightening thoughts.
Mommy’s mad at me.
She doesn’t love me anymore.
Maybe I’m too annoying, maybe she wishes I wasn’t here.
The tears came faster, soaking Bunny’s fur as you squeezed him tighter, your chest heaving with hiccupping breaths.
Back in the kitchen, Caitlyn sat frozen, her head in her hands. The echo of her raised voice played on a loop in her mind, each repetition sharper than the last.
She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples as guilt clawed at her chest. What was I thinking, snapping at her like that?
Vi walked through the door moments later, her boots clunking softly against the floor. She took one look at Caitlyn’s face and frowned. “Hey, cupcake. You alright?”
Caitlyn shook her head, her eyes tired and full of regret. “I-I snapped at her, Vi. She wanted to play, and I just, I yelled. She ran off crying, and now—” Her voice wavered.
Vi’s face softened. “Hey, hey. We all have rough days. But you know what you gotta do, right?”
Caitlyn nodded, already standing. “I need to fix this.”
Your sniffles had quieted, though tears still clung to your lashes when Caitlyn pushed open your bedroom door. She found you curled up on the bed, your little body trembling slightly as you hugged Bunny close. The sight made her heart ache.
“Darling?” she said softly, kneeling beside your bed.
You peeked at her through red-rimmed eyes, your lip trembling.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Caitlyn whispered, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I had a hard day, but that’s no excuse for being unkind to you.”
You sniffled, your voice small. “You don’t love me anymore?”
Caitlyn’s heart shattered. She scooped you into her arms, holding you close as tears filled her own eyes. “Oh, no, my darling. Never. I love you more than anything in the world. You are my sunshine, my heart, my everything.”
Your tiny hands clung to her shirt as you buried your face in her neck. “Really?”
“Really,” she promised, her voice firm and full of love. “I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”
Vi appeared in the doorway, her usual grin softened into something warm and comforting. “Hey, squirt,” she said, stepping inside. “You okay?”
You nodded slowly, still snuggled against Caitlyn.
“Good,” Vi said, ruffling your hair gently. “Wanna know a secret? Your mommy’s a superhero too. She just had a tough mission today.”
You pulled back slightly, looking up at Caitlyn with wide eyes. “Really?”
Caitlyn smiled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Really. But the only thing I want to do now is spend time with my favorite hero. What do you say? Forgive me?”
Your bottom lip wobbled again, but this time it was followed by a small, teary smile. “Okay, Mommy. I forgive you.”
The three of you ended up back in the living room, the paperwork forgotten. Caitlyn and Vi worked together to build you a brand-new superhero cape out of an old scarf, complete with Bunny-sized accessories so he could join in your adventures.
When bedtime finally rolled around, you were nestled between them on the couch, Bunny tucked safely under your arm. Caitlyn smoothed down your hair while Vi traced gentle circles on your back.
“Love you, Mommy,” you murmured sleepily.
“Love you, too, darling,” Caitlyn whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Love you, squirt,” Vi added, her voice soft and warm.
And in the safety of their arms, you drifted off to sleep, knowing without a doubt that their love was as strong as ever.
A love that stayed, no matter what.
A/N: yes, this part also had another falling asleep ending, but only because I wanted to tie the last line with the title.
#Caitlyn x vi x reader#vi x caitlyn x reader#Caitlyn x vi x kid#Caitlyn x you#vi x you#caitlyn x reader#vi x reader#Caitlyn fanfic#vi fanfic#caitvi fanfic#vi arcane#caitlyn arcane#arcane vi#arcane caitvi#vi#Caitlyn#caitivi#arcane fanfic#arcane#lesbian fanfic#lesbian#fluffy fanfic#fluff#comfort fanfic#comfort#fanfic#fanfic writing
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I’m wondering how Laura would react if reader and OldMan!Logan got into a fight? Maybe they tried to keep it away from her but unfortunately the girls too much like her father and ends up hearing most of it.
Ugh and imagine if she saw Logan storming off not realizing that he left you in tears…
(I’m feeling extremely angsty tonight.)
TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, TRAUMA, ILLNESS, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, SUICIDAL IDEATIONS & GOD (I guess????) Set before Logan gets, as nonnie put it, chest-fucked, so during the period of time everyone’s trying to escape the fucking Reavers while figuring shit out. It got too long so it’s under the cut
You don’t argue that often with Logan— your relationship is solid and although communication was rocky at first, he’s made significant progress and is able to hold a serious conversation without immediately jumping back into his defense mechanisms (misguided anger, deflection and ultimately fleeing were his initial reactions when you tried establishing proper communication about feelings in the beginning). His progress, however, is rendered completely useless when the conversation is about his rapidly declining health; he’s immediately on the defensive, body going rigid and eyes going dark, jaw clenched so hard you’re afraid he might shatter it— he hates thinking about his newfound mortality, not necessarily because he’s afraid of death (it’s actually quite the opposite, he seeks death in a way, longing for the pain and the nightmares to just stop once and for all) but because he knows that dying means leaving you on your own and that’s something he can’t bear to think about— the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you is immeasurable; it overwhelms him entirely because he knows that losing him would break you and it makes him feel physically ill to think about the consequences. So in true Logan fashion, he blows you off whenever you bring up your concerns, stating that he’s fine, and the anger he feels at himself and his body for failing him ends up being taken out on you through biting words he regrets as soon as they slip from his tongue.
“I’m the one who’s fuckin’ dying, for Christ’s sake, quit your fuckin’ yapping.” It’s a phrase he regrets uttering for multiple reasons: he hates being rude to you in any way, shape or form because you’re the last person who deserves to be subjected to his emotional constipation— you’ve taken all of his broken parts into your hands and pieced them back together with your unconditional love and unwavering patience, you’ve made him feel loved, you’ve made him feel alive, and most importantly, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t have to feel guilty or bitter about his existence. You’ve done so much for him throughout the years and he fucking hates himself for letting his emotions get the better of him like that. The other thing that bothers him deeply about his reaction is the verbal acknowledgment of his condition; it’s something that he somehow believes can be ignored, as if denying it could make it any less real. Acknowledging that he’s dying makes bile rise up his throat— it’s a bitter feeling, really, because he used to wish for death everyday before he met you, heart and mind torn to shreds from years of horrific abuse and unwavering violence; he even prayed to whatever God was out there, despite not being a believer, to just let him go, to free him of the chains of trauma that bound his psyche. His prayers were left unanswered, Logan only accumulating more trauma as the years went by— he can’t count how many times he’s cursed God for making him go through what he’s gone through, needing someone to blame and wishing for a way to end it all. Ironically, Logan’s immortality only seems to waver once he starts treasuring life; it feels like a stab in the back, a cruel joke orchestrated by God who finally decided to answer his prayers now that he wishes he could take them back. The feeling of betrayal only seems to further fuel Logan’s anger towards his illness, which, combined with the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you alone, causes him to act out whenever you bring up the subject. You take offense in the words thrown at you, hurt by the reminder of his impending death and the way he navigates it, arguing back that you do this because you care about him, for fuck’s sake. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse, upsetting Logan further and bringing back years’ worth of feeling unworthy of your affections.
“That’s your fuckin’ problem bub. I told ya you shouldn’t waste your time with a man like me.” he physically winces as he utters those words, wishing he could unsee the way it makes your entire face crumble with despair— it’s a slap in the face, really, to be brought back to square one and have him reject you in this way. Logan flees before either of you can say anything else, slamming the front door behind him and walking in no particular direction until he feels like he can finally breathe again, leaving you in tears at home. Laura, although playing in her makeshift room at the time, hears the whole exchange as clear as day due to her enhanced senses, her fists clenching with rage when her ears pick up the sound of your stifled sobs. You feel her before you even hear her, your body tensing as a pair of small, skinny arms wrap around your middle, a head resting along your spine. After the initial alarm of feeling someone touching you, you can’t help but let out a watery laugh at just how easy it seemed for her to surprise you, turning around in Laura’s arms so you can look down at her. A frown is etched onto her features, lips puckered into an angry pout as she hugs you tighter, insulting Logan in spanish under her breath. It makes you laugh again, this time softly, your hand smoothing out her hair as you sniffle.
“I’m okay, Laura. I’m okay.” she glares up at you, unconvinced, giving you another squeeze and reluctantly allowing her features to relax when you gently run a fingertip across the furrow of her brows— despite not being together for long, you find that you’re able to soothe Laura quite easily; there is a connection between the two of you like you’ve never felt before, a bond that you feel like you were always destined to have. Your heart warms at the obvious way the child seems to care for you, wanting nothing more than to make all of her worries disappear.
“He made you cry.” her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, a soft, indignant noise leaving her at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle again, free hand moving up to wipe at your eyes, the other caressing her hair lovingly.
“I know.” you don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not— Logan crossed a line that you thought had been worn down ages ago, and you’ll be damned before you ever teach Laura that hurtful words can be brushed aside so easily without an apology. It’s for her as much as for you; you’re aware that you deserve respect even when Logan is upset, and you’re not about to stomp down on your self-worth to coddle him when he’s done something wrong. He’ll apologize, you’re sure of it, but until that happens, you’re not going to pretend that his reaction was acceptable. It’s something you categorically refuse to do, and it’s one of the many reasons Logan fell in love with you in the first place. You know your worth.
“I’ll be okay soon.” you tell her honestly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She studies you for a moment longer before nodding her head, allowing you to lead her onto the couch where she curls up next to you.
You’re asleep by the time Logan starts walking back towards the house but Laura hears the crunching of sand and gravel under his shoes, quietly untangling herself from you and moving to the side of the door, frown back on her features. Logan barely has the time to pass the threshold before she’s on him, jumping onto his back like a feral animal and punching his shoulders repeatedly, growling when he grabs her and holds her still, visibly confused and irritated by her behavior.
“Don’t even think about it.” he warns her when she makes to bite the hand that holds her down, frowning down at her just as hard she does up to him. She struggles in his hold, trying to hit him again, making him grunt in pain.
“You made her cry, coño.” the words make Logan freeze in his tracks, eyes falling on your sleeping form on the couch, noting the way your eyes look reddened and the tear tracks on your cheeks. Nausea immediately strikes him like lightning, the expression on his face seeming to satisfy Laura as she stops struggling, frown still evident on her face. She sits up and watches silently once he lets her go, staying nearby to see the situation unfold.
You awake to a calloused hand gently running over the plane of your cheekbone, eyes opening to meet Logan’s remorseful ones. He’s sitting on the ground next to the couch, looming over you in a way that makes you feel safe like no one else ever could.
“Hey.” his voice is hoarse but soft, thumb swiping back and forth over your skin in a silent act of comfort. It makes you smile despite your grogginess, and you feel more than you hear Logan releasing a soft, relieved inhale through his nose.
“Hey.” you answer him just as softly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes again, content to feel him again.
“I’m sorry.” the words sound heavy coming out of his mouth, a grim expression taking over his features as he wipes off the remnants of your earlier tears.
“I know.” you reply simply, turning your head to press a gentle kiss against the roughened palm of his hand. It makes him exhale shakily, shoulders squaring as he prepares himself for the discomfort of the following words.
“Didn’t mean to snap at you, baby. I just… I feel helpless, I guess, and it fuckin’ pisses me off. Never had to worry about dying and leaving you alone before.” he says the words slowly, trying to make the last sentence sound like a joke, tone falling flat. You can tell he’s uncomfortable with the discussion but he pushes through, causing you to feel a rush of sympathy— he’s trying, you know he’s trying, and that means something to you.
“I know. I feel helpless, too. But you have to remember that you’re not alone. Not anymore. And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, it’s you and me until the end.” he laughs wetly at your words, nodding his head and swallowing thickly before speaking again.
“I know.” this time it’s his turn to provide reassurance, the two little words more than enough for the both of you. The feeling of his warm lips connecting with your forehead makes your eyes flutter shut, hand coming up to lay over the one he’s curled around the back of your neck.
“Kid’s kicked my ass for making you cry.” he mumbles against your skin, the amusement in his voice clear. It makes you snort in surprise, unaware that Laura had intervened before you woke up.
“Did she? Well, you kinda deserved it.” your answer is playful, tone devoid of its previous heaviness, your eyes meeting Laura’s over Logan’s shoulder for a brief moment before focusing on your lover once again.
“That I did.” he agrees simply, a soft, tender, apologetic smile on his face. You lean further into him when he kisses your nose, heart feeling lighter than it had in a while.
You were going to be okay.
#laura kinney x mom!reader#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett angst#logan howlett imagine#old man logan x reader#old man logan angst#old man logan imagine#wolverine x reader#wolverine angst#wolverine imagine#xmen angst#xmen imagine#dad!logan howlett#dad!logan x daughter!laura#daughter!laura x dad!logan#dad!logan x laura kinney#laura kinney x dad!logan#anonymous#answered
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Something in your mouth
(joel miller x f!reader)
The third installment of Never made it as a wise man aka creed!joel
WC: 8.4k | Part 1 | Part 2 | Other fics | Rating: 18+
Summary: post hand job and phone sex; it’s the leadup and part 1 of these horny bishes goin’ on a date
Note: heyyyyy it’s me and i’m back on my bs . i know i promised the fuckening, but that was summer me and now it’s winter me.. so instead of hiding and never updating, i remembered i have free will so u get the full week lead-up and the first half of the date.. and then i’ll brb with the fuckfest okay? i promise. (also it’s actually almost done this time so it won’t take months). again, i am still merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. hopefully this part 3 is girthy enough to sate your appetite a lil bit
Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where pt 2 ended, alternating pov, dirty talk, horny yearning, blowjob in the truck, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc, mistakes are all mine
Thanks to Nickelback for having non stop horny bangerz to quote such as Something in your mouth
major thanks to @hoelaris for this moodboard that made me weep tears of joy bc is it so perfect
thanks to @magneticecstasy for date joel thots to be ft in this pt and the next, @auteurdelabre for telling me to let them have their happy ending so i can get back to the paris boys faster, to @syd-djarin for support, horny thots, song suggestions etc, and @itwasntimethatdidit40 for the nickelback pedro tiktok edit inspo
it really takes a village or whatever they say <3
*if u forgot what this is bc i took so long give Part 1 and Part 2 a read for a refresh <3
*if i missed ur tag or u want off this ride lemme know
okay, it's starting now:
You wake up in Joel’s shirt. It smells more like you than him already, but it still makes you grin devilishly just the same. You go about your day, a few errands and some chores, the whole time with a little more energy than usual.
When you’re back home and settled in to have a lazy afternoon, you get a little restless. Itchy fingers. It’s hard not to pick up your phone and check your messages again and again. You’re drawn to looking at the picture he sent, the pictures you took, and you can’t help wondering…
Did he wake up thinking of you? Hard, aching, and leaking at the memory of your voice.
Did he dream of all the nasty things he said he wanted to do to you? Waking up throbbing and frustrated, grinding his cock into the mattress as if you were beneath him.
Did he wake up and check his phone to confirm you were real? Making it all the way to the shower before surrendering, wishing it was your soft cunt he was fucking instead of his fist.
You know you’re fucked when just thinking about him thinking about you has you so turned on. It’s so tempting to send him something else. Another picture? An audio message? A thinking of you 😘 text?
No. No, no, no.
You can wait him out. Make him work for it a little. He’s a full-grown man. You’ve already given him enough to work with. Plus, you wanna know what he’s gonna come up with next. Right?
The lazy Sunday ends all too soon and before you know it you’re back to work. Dragging ass into the office with the biggest iced coffee you could buy. You deserve a treat to get through your Monday anyway.
A little warning bell chimes in the back of your mind as you drop your things on your desk. Ellie grumbles a good morning that matches your enthusiasm for fluorescent lights at 8 am. A little seed of guilt sprouts within you.
Is it fucked up of you to mess around with Joel? It’s not like it’s something serious. Or, does that make it even worse? There’s no way he would say anything to her about it.
“Heard you saw Joel again,” she says before you’ve even sat down. Great.
“Uh, yeah,” you reply, “Still didn’t feel right that he wouldn’t accept anything for helping with my car.” You sink into your chair, hesitating to say more. It’s too early to have a good poker face.
“So you made him a lasagna?” She questions, staring you down.
“Men love my meat sauce,” you say with a shrug.
“Gross,” Ellie grimaces at that, “please, don’t ever say that again.”
You buy her off with the rest of the cookies you had baked. She’s happy to take the entire container from you and happier to enjoy them all immediately. If she’s suspicious she’s either good at hiding it or you really don’t know how to read her.
You carry on with your morning catching up on mindless tasks, swirling your coffee around as the ice starts to melt, and trying to stay focused. Ellie turns on her music and you can’t help thinking of Joel again. It’s like he’s infected your mind and every shitty 2000s post-grunge alt-rock song conjures him up.
You can’t help wondering what exactly he would’ve told Ellie about your surprise visit. Would he have asked about you? Implied anything? You can’t stop yourself from asking.
“What did he say?”
Ellie’s head swivels towards you immediately.
“Who?”
Instantly you know you messed up. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. You shouldn’t still be thinking of him. She prods you about what you said and what you meant. Not accepting a nothing or a never mind. An uncomfortable wave of embarrassment twists in your stomach, heat blooms in your cheeks, and your hands are fidgety.
You shouldn’t have brought it up, you shouldn't be so defensive. Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.
Ellie is sharp–cutthroat–reading your every move. You stare at the empty Tupperware on her desk, hoping it will reveal some sort of escape plan. A strategy to deflect. It’s too late. Her eyes narrow just the slightest bit and she follows your gaze. It clicks.
“Oh, you meant Joel?”
You’re so busted. “I..uh,” you don’t know how to finish that thought.
“Why?” She gives you such a blank-faced look that it’s unsettling. You’re an adult. Why does this feel like you got caught sneaking out to see a boy on a school night?
You try to brush it off, but it sounds more defensive, making it worse. You focus on cracking your knuckles and trying to feign a more casual air. For some reason that means you keep talking. Broken sentences pouring out of you and trailing off into a stiff laugh.
Mercifully, Ellie cuts you off. Tells you it was Tommy who mentioned it.
So, he was the one who showed up while you had your legs spread open on Joel’s kitchen counter. The catalyst to your shirt heist and hasty getaway. That makes your face hot for a different reason.
“Oh. Gross.” Ellie groans.
“What?”
“You’ve got that look on your face.”
You snort at that. Only slightly horrified that she’s so adept at picking up the tells on your face. “What look?”
You suck down the last of your iced coffee, stalling, until you’re just sucking in air. You toss it in the tiny trash bin between the two of you and decide to be honest no matter what she says. You’d rather get ahead of it.
“Was it a sex lasagna?” Her mouth is pulled into a look of disgust.
You snort at that before shaking your head, preparing to get it all out.
“Okay, look. It was a thank-you lasagna.” You pause, trying to figure out exactly how much to share. “I didn’t plan the rest of it. It just…happened. And, fuck, it was so hot.”
Her face wrinkles with confusion, then disgust, then laughter. It makes your heart rate speed up.
“I’m sorry,” your words come out like a waterfall. “I don’t want to make things weird. I want us to be friends. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sure it wasn’t serious. I’ll tell you whatever you want. It was my fault. I showed up without letting him know. I made the first move—”
“You fold quick,” Ellie notes, interrupting you. She throws her hands up and you shut your mouth, “Look, you’re both adults, I don’t care what you do. Just, please, don’t tell me any of the sex details.”
“Do you really not care? Or like, you say I don’t care and then treat me like Cheryl in the front office?” you ask.
“No. I genuinely don’t give a shit. Well, I mean, if you break his heart I’ll have to kill you.”
“Naturally,” you agree with a solemn nod.
“But,” she pauses to take a breath, tilting her head before continuing, “it would probably be good for him, don’t think he’s had a real date in a while. But don’t come back to me broken-hearted if he’s a dick—that’s just his face.”
“A date?” you echo.
She groans and rolls her eyes at you, but it’s too late.
Your mind starts to wander. With Ellie’s blessing, you don’t have a reason not to give it a shot.
The harps are already strumming as you float off into your cloud of dissociation. Your favorite daydream flickers into focus as your eyes glaze over and a dazed grin curls on your face. It’s always that same slo-mo Baywatch-style memory. That one where you caught Joel wiping the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his t-shirt. The original temptation that led you back to him.
Somehow, every time it replays, there’s a new easter egg just for you. The ghost of a knowing smirk or a sparkly-eyed wink when he catches your eye, like a wicked little tease to pull you deeper into the dream world.
Sometimes it’s all too visceral. In the privacy of your mind, you’re free to direct the scene how you’d like. Slowly panning over the peek of soft skin and the trail of hair you can see. You can still feel the warmth on your fingertips from when you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of those navy blue boxers.
Sometimes, you create something new. You’d like to take one of his sun-faded plastic green lawn chairs, drag it to the front porch, and sit yourself down for a show. You wanna watch him mow the grass in the evening heat.
You can see the sweat beads dotted along his neck and the contour of his marble-sculpted arms as he serpentines along your fantasy world front lawn.
You can smell the fresh-cut grass and the specific blend of sweaty man pheromones that Aphrodite concocted just for you.
Your chest swells, lungs expanding, as you breathe slowly and deeply. The illusory scents fill your lungs until you release a deep, yearnful sigh. The imaginary lawn mower almost drowns out the imaginary Fred Durst bellering, It’s just one of those days, from that little stereo on the workbench.
Before you can transition into another scenario—something bounces off your face, and you flinch with a loud yelp.
“That was your warning,” Ellie glares at you. “Next time I’m throwing something sharp.”
“Okay, okay, message received.” You offer a sheepish smile, and she turns around. It seems the Limp Bizkit song was very much not a figment of your imagination. Ellie mutters along to the lyrics behind you, barely audible, as you spin in your chair to get back to work.
It’s not even five minutes later when you swivel in your chair again with another question for Ellie.
There’s nothing like having a crush on a man you barely know to truly make you delusional. You know you’ve got it bad, but it’s unfortunately just so much fun to daydream and let your mind run wild with the very limited info you know about the man.
You don’t want to worry about anything that could go wrong.
Except for, well, everything.
You still fret over texting him first or waiting. Should you send another picture with no context? Should you call? Should you wait another day?
When you notice your chest feeling tight you give yourself a reality check. It’s Monday morning. You’re at work. He’s probably at work. You can figure it out later. A future you problem.
Joel’s text comes through late in the evening.
Joel: You wearing my shirt to bed again?
You’re grinning immediately. At hearing from him first and because he fucking clocked you. You snap a quick photo. Despite being on the spot, it’s thoughtfully crafted. Just enough to show the logo and only your mouth, not your face, no extra skin, no sexy tease. Just a confirmation. You send it off, and his reply buzzes seconds later.
Joel: More
You try to bite back the grin still stuck on your face as your fingers dance across the screen. You want to tell him off for being so blunt, but for some reason, it feels like such a compliment. You’ve definitely got it bad if a thirsty one-word text feels like high praise.
You aren’t going to give in this time. You’ve still got Ellie’s words echoing in your mind. A date. You type back one line.
You: Gonna have to earn it if you want more
Your phone rings shortly after your message is delivered. Joel’s name flashes on the screen and your stomach flips. You thought maybe he’d send another dick pic, but now he’s calling you? It does check out that he wouldn’t be the texting type, to be fair.
“Hey,” you answer, voice soft, a little tentative.
“You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?” His drawl is low, rough around the edges and so stupidly sexy it makes your nipples hard. You can just tell he’s already on edge. Delight floods your veins at the idea of him thinking of you all day.
“You could use a lesson in patience,” your voice is remarkably steady, despite the way your body is lit up. You chew at your lower lip. “Thought I told you that last time we were on the phone,” you chide.
A deep chuckle rumbles through the phone. “Patience,” he repeats. There’s a pause that has you holding your breath. “I don’t think you’re playin’ fair, baby. Knowing you’re in bed with my shirt on, teasin’ me with another picture.” His voice takes on a husky, knowing tone. “Don’t think it’s patience you’re lookin’ for. Bet I know what you really want.”
Your breath catches, loud enough he wouldn’t miss it even with his busted phone. You weren’t prepared to be so affected by just the timbre of his voice. It’s fucked up the way he’s got you breathless for no damn good reason.
You can picture him in his bed. The trademark navy blue sheets. Is he fresh out of the shower? Damp hair and the overpowering scent of whatever 10 in 1 man soap was on sale at the grocery store—
“Okay. Enlighten me then. What do I want?” you finally reply.
“You want to hear it,” he continues, smooth and smug, radiating a cocky smirk right through the phone that makes your skin tingle. “You want to hear how you’ve got me hard, sittin’ here thinkin’ about you,” Joel growls, his voice thick with heat. “Thinkin’ about you wearing just my shirt.”
You bite down on your lip to stay quiet. Maybe he’s not in bed at all. Maybe he’s still out in his shop, locked in the office, a couple beers down before he dared to text you. His hair a mess from running his fingers through it, in those faded jeans that cling to him perfectly.
Either way, it seems almost cruel to stop him with a mouth like that.
“Thinking about what I’d do if you were here,” he carries on. “You look good in my shirt.” His voice drops even lower. “You’d let me push it up though, wouldn’t you? Just enough so I can see how wet you are for me.”
You can’t help pressing your thighs together at that thought. If he hears how turned on you are already, you’re definitely going to end up acting out his fantasy over the phone.
“Fuck.” he mutters, his voice breaking. “You’d let me take my time. Get my hands on those perfect tits again. Soak my fingers with that sweet pussy. Have you so worked up you’d be begging for my cock.”
He says it like it’s a fact, as if he could come over right now and you’d drag him straight to your bed—or no, like you’d be on him before he could shut the front door.
It’s so filthy, so confident. You’re so tempted to keep him going, but you pull yourself together. Biting back the whimper stuck in your throat.
“Well, damn, Joel,” you swallow down the urge to ask for more details. “Guess you’ve got me all figured out then,” you tease with a heavy dash of sarcasm in your tone.
“Not all of you,” he replies, with a suggestive edge. “Not yet.”
You let out a breath you were holding. “Look, you can’t just get your dick out on the phone, tell me how you wanna touch me, and get your way,” you manage, steady and a little sharp. “Not this time.”
“Not this time?” he echoes, half-laughing, clearly amused. “Alright. Sure. What do you want then?”
There’s a flicker of nervousness that tightens in your chest. You don’t want him to think you’re rejecting him, don’t want to risk losing the momentum of whatever this is. “I’m saying…I do want you. But, if you want more you’re going to have to do more. Show me you mean it. Like…a date.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and your heart skips as you imagine his reaction. He’s quiet, but you can hear his breathing—measured, like he’s weighing something.
“Shit. You’re serious?” he asks, and there’s a softness now, laced with just enough curiosity to make you think he’s intrigued.
“Dead serious,” you say, adding, “But if you’re not interested in me like that—”
“Oh, I’m interested.” The words come quick, a little sharper than you expect, and they make you beam. “Fine. A date,” he says, like he’s letting the word settle on his tongue. “Friday?”
“Friday.” You confirm and stretch your neck. Your muscles are tense. Shoulders tight. All from his filthy words getting you worked up in half a second and the anxiety of your demand. “Come up with something good,” you tease, your voice slipping into something sultrier, “and maybe we’ll both get what we want.”
There’s a low growl on the other end of the line, tinged with frustration and desire. It makes your pulse throb in your clit. You almost wish you had let him talk you through it before suggesting the date. Hear how worked up he’s been over you.
“Jesus,” he grumbles.
Oh, you would’ve turned into a mess and completely forgotten to bring it up. Now you’ve essentially cock blocked yourself until the end of the week. Ugh.
“You’re gonna drive me mad.” He says. But there’s no animosity in it. Instead, there’s something new in his voice that gives you butterflies.
“Yep.”
You’re the one who hangs up first before you can hear anything else that might tempt you to stray from your plan.
……..
It’s late morning when your phone buzzes on your desk the next day, interrupting your excellent cosplay of a ‘productive employee’. You glance at the screen and your heart trips when you see Joel’s name.
You answer, trying to sound casual despite the fluttery feeling in your chest. “Calling me during business hours, Mr. Miller? You’re going to get me in trouble.”
Joel snorts softly. “Think we both know you’re the one that likes causin’ trouble.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
His voice drops lower, quieter. “You need a reminder? Cause I’ve been replaying exactly how much trouble you caused in my kitchen…”
“Don’t.” You nearly hiss into the phone, trying to cut him off before he starts with any graphic retellings. You spin in your chair, grateful when you confirm Ellie has headphones on for once.
“Right.” His voice is back to a slightly less devastatingly erotic tone. “Wouldn’t want to get carried away while you’re at work.
“Well,” he drawls, the grin evident in his voice now. “You said you wanted a date, so I was thinking.”
You hum, leaning into the teasing tone. “If it’s a chain restaurant I’m canceling right now.”
“Do I seem like the kind of guy who’d take you to Applebee’s?”
“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” you quip, laughing at the soft groan he makes in response. “No Applebee’s, no Chili’s, and if you’re thinking about taking me to whatever the fanciest Italian place is in this town, don’t. I’m not going on a first date where you used to take your ex-wife for anniversary dinners.”
There’s a beat of silence, then a grumbled, “It was Valentine’s, actually.”
You cackle, delighted at your guess. He huffs. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re predictable,” you shoot back, grinning as you cross your legs under your desk. “Or maybe it’s just ‘cause nobody has been challenging you.”
“S’that what you are?” he asks, “A challenge?”
You shift in your chair, the grin on your face is going to make your cheeks burn if he keeps this up. You soften the teasing as you admit. “Maybe a little.”
“Mm,” he grunts, clearly not convinced.
“If you’re up for it,” you add. Nerves flutter in your stomach now. Maybe he doesn’t want a challenge at all. It’s not like you’ve been hard to get. The silence stretches just long enough to make you wonder if you’ve pushed too far.
His exasperated sigh crackles through the phone, but it’s laced with something warmer. “Yeah.” But then he exhales, soft and almost self-conscious. “Ain’t a bad thing.”
The words are simple, but they settle somewhere deep, curling warm in your chest. For a moment, the flirty defense falls, and you catch the subtle weight in his voice.
“You’re full of surprises, Joel,” you say finally, your tone gentle.
“Guess you’ll find out,” he murmurs, the words quiet like he’s not sure he’s meant to say them.
Your stomach flutters at the unexpected softness. You knew there was more to him than his bold mouth when his dick is hard or the stoic lone wolf look he wears in his garage. You weren’t expecting him to be…whatever this is now.
The line goes quiet again, his breathing soft on the other end. “Friday at seven,” he says after a moment, his voice steady but quieter than before. “There’s a brewery that Tommy suggested. I’ll pick you up.”
“That sounds nice,” you reply, smiling into the phone.
“Alright,” he mutters. There’s a brief pause, like he’s hesitating, before he says, “See you then.”
He hangs up before you can say anything else, and for a moment, you’re left staring at your phone like an idiot. A grin stuck on your face. Possibly permanently.
It’s not just the idea of the date. It’s the thought of Joel making a plan, asking for recommendations, and thinking of what you might like. You figured it’d be fun to give him a hard time and all, but you didn’t have real expectations.
The week stretches on and you’re not sure if it’s moving too fast or too slow. Having a crush is wicked enough, but having a date planned makes you feel slightly insane. It’s like you’re in a cartoon where the world is suddenly brighter and the birds sing just for you.
You find yourself constantly daydreaming at work. Every Creed song Ellie plays somehow sends you into a fugue state. Snippets of Joel’s voice replay in your head.
There’s something about the way he said, “Ain’t a bad thing,” that keeps sneaking up on you when you least expect it. It wasn’t even what he said—it was how he said it. Quiet, like he wasn’t used to admitting something like that out loud. It makes you smile like a fool every time you think about it.
The worst is the evenings. At home in your room. Nothing to distract you. Alone with his t-shirt. Re-reading your brief texts. Lingering wistfully over the dick pic he sent like it’s a letter from your long-distance lover. You’ve got to get it together.
And Joel? He’s just as distracted, though he’d never admit it. At least not to anyone but you.
At work, his usual rhythm is thrown completely out of whack. He catches himself staring at the same invoice three times before finally filing it away. Tommy catches him with his Breaking Benjamin t-shirt inside out.
You’re in his head and it’s driving him nuts. He tried to minimize it. Deciding it was just the impulsive way you crashed into his world. You spread like a wildfire in his mind. The kindness in you to deliver a homemade meal. The audaciousness you have to go after what you want.
He goes weak for a confident woman and you’re so sharp and quick with him. It’s a rush, but not just because of the sexual chemistry. Not just because you’re a novelty or a break in his routine.
It’s you. It’s the way you’ve got the passion and sharpness with your words, but you’re still soft on the edges. He thinks about the way your voice had dipped when you said, “If you’re up for it,” like you weren’t just teasing but testing something, seeing if he’d push you away.
He’s not used to this. Not the nerves, not the anticipation, and definitely not the way he’s spending too much time wondering what to wear on Friday. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he even dug through the back of his closet, holding up a button-down shirt Ellie had bought him last Christmas like it might bite him. He ends up tossing it back in favor of flannel—it’s still a step up from a faded band t-shirt.
By Thursday you’re nearly useless. You drive Ellie crazy all morning, spacing out and jumping when she asks you a question. To be respectful, you haven’t mentioned the date and she hasn’t asked. Would Joel have told her? Does she know you’re losing your mind over a man who probably has holes in his sweatpants? Are you equally as pathetic?
You’re still stuck on that thought when she kicks your chair, startling you back to reality. “Come on,” she demands. “We’re outta here and you’re coming to the Main Street with me. I’ll buy.”
Turns out you’re a cheap date. The dive bar has strong cocktails and a very limited menu of fried foods to choose from. You sit outside at a picnic table enjoying the warmth of the early summer evening.
Ellie is easy to get along with. Talking animatedly about her friends. Sharing the hot goss about Cheryl and her divorce. Trying to recruit you to join the company rec league kickball team. It’s all a welcome distraction even though you still have Joel on the brain.
You do your best not to bring him up but when she mentions him you know you perk up like a heart-eyed fool. Begrudgingly, but with sincerity, Ellie asks if the date is what’s got you so distracted.
“How did you know?”
“You’re both worse than teenagers.” She rolls her eyes. “Thought bringing you here might take your mind off it.”
You snap to attention at her choice of words. “Both?”
“Don’t.”
She’s a good friend. You did need the distraction. You’re still smiling about that thought as you check yourself out in the mirror in the bathroom at the bar. There’s a poster taped to the paper towel dispenser for the cover band that plays Saturday nights that catches your eye before you slip your phone out of your pocket.
You’d blame it on the drinks but the truth is only had one. You hover over the messages. Wondering if he’s really as nervous as you. Fuck it, you decide before sending what you’ve been wondering.
You: You been thinking about me?
His message comes through so fast it’s more revealing than the words he typed.
Joel: Maybe
Fuck, why does one word have you feeling giddy already?
Joel: Have you?
He asks shortly after. You wonder if he’s second guessing himself. Is Joel nervous?
You: A little
You figure you’ll give him the same treatment.
Joel: Haven’t been able to stop, if I’m honest baby
Heat floods your face as you stare at the screen, and his next message comes before you can respond.
Joel: Friday’s been feeling real far away
That has you shaking your head.
You: Patience is a virtue
He’s quick to respond again.
Joel: Never claimed to be a saintly man
That makes you genuinely laugh.
You: Good
……
By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve fully spiraled into a mess of anxiety and excitement. You’re not really the type to overthink a date, but there’s something about the whole scenario that feels different. It’s not just because Joel’s hot—hotter than he has any right to be—but he’s trying. For you. It’s disarming in a way you weren’t expecting.
You know that the worst-case scenario for the night isn’t bad. You know how to have a good time wherever you are and you are confident that he’s a horny bastard that will put out even if you actively try to sabotage the date. It’s that flickering sensation in your chest that hopes for more. That’s what makes you nervous.
You’re startled when Joel knocks at your front door. You check your reflection one last time before heading to the door. You figure it’s casual enough for a first date at a brewery.
Despite everything inside of you that screamed to put your tits on display again—you couldn’t resist wearing the Creed shirt. You tied it up in the front so it accentuates your figure and paired it with a faux leather skirt with a matching black lace set underneath.
It’s gotta be enough to play at the alt-rock vibe he’s still living in. You look good. Really good.
But when you open the door he isn’t the only one who’s world gets rocked. Joel stands in front of you like he was plucked from your fantasy. Freshly showered, his damp curls just starting to dry in soft waves. A plaid button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off those strong, tan forearms. His dark jeans are markedly not as worn down as the last pair you saw him in, yet the effect on you is just as dastardly.
It’s unfair, really, how good he looks. You’re left blinking as your mouth goes a little dry while you drink him in. Who’s idea was it to have a date? In public? Fuck. He shifts, a sly smile growing on his face as he rests his hip against the door jam.
“Hi,” you mumble, still ogling him.
“You look… real nice,” he says, voice so low and velvety it should be registered as a weapon.
You know you had a smart-ass remark about the shirt on the tip of your tongue, but it’s gone. Gone… along with your morals. All you’ve got left is the intense, primal desire to do something inappropriate with his arms? Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny gremlins like your idea despite having no logistics or master plan.
They seem to have no coherent plan of attack at all, to be honest. Bite! Lick! Suck! All you know is that you need him in your mouth until your jaw is sore.
Joel huffs softly. Amused that you seem speechless. “Didn’t think flannel was all that special baby, you alright?”
“It’s not the flannel,” you mutter under your breath, but you don't let him hear the rest of that thought: Arms! Arms! Arms!
You grab your bag and follow him out to the truck, stealing glances at him as he walks ahead of you. You can’t help it. He’s so…solid. Sturdy. Sure of himself. Even when he’s out of his comfort zone. It’s doing something sinful to you.
The inside of the truck smells faintly like a Black Ice air freshener, a Home Depot on a Sunday morning, and Armor All. The distinctly Joel aesthetic lives up to your imagination. It’s lived in. Comfortable.
There’s the catchall cupholder of change, receipts, and literal nuts and bolts. The caseless CDs in the storage divider strapped to the sun visor—you recognize a couple like Seether and Three Days Grace.
Before you can take in every detail though, you’re distracted by just the sight of him driving. It’s absurd, but why does he look this good just driving? Most people can manage to operate a vehicle, but most people don’t look as fuckable as Joel does, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. Hand! Thigh! Neck! Fingers!
You’re reduced to only being able to name anatomical features when you’re this close to him, apparently. Like an alien learning about a man for the first time. An extraterrestrial explorer propelled by the most curious desire to taste and touch every part of Joel—for research.
You’re so caught up that it takes a while to register the song that’s playing. Of course, it’s more Nickelback.
You're so much cooler
When you never pull it out
Cause you look so much cuter
With something in your mouth
It breaks the spell he has on you and you laugh, really laugh. Joel looks slightly horrified, having no idea what led to your outburst. When you’ve recovered enough, you let him in on it.
“Nice first date song. You really know how to set the mood.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t change the song, and you let yourself glance at him again as he drives. His profile glows in the evening sun, and you can’t help thinking how easy it would be to reach over and drag your hand down his chest, and make him pull over so you could climb into his lap. The thought has you pressing your thighs together, your pulse thrumming in your ears. At this rate you’re not going to make it through the night.
…..
The brewery is trendy. Joel hopes it’s something you like. He tries to focus on the menu, but feels like his brain is short-circuiting. It’s not the overpriced burgers or the craft beers with descriptors that don’t sound like flavors. It’s the way you're leaning forward on your elbows, chin resting in your hand, smile tugging at your lips.
The shirt is unfair. The way you’ve got it tied, hugging your body in ways that make his palms itch. Knowing you were touching yourself in the same shirt to the sound of his voice. He’s trying not to stare, trying to be polite, but it’s damn near impossible with you sitting across from him like that.
“How about this one?” you say, pointing to an option on the menu. “Probably the closest thing to what you’ve got stocked in the shop fridge.” He’d wonder how you knew what he had in the fridge, but his eyes are glued to your finger pointing at the menu and it’s consuming all of his thoughts.
You ramble on about a few other choices but he doesn’t hear the words. He’s still stuck on your hand. He swears he can still feel the ghost of your touch from the kitchen last week. Shit. His jeans are already feeling tighter than they should.
He clears his throat, trying to pull it together. “I’ll trust you.”
You smile wide at that. He’s so fucked. “You know a lot about fancy beer.” Yikes. “You got a favorite on here?” Get it together, he begs himself.
“Nah, I don’t really like beer,” you say casually. You give him a shrug and point out a cider you’re thinking about trying. His stomach twists.
“You don’t like beer,” he repeats. “But, you let me take you to a brewery?” His chest feels tight, and he shifts uncomfortably.
“They have food, too.” you counter.
“Right.” Why does he feel like he’s so out of his element? He’s been second-guessing everything about this date. He feels his gaze drifting as his eyes shift out of focus, his fingers toy with his bottom lip as he gets lost in his head.
He knows he can get you worked up just as bad as him over the phone, knows he can make you sing for him with just his fingers, but this? He doesn’t know what you want from him now. Is the date some kind of test? He knows he’s overthinking all of it.
“Hey.” Your voice brings him back, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I like that you planned something.”
It seems genuine. The way you look at him with bright eyes and a smirk like you’ve got something to tease him about on the tip of your tongue. “Now ask me a boring first date question,” you instruct with a nod like you’re giving him some kind of permission.
“What’s your favorite color?”
You snort laughing at him. If you’re half as nervous as him you don’t show it.
….
It works. Mostly. Your drinks arrive. The conversation flows more easily. He still gets tripped up here and there but doesn’t disappear on you again. He asks about your job, your family, about where you moved from, and you give him enough to keep things light but still playfully dodge some of his questions.
Every time he gets flustered, you catch yourself smiling, a little surprised at how much you’re enjoying this. It’s the way he watches you like he’s trying to figure you out. The way he tries. He seems to relax a little and for a moment, you think he might settle into the evening.
Then he reaches for his water, and it all goes sideways. The dangerously full glass wobbles, tilting just enough to spill halfway across the table. Joel jerks back, cursing dejectedly under his breath as he grabs a napkin to clean it up.
You can’t help it. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Just loud enough for him to hear. “Trying to get me wet already?”
His eyes snap to yours. You grin, adding, “Don’t worry, been dripping for you since you showed up at my front door.”
He makes a sound between a cough and a choke. Stunned. The faintest blush creeps up his neck, reaching all the way to his ears. For a second, he looks like he might say something, but all he manages to get out is a gruff, “Jesus.”
You lean back in your chair, grinning triumphantly. You didn’t expect him to get so rattled by your comment. Not with how vulgar he’s been on the phone or when he had his hand between your legs. It’s an ego boost to know you’ve got the upper hand at first.
“Relax,” you purr.
Then you catch the way he discreetly tries to adjust himself under the table. Clearly unable to relieve the pressure. Knowing the effect you have on him is more intoxicating than the alcohol. An idea strikes you. You know exactly how to get him to relax.
“Do you have cash?” you ask.
“What? Yeah.” He looks at you confused.
You nod like he proved a point by saying yes. That confuses him further, a deep line forming between his brows.
“‘Course you do. That’s like, Dad 101 ‘carry cash in case of emergency’.
You stand and grab your bag. “We’re not staying,” you say simply.
“What?” He frowns, sitting up straighter.
You flash him a smile. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on. You said you trust me.”
“To choose a beer,” he grumbles, dropping enough cash for a generous tip on the table before letting you lead. He doesn’t argue as you walk back to the truck, just trying to catch up with your words. He opens the passenger door for you, his hand brushing yours briefly as you climb into the truck. It’s a small thing, but the innocence makes your pulse skip all the same.
Once he’s in the driver’s seat, the tension between you shifts. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged. You glance at him, taking in the way his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he shifts.
The truck rumbles to life and another one of the horniest Nickelback songs plays—barely loud enough to recognize.
I’m loving what you wanna wear
I wonder what’s up under there
Wonder if I’ll ever have it under my tongue
You bite back another laugh as the vocals float through the cab, perfectly at odds with the vibe of the place you just left. Joel shifts, mouth twitching like he knows how ridiculous it is. “You wanna tell me where we’re headed?” he asks, voice cutting through your thoughts.
You tell him where to drive and settle back in your seat. Again your thoughts drift. Infatuated with his fingers curling and uncurling like he’s trying to distract himself. He hasn’t said much since you’ve left, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. Heavy and thick.
You catch his gaze flicker to you for the third time in as many minutes. His eyes trail over the curve of your thighs where your skirt has ridden up. It’s subtle, but enough to make you feel bold.
You smirk, pulling the visor down to check your reflection in the mirror. Fishing a lip gloss out from your bag, you swipe it over your lips, smoothing the edges with your fingertip. Joel doesn’t say anything, but you don’t miss the deep steadying breath that fills his lungs or the crack of his knuckles.
Satisfied with your lips, you tug lightly at the t-shirt, adjusting the knot, shifting the fabric to lay how you like and slipping a hand beneath it to adjust your tits in your lacy bra. You hear Joel exhale sharply, a low, throaty sound that makes heat curl low in your stomach.
“You okay?” you ask, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Your voice is softer now, more knowing, and when he doesn’t answer right away, you grin. “You seem tense.”
Joel mutters something under his breath. His jaw tightens. Finally, he glances at you, his eyes dark. “You keep doin’ that, and we’re gonna have a problem, baby.”
“Doing what?” you ask, your voice all innocence, though his threat gives you a prickly rush.
Joel huffs a laugh, low and rough. “You know damn well.” His voice dips, a rasp of heat that whips down your spine. “The lips and the shirt, just messin’ with me like you want me to lose my fuckin’ mind.”
Your grin widens as you meet his gaze. “And what if I do?”
“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice strained, his hand flexing against the wheel. “Trying to get me to crash into a ditch or something?”
The tension between you is unbearable now, the air thick and buzzing. Joel’s jaw is clenched tightly. You unabashedly linger on the way his hips press forward slightly like he’s trying to relieve the ache between his legs. It shouldn’t drive you fucking wild with need, but you’re gripped mind, pussy, and soul.
“Pull over,” you say suddenly, your tone steady.
Joel’s head snaps toward you, incredulous.
“Pull over,” you repeat, your voice softer now, more insistent. “Please.”
He hesitates for only a second before caving, steering the truck onto the shoulder. The tires crunch against the gravel as he shifts into park, the engine idling low as he turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, his breathing uneven, and the sight of him—wrecked and barely holding it together—makes you rabid.
“You’re gonna kill me,” his voice is rough and quiet. Infused with lust and awe.
“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning closer. “But you’ll enjoy it.”
Joel groans softly, his hand flying to your thigh, the heat of his palm searing against your skin. “Torturing me,” he mutters, his voice a low growl. “Sitting there lookin’ like that, knowing damn well what you’re doin’ to me.”
“Yeah?” you ask, your breath hitching as his fingers slide higher. “What am I doing to you, Joel?”
He exhales sharply, his grip on your thigh tightening. Why are his hands that big? Like, how are you supposed to know what they feel like and ever leave his grasp?
Your heart is pounding now, the heat in your veins making it hard to think straight. Joel’s voice drops lower, his hand sliding further up your thigh as he leans closer.
“Can’t stop thinkin’ about it,” he mutters, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “The way you’d taste, the way you’d sound, begging me to fuck you harder, deeper—”
“Joel,” you whisper, cutting him off. Your voice is shaky, your hands gripping his arm as you try to ground yourself. “Please.”
He groans again, the sound rough and desperate, and his hand moves higher, his fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanna hear.”
It makes you shudder. You feel him smile at your body's obvious responses, as his nose grazes your skin just below your ear.
“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs into your neck. “Been thinkin’ about you all damn week. Every time I close my eyes, it’s you.”
His words hit like a match to dry kindling, and your breath stutters as his fingers trace the seam of your panties.
“You know how hard it was to sit there at that table?” he mutters, his voice turning darker. “With you looking like this, wearing my clothes, teasin’ me.”
“We didn’t even make it to the actual dinner part,” you giggle as you trail off.
His fingers press more firmly, dragging slowly over the thin fabric, and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. Joel groans at the sound, his free hand gripping your thigh to hold you steady.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with heat. “You’re already soaked. Bet I could make you come like this, right here, without even tryin’.”
Your hips shift instinctively, grinding against his hand as he works you with deliberate precision. The friction is maddening, just enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to send you over. Every filthy word he says in your ear has you burning up.
“Jesus, you’re gonna sound so fuckin’ sweet for me,” he says, more to himself. “Can’t wait to bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name until your throat’s raw.”
“Joel,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your hand flying to his wrist as his fingers dip lower, brushing just beneath the edge of your panties. “Wait.”
He freezes instantly, his brow furrowing as he looks at you. “What’s wrong?”
You shake your head, your cheeks flushed, your body still trembling under his touch. “Not now,” you assert, your voice soft but steady. “Let me take care of you.”
Joel blinks, his pupils blown wide as your words sink in. His mouth parts to say something but the words disappear. You don’t let him argue.
Sliding your hand down to his belt, you undo it hastily, fingers working open the button of his jeans before he can protest. It’s for him. You want to do this for him. Help him relax so you can enjoy the rest of your date.
But, fuck, it’s also for you. You’ve been riding a high just from a shoddy dick pic and your muscle memory, but you’ve been patient long enough. You’ve got to see it in person and you need it in your mouth, asap. You deserve that much, right?
You slide down the zipper and fuss with the waistband until you get what you wanted. His breath catches as you free his cock. It’s heavy and hard against your palm. Radiating heat and weeping for you.
“Oh, fuck,” he starts, his voice breaking.
You hum softly, pleased, leaning in to kiss him as your hand strokes him slowly, deliberately. Joel groans against your mouth, his hips jerking slightly into your hand.
“You’ve been thinking about this,” you murmur against his lips. “All week.”
“Yeah,” he rasps, voice raw with want. “Can’t stop thinking about you. How you’d feel, how you’d look, how you’d sound.”
“Show me,” you whisper, lowering your head to taste for yourself. You like a hot stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, swirling your tongue around the head.
Joel’s breath stutters, his hand flying to the back of your head as he watches you. “You’re so fucking good, baby. Like a fucking dream.”
You hollow your cheeks, tongue gliding along his length as you take him into the heat of your mouth. You have to use your hands to work the rest of him, still slowly and deliberately. Every sound he makes, every twitch against your tongue, every flex of his core, and tightening of his fingers, it all drives you wild.
It has you moaning with need around him. Your cunt soaked and pulsing, begging for attention between your legs as you focus all on him. It’s just as much for you as it is for him.
His head tips back against the seat, a rumbling grown spilling from his lips as his hips shift beneath you.
“Shit.” he pants, voice cracking. “You’re gonna make come so fuckin’ hard. Bet you’d look so pretty with my come on your tongue.”
The sheer filth of his words spurs you on, your movements quickening as you savor every groan, curse, and sharp inhale from him. “Fuck—just like that.” He encourages you, adding firm pressure to the back of your head as his hips jerk and he loses control.
“You want it?” he asks desperately as you moan in affirmation. You’re voice is still vibrating through him as he starts to come, hot and heavy on your tongue. You don’t stop until his body goes slack beneath you, his chest heaving as you finally pull back.
He looks wrecked, mouth hanging open, sweat on his brow. You give him a devilish smile before opening your mouth to show him. He stares at you, eyes dark and hazy, before cupping your jaw in his palm as you swallow.
“Told you,” he huffs, “so fucking pretty with my come on your tongue.” A bright, satisfied smile spreads on your face at his praise. He pulls you in closer for a kiss. When you pull back a frown pulls at your mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Joel asks hurriedly.
“I didn’t get to see,” you muse. “Will you take a picture next time?”
“Fuck,” he looks at you with awe and pride. “Yeah, baby, of course.”
“Good,” you nod, readjusting and settling back into your seat. “You think you can relax a little now?” you ask, tone teasing.
Joel lets out a breathless laugh. He drags his hand down his face. “You’re unreal,” he mutters, voice still hoarse. The phrase makes you beam with pride. It’s the same remark he made over the phone last week…right before he said ‘got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager’.”
The gratification just from seeing him this wrecked is like a drug. He’s every bit as enticing and addicting as you hoped and feared. You squeeze your thighs together once more and take a deep breath. Committed to the rest of your idea for saving your first date with the divorced DILF of your dreams.
“Back on the road. We’ve got places to be.”
Joel blinks at you, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re serious?”
“Yep,” you smile lazily, tugging gently at his arm. “Drive.”
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about you being the death of him, but he shifts the truck into gear, his hand lingering on your thigh as he pulls back onto the road.
THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU ENJOYED OR HATED ANY OF IT <3
dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics
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#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#divorced dad rock dilf joel#creed!joel#pedro pascal character fanfic
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WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?
ex husband!leon x f!reader
word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | ko-fi
18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together — and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.
a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didn’t want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, i’ve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. it’s the only way i’m able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since i’ve started writing on here 7 months ago, i’ve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly don’t know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^
leon regrets everything he’s done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.
the divorce.
it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.
for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.
he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.
your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.
you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughter’s hair before ushering her inside.
he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.
you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.
“you okay?”
he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..”
he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. “when i was— last night, i thought… uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?”
”what?” you muse at his question. “leon, i really don’t wanna have this conversation with you again,”
he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.
leon’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky — anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.
"no, wait, hear me out,”
"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. “i just wanna talk.. to you.”
he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.
“i’m sorry, leon. i’m busy,”
he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. “c’mon, please?” he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. “i.. i know it isn’t what we do anymore but—“
“no, seriously. i literally can’t. i have something up.”
“oh.” he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? i’m sure we can..“
“leon.” it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. “i have a date.”
ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.
"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.
he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.
leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. “yeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.
you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing — it's all so confusing, so messy.
the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone — he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.
you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.
but it’s not really easy.
not when you’re sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.
your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.
‘hey, sorry i couldn’t make it. something important came up’ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.
a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.
now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.
you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like you’ve been doing it for hours till you’re startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.
it's a text from leon, of course it is. it’s another one of his ‘where are u? i miss u’ ‘can’t stop thinking about you. please let me c u’ meltdowns.
he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing he’s only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.
your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. ‘come over.’ you hesitate, then send the message.
by then, he’s already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.
click.
the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.
he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.
“leon—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.
“missed you s’ much, baby,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.
“let me make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic it’s comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.
his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.
he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.
you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.
once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.
the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.
he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.
“these ‘re pretty,” he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.
“leon!”
he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. “gonna buy you new ones,”
his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that you’re willing to give him.
he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.
god, it’s been so long. the feelings practically foreign.
his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.
“you still mine?” he huffs. “‘course you are, ‘m the only one that can get ya this wet,”
slurp, smack, suck, repeat.
his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.
“fuck, leon—” your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace that’ll make a grown woman go crazy. “d-denise, were gonna wake her up,”
a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. “don’t matter,” he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.
he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.
it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and you’re eating it up. “gonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "’m the only man who can make you feel this good,"
he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.
"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.
your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this — legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you don’t care to find out.
"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"
your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, please—“ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.
your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.
he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.
he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.
he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.
he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.
he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.
sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.
he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. “fuck, feels so good,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “can't believe i ever let you go.”
"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.
he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.
you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, i—" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.
he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.
“love you, love you, fuck—“
the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.
the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.
"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, should’ve tried harder, i... i‘m gonna make things right, i swear,"
he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.
he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.
and for a moment, you let yourself believe that he’ll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.
tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae
#— grey’s fics !#luvrgreyy#leon kennedy#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#leon#infinite darkness leon#yippie#leon scott kennedy#tw cheating#divorce#ex husband#angst#good stuff#idk what else to tag#they have a daughter#shes a girl#tw drinking#drunk texting#bittersweet ending
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I'm not bothered by the conversation so much as I am a growing approach to activism which makes it impossible to interact with other people. Which echoes a lot of that conversation I had with Ginger this week.
He refuses to have friends that are not faithful to Jesus. Like, he can have a productive conversation with a non-believer and nearly connect with them socially, but if he learns that they don't go to church or don't believe in christ, he finds it difficult to take them seriously because their words were not god-inspired.
Ginger was in a cult. I do not mean this colloquially- Xenos/Dwell is a prominent pseudo-christian cult in central Ohio that preys on college students in need of community. There are rules about who you can date, who you can hang with, they practice gay coversion therapy, and will tell you not to visit your family if they're not Christian.
There is a lot of focus on purity. Actions, thoughts, social groups- it's very controlling about what you can and cannot do.
So. When he goes out into the world with us sinners, it becomes difficult to interact with general society.
We were talking about Merve, one of our foremen, and I said: "the first time I was in a car with Merve, he introduced himself as a Democratic Catholic Pervert. And honestly- yeah that's a good summation."
Ginger didn't like that at all. "Well he's not a very good catholic with all that talk of pornography, he should be ashamed of himself- honestly shouldn't even call himself Christian."
Merve is very much a womanizer, but it's all talk. He's gross about it sometimes and it rubs me the wrong way, but in all fairness- he warned me. Outside of that, he's what I expected from a 60-something landscaper.
"Well, I think whether he's a good Christian or not is up to God, not us."
And he got a little pissy over that comment because I caught him judging.
He only hangs out with 'the faithful' at work, which consists of three guys who are religious in a similar way and it's caused a bit of a rift in the culture. It's gotten a little... preachy. It wasn't preachy before.
So I am making... parallels to this behavior and a particular strain of activism that's been affected by purity culture.
Nothing is ever good enough. If it touches racism, it's banned forever and you have to spread the word about how it's racist. Where doing things that are well-intended puts you in the spotlight for the underlying and actually bigoted reason you're doing a nice thing. And prevents you from doing the nice thing in the future.
Because yes you did a nice thing, but it wasn't enough- you could be doing more.
Yes you did a nice thing, but you did this nice thing instead of tackling this bigger issue.
Yes you did a nice thing, but it was through this program that you didn't know was funded somewhat unethically.
Yes you did a nice thing, but your motivation for doing it wasn't the goodness of your heart, it was motivated by guilt.
Yes you did a nice thing, but it took a horrible event to do it when you should have had the morals of goodness ingrained in you and you should have done this from the start.
Yes you did a nice thing, but you only did it when it started impacting your life and you should be thinking of others first.
Yes you did a nice thing but the nice thing doesn't align perfectly with my worldview.
The goalpost is forever moving backwards.
No one likes to be called 'racist.' It's a really easy weapon to use when something does something you don't like. If you look at anything closely enough, you will see it's racist roots. You could say the same for misogyny, homophobia. Our society is built on hatred and inequality. Untangling it and living a morally pure life free of ridicule is impossible.
Recognizing the roots of an action to be bigoted is the first step. The second step is knowing it when you see it. Step three is pointing it out.
But there are more steps.
Pointing it out, or calling it out, and chastising someone for ignoring or not knowing something actually isn't all that helpful. Because it leaves you to wonder- okay, now what? What can I do to remedy this situation?
Which is the next step- actionable items. Yes, I have done something wrong- I am sorry.
I am sorry. Now I will try to make it right.
I will try to make it right by donating, by volunteering time, by listening to the people who have been hurt and lifting their voices.
Part of healing from an oppressive Christian community is realizing that people are going to sin whether you like it or not. And barring harm to themselves and others, you're gonna have to let them.
If my tarot practice is derived from a 15th century racist, then it was derived for a 15th century racist. Refusing to participate in a past-time that helps me connect with my family doesn't make it not racist. It will still be racist. But I'm not sure who it's hurting in 2024 and I don't have a time machine and I'm not being given clear instructions for how to unracist it.
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