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#whew ok that's it
bastardmandennis · 6 months
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be my daddy
(joel miller x f!reader) | AO3 | masterlist
Summary: Joel meets you and Ellie while on a field trip with Sarah, and then you keep running into each other.
Word Count: 10.4k don't look at me.
Warnings: SMUT (18+ only pls!), no y/n, no outbreak! (playing fast and loose w the timeline/ages here shh), mostly plot some porn, fluff and a litte sadness, meet-cute, mentions of grief, ellie is reader's niece, good dad joel!!, slight miscommunication (🤭), phone sex, masturbation (m & f), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie! dirty talk, sliiight daddy kink, breeding kink (no actual babies here i promise). i think that's all, pls let me know if i missed anything!
A/N: dedicating this one to my faves! ty for looking this over @party-hearses @tinycozycomfort and @idolatrybarbie, and for listening to me whine about this forever! and thank you @tinygarbage for the inspo. sorry this took so long- enjoy!
Hell. This must be hell.
Or as close to it as Joel can think: crammed in a school bus with twenty wild, sticky, screechy kids as they rumble along the thirty minute drive to the zoo. The teacher had long ago given up on trying to get them to settle down, resting her head against the bumping window and pretending not to hear every time a kid called her name. He envied her. Anything for Sarah, he reminded himself.
She rarely asked him for anything, but when she’d come to him last week with the permission slip crumpled in her tiny hand, asking him to be the chaperone instead of Tommy or his mother, he’d said yes without thinking. Luckily he’d been able to move around some things at work–perks of being your own boss. He’d move heaven and hell for her–one little field trip was nothing, really, in the grand scheme of things.
A wad of paper hits the back of his head, damp with–shit, that better not be spit–and right when he’s about to turn around and yell at whoever threw it, Sarah slips her tiny hand into his and squeezes. He looks at her big brown eyes, so much like his own, and he settles back into the seat, giving her a smile and reaching around to poke her ribs until she’s screech-laughing. Soon she’ll be too old, too cool to have her dad around for things like this. He stops that thought almost as soon as it pops into his head, swallowing back the sudden lump in his throat.
After what feels like an eternity they finally pull up to the zoo, kids spilling out of the bus as the teacher tries helplessly to wrangle them into one big group. He sighs, then brings his fingers up to his mouth and lets out an ear-piercing wolf whistle. The effect is immediate–every kid stops in their place, staring up at him with wide eyes. One boy opens his mouth to say something, and Joel raises his hand up to stop him.
“Listen here,” he says firmly. “We’re gonna go into this zoo, and y’all are gonna behave. Got it? Means no rough housin’, no yellin’, and no touchin’. Now line up behind Ms. Jackson.”
It’s silent, gears turning in their tiny brains as they attempt to process his words, and then they just–listen. They’re the most well-behaved he’s seen all morning, lining up quickly behind the teacher with only a few shoves–progress. The boy he stopped from talking earlier whispers to Sarah your dad is so cool, and he pretends he doesn’t hear her proud little yeah, i know he is as they walk to the end of the line together.
The zoo is–well, it’s what he expected. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all. But Sarah loves it, dragging him with her to the front of the group, listening as she carefully reads the description in front of each display, tugging him down to help read the words she doesn’t quite know yet. They’re not even halfway through the day and she’s already asking when they can come back with uncle Tommy, he’d love to see the monkeys–the ones who’ve been flinging their poop against the walls of their enclosure, to the delight of all the kids and exasperation of the adults–they’d had to bribe them with ice cream just to get them away.
It’s a hot day, the midday sun beating down mercilessly as they make their way slowly through each exhibit, and he immediately regrets the flannel he’d worn. He shucks it off, tying it around his waist and pretending he doesn’t see the teacher watching him. She’s been less than subtle about ogling him during dropoff, pickups, school parties–Julie, he thinks her name is. Maybe Jessica? He doesn’t mind the attention, honestly. It’s been awhile since he’s even thought about trying to date, focused on getting through each day, getting Sarah through each day and making sure she’s happy, carrying the mental load of two parents in one. It’s why he’s been working long hours, the kind of grueling labor that leaves his body aching and sore every day, and when he picks Tommy up in the mornings he just shakes his head at him, tells him you’re getting old, man. And he feels old, most days. So screw him for wanting to have a little fun.
He’s just about to go over to Ms. Jackson and interrupt what is a surely riveting conversation with a group of Sarah’s classmates when he practically trips over a tiny body laying in the middle of the walkway.
“What the f–” He stops himself just in time, swallowing back the curse as he steps back to look at the body on the ground. It’s a little girl, probably about Sarah’s age, laying facedown on the hard gravel. He nudges the girl’s leg gently with his boot, and when she doesn’t move he squats down next to her, groaning as his knees crack.
He’s about to call out for help and then he hears it–a muffled voice rising up from the ground. 
“Can’t hear ya, gotta speak up. You alright?” 
The girl rolls over onto her back, eyes closed as she whispers, “I sa-id, were you gonna say what the fuck?” And then she breaks out into obnoxious laughter, so loud that a family shuffles away from them quickly, side-eyeing the two of them as if he’s responsible for this odd, vulgar child.
“’S not a nice word,” he gruffs, standing up with a groan and searching for anyone around, any kind of adult who’s supposed to be watching this kid. She ignores him, dust covering her sweatshirt and hair falling out of her ponytail as she continues rolling around on the pavement, laughing hysterically. More people are staring now, and he wished he’d just walked away to begin with–now if he does it he’ll look like an asshole. Just great.
He grits his teeth, feels his jaw click into place. “Where’s your parents?”
“Don’t have any,” she says, singsong-y, “Just me and my aunt and–”
“Ellie!” a woman’s voice calls, and the girl perks her head up as a frazzled looking woman runs over to the two of them. She’s wary, looking between them, at the girl–Ellie–laying on the ground, at Joel standing over her. He takes a step back, raising his hands up and attempting to smile. It comes out more like a grimace and she turns her attention to her niece on the ground.
“Come on Ellie, time to go,” the woman says, ignoring Ellie’s protests. He can’t stop staring at this woman, Ellie’s aunt, her pretty eyes, the flush inching up her cheeks. He quickly averts his eyes, not wanting to get caught staring like a creep, looking around for the actual kids he’s supposed to be watching.
“Thank you, uh…?”
“Joel,” he says quickly, sticking his hand out for a shake. She crosses her arms, ignoring his outstretched hand, and he lets it fall to his side.
“Well thanks, Joel,” she says, already distracted by Ellie running away from them to the next exhibit. “I’ll see you around, or whatever.” And she’s gone before he can say anything else.
He thinks about following after her, about getting her number, until Sarah runs up to him, taking his hand and practically dragging him over to see the penguins. It’s not until much later, long after they’re home from the zoo, as he’s tucking Sarah into bed with the stuffed penguin she had to have, that he realizes he never even got the woman’s name.
You turn around for one second, just to read one of the information plaques on display, and almost as soon as you turn back around you realize Ellie’s gone. You spin around, ignoring the huff of the woman next to you when you bump her stroller, eyes searching the crowd for her little ponytail. Don’t panic, don’t panic, she’s around here somewhere. 
You wind your way through the indoor exhibits, calling out for Ellie, cursing yourself for not bringing the little backpack leash–you’d assumed that at nine years old, she was old enough to know better than to run off without saying anything. Clearly not.
Right as you’re about to panic and find zoo security–is that even a thing?–you spot her bright yellow sweatshirt in the distance. She’s laying on the ground for some reason, in the middle of the walkway. Her social worker told you she tended to do that when she was feeling overwhelmed, needing to feel grounded (literally), but you’d never seen it firsthand. A man crouches next to her, brow furrowed as he listens to whatever she’s saying. You assume it’s one of the zoo workers, until he stands up and you get a good look at him.
And damn, he’s hot.
In the literal sense of the word–there’s sweat beading along his hairline, running down his neck to pool under his t-shirt, a worn flannel tied around his waist. He’s standing next to her, arms crossed over his broad chest and a deep frown pulling at his face. You want to smooth out the little divot between his brows. And then you realize you’ve been standing there too long, staring at this stranger as he talks to your niece. Who’s still laying on the ground.
Clearly no one’s running to give you any parenting awards.
You call her name and their heads snap up at the same time to look at you. A quick glance at Ellie reveals she’s fine, just dusty and a little scraped up from rolling on the gravel. You hide your sigh of annoyance, glancing at the man and back to Ellie when she still doesn’t move off the ground. You lock eyes and give her your best stare, trying to be authoritative (who are you kidding, right?), and when she stands up you grab her hand–a little too tightly, if the way she immediately squirms out of your grip is any indication. The man is still standing there, you realize, and you flush. He’s probably waiting for a thank you, for making sure nothing bad happened to Ellie because of your neglect.
“Thank you, um…”
“Joel,” he says, deep voice rumbling out. He really is beautiful, dark hair curling in the humidity, hints of grey in his beard. You cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed at the thought of this handsome man seeing you like this, looking like a mess. He probably thinks you’re some shitty parent, not watching Ellie like you should. Too late you realize his hand had been outstretched for you to shake–he drops it before you can say anything. 
Speaking of Ellie–you look up just in time to see her dart off before you can say anything. Shit. You thank the man–Joel, a nice name–and run after her. Later, when you’re home with a glass of wine after putting Ellie to bed extra early with threats of bringing the backpack leash next time, you realize you never told Joel your name.
The zoo incident, as Joel’s been thinking of it, hasn’t left his mind in the weeks since. His mind whirls over different options, different ways to try and find the woman from the zoo again. Maybe he could take Sarah back one weekend, and hope she was there again? No, that’s stupid, no one goes to the zoo more than once a year, let alone twice in one month. Not to mention that’d be kind of stalkerish. He keeps replaying the short interaction in the shower, on the way to work, as he goes through his night routine, wondering if the way her eyes lingered on him was just polite curiosity or something…more. He can’t think about that too long, feeling desire burn low in his stomach at the thought of her, the way she’d said his name, her long legs peeking out of the denim shorts, until he’s locking himself in his bathroom, turning the faucet on to hide his grunts as he fucks his own fist and comes embarrassingly quickly.
And when Sarah brings him another class volunteer form one night, this one for the upcoming Halloween party, he feels guilty enough that he signs up not just to bring cupcakes, but to help set up and take down everything at the end of the day. That should earn him enough good dad points for a little while, at least. She’s happier than he’s seen her in awhile, spending the entire car ride home discussing costume options with him.
“Y’think I’m dressing up?” he asks, trying to hide the smirk on his face. She huffs and he can’t hide his grin–she’s so easy to rile up sometimes.
“Dad,” she whines, pushing her bottom lip out in a pout. “It’s Halloween, ’course you gotta dress up. Aren’t we going trick or treating t’gether?”
He steps out of the truck, walking around slowly to open the door for her, hoisting her backpack up with a dramatic grunt as she giggles, running ahead of him into the house, all talk of trick-or-treating forgotten for now. It’s not that he’d forgotten about Halloween, or trick-or-treating, but he knows he’ll be working overtime that night, letting Tommy take her around the neighborhood as slowly as possible so he could rush back home just in time to meet them for the last few houses. It’s what they’d done last year, and the year before, and when he brought it up to Tommy, all he’d said was she’s not gettin’ any younger, you know. soon she won’t want either of us takin’ her out, crampin’ her style. but ’m fine with being the cool uncle, let you be the bad guy. He’d laughed it off, shoving Tommy’s shoulder and rolling his eyes, but he couldn’t help but think about it later. Was he doing his best for Sarah? Maybe she would’ve been better off with her mom–no. That kind of instability is no life for a child. It’s the whole reason he worked himself to the bone, taking as many extra shifts as he could while still making it home on time for bedtime as often as he could. So he could be there for her as much as possible.
The day before the party he leaves Sarah sleeping at home with a smug Tommy parked on his couch eating his snacks, drinking his beer. He finally makes it to the grocery store, mulling over the different cupcake options, hemming and hawing until he sees the perfect thing. There’s one big box of vanilla and chocolate left, thick swirls of orange and black icing on top with a plastic Halloween ring in each. Twenty-four, that should be enough–he can’t imagine that the teacher, or the parents, would want the kids having more than one cupcake anyway.
He’s not paying attention as the woman beside him says excuse me, sorry, and he steps back automatically, holding the cooler door open for her as he wonders what kind of costume he can throw together before tomorrow. The woman steps back, dragging her cart closer to deposit a box of cupcakes in it, and he lets the door drop from his hand with a loud slam that makes them both jump.
It’s her, the woman from the zoo. Holding his tray of cupcakes in her hand, the ones he was just about to grab.
He clears his throat and her eyes shoot to him. Recognition flashes in her face, then something like…guilt, maybe? It’s gone before he can think about it and then they’re both standing in the middle of the aisle, staring, not saying anything. He’s never felt this off, opens his mouth to say something but she beats him to it.
“Joel, right?” she asks with a wide smile. “Small world. What are you–”
“I’m, uh—actually, I was about to grab those,” he nods to the tray of neon frosted cupcakes, “for tomorrow. For Sarah’s party.” 
“Oh,” she says. They both turn to look at the display case at the same time–empty. The last tray of Halloween-specific cupcakes now sits in her cart next to a pack of orange paper plates and juice boxes. Fuck.
“It’s Ellie’s party tomorrow too, obviously. I don’t mean obviously like, duh, but you know. Last school day before Halloween, or whatever.” She doesn’t meet his eyes, fingers curling around the side of the cart. Her nails are painted light blue, chipping in the corners. 
He can’t stop staring–how is it possible she looks more beautiful now, at 9:30 on a random Thursday night in sweatpants and an oversized shirt than she did at the zoo? He catches himself, clearing his throat. Focus on what you came here for.
“Didn’t realize there was only one tray left,” he finally says. She pauses, and then the smile is back, more of a smirk this time.
“Well, Jo-el,” she teases. “Maybe don’t wait ‘til the last minute next time. You might have better luck at the one down the street.” And then she’s gone, pushing the cart away without even so much as a glance back.
He stands there a moment, processing, and then he’s running down the aisle, his own cart forgotten, over to the self-checkout line where she’s bagging up her groceries.
“Wait, what’s your–what’s your name?” he pants. Her eyes are wide as he gulps down air. Thank god the store is practically empty, only one annoyed looking clerk watching the scenario unfold with eagle eyes and a frown.
She tugs the receipt out of the machine, scribbling down her name and number carefully before folding it up and shoving it in his hand.
“It was nice to see you, Joel,” she says. “Good luck with the party.”
And then she’s gone and he’s left standing in the middle of the checkout lane, grinning like an idiot until the cashier asks if he’s okay. He trudges back to the bakery section, settling for a pack of plain purple frosted cupcakes. Purple can be a Halloween color, right? 
You don’t expect to hear from Joel after your late-night run in at the store. Of course when you’d seen him again, you looked like absolute shit, sprinting out of bed at the last minute when you remembered that Ellie’s party was the next day. This was her first week in her new school and a new classroom, and even if she didn’t directly say it you knew she was hoping to fit in, make some new friends. She’d been so nervous asking you about the party, crumpling the sign-up form in her sweaty hand with a mumbled you don’t have to, ’f you don’t wanna. You hadn’t seen her this nervous, this vulnerable, since the funeral, and without a second thought you’d signed the form, promising her you’d be there no matter what.
So there you are at almost 10pm on a Thursday night, scouring the grocery store frantically for something to contribute to the party. You figure no one could turn down cupcakes and juice, right?
And then you see Joel, and you’re about to say something, ask him how he’s been maybe, when he mentions that he’s getting ready for Sarah’s party. Who the hell is Sarah? His wife? A girlfriend? You glance at his hands–no ring, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe he’s a commitment-phobe. Yikes. Maybe he’s allergic to metal and can’t wear jewelry. Because let’s be honest, there’s no possible way a man like that is single. So you do what you do best when you’re uncomfortable–leave as quickly as possible with a half-hearted goodbye thrown over your shoulder.
You check out in a daze, the mind-numbing beep…beep…beep of the scanner practically lulling you to sleep. You’ve just put the cupcakes in the bag when Joel comes skidding around the corner, coming to a stop right in front of you, breathing heavily. And when he asks for your number you play it cool, scribbling it down and bolting out of the automatic doors, heart pounding. You definitely don’t stare at your phone all night, or the next morning, so jumpy that even Ellie notices that something is off.
She tugs on the oversized sheet covering her body, trying to line up the cut-out eye holes so she can see, and you take a sip of coffee to hide your smile. “You’re still coming to the party today, right? Cuz I told my teacher you were, but if you don’t want to that’s okay you know–”
“Ellie, Ellie, take a breath.” You take an exaggerated inhale, raising an eyebrow until she huffs and does the same, until you’re both slowly exhaling. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. Grab your sweater, we’re gonna be late.”
You can’t stop thinking about Joel. How his arms fill out every shirt he wears. The way his hair usually curls around his ears but it looked different at the store, pushed back and wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower or something. And that thought leads to imagining Joel in the shower, then you in the shower with Joel, rubbing soapy hands on each other’s bodies until–
This could be a problem.
You even stop at the phone store on your way to work, just to make sure your phone is working, that all your texts and calls are coming through like they’re supposed to. The guy gives you a weird look, turns it on and off and tells you yeah, it’s fine, then charges you $40 for the “maintenance fee.” A humbling experience, to say the least.
Who asks for someone's number and then just doesn’t call? He’s probably busy, you reason, as you pull into the school parking lot. No more thinking about Joel for the rest of the day, you tell yourself. You carefully juggle the tray of cupcakes and adjust the plastic tiara on your head, smooth out the too-short tutu–a last minute costume, but one that Ellie had insisted on, and her smile when you showed her the outfit last night was worth the potential embarrassment.
You shut the car door shut with your hip, shifting the bag of juice boxes back onto your shoulder as you make your way to the front door with the tray of cupcakes clenched in your hand. You’d been to the school once before, right after you learned Ellie was going to be staying with you permanently, had even met her new teacher, but the maze of hallways is just as confusing as the first time. The lady at the front desk is no help, shooing you down the hall as she cradles the phone between her ear and shoulder, typing furiously. Okay…
The walls are covered with artwork, and you stop to look at a couple of family trees made out of construction paper. Thank god Ellie missed that particular assignment. You swallow down the sudden lump in your throat and peer into one classroom that looks vaguely familiar. The door opens with a sudden squeak and you practically fall into the room, trying to keep your balance with everything in your hand. The tiny desks have been arranged into a loose semi circle around the room, topped with various spooky Halloween-themed coloring sheets and markers. A group of parents stand in one corner of the room, mostly moms and–one dad. Interesting. Of course, they all look like they stepped out of a fashion magazine–you tug your dress down and consider taking the crown off before they notice you. No one else is dressed up except the kids, all running around and hopped up on sugar.
“Cupcakes are here!” Ellie cries out to the class, running up to wrap herself around your legs in a big hug. You stumble back against the sudden pressure and Ellie’s teacher quickly comes around to take the cupcakes from you. She’s a nice lady, Mrs. Jordan? Johnson?, you can’t remember, but you happily take her assistance. 
Twenty kids swarm around you all chattering at the same time, to you, to their friends, to the teacher, whoever will listen. It’s overwhelming–your hands shake as you rip open the pack of paper plates, setting them out on a spare desk to try and make the hand-out process go as smoothly as possible. The moms are still huddled in the corner, eyeing your costume, the plastic tiara that’s threatening to slip off your head as you deal out cupcakes, leaning in close to whisper to each other. Your face burns and you want to sink through the floor, slip out quietly while their backs are turned, do anything rather than stand here and serve them as they shit-talk you.
“Need some help?” a voice behind you says.
A too-familiar, male, voice. God please don’t let it be–
It’s Joel, of course, because it feels like the universe absolutely hates you. He’s wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans, an empty tool belt slung low around his waist. Perched on his head is a pink cowboy hat, complete with glitter all along the sides. It should look ridiculous, but he wears it well, swaggering up to form an assembly line of cupcakes and napkins. If he notices your hands shaking when he passes you the juice boxes, he doesn’t say anything.
“Thanks,” you mutter. Busy yourself with arranging the already-stacked juice boxes, just so you don’t have to see the pity in his face.
“So this is where my cupcakes went. Could’ve been worse, I guess.” He’s grinning when you look up, dimple deepening the longer you stare at him.
“Hope Sarah wasn’t too disappointed,” you say, hoping the jealousy isn’t obvious in your voice. He passes you a cupcake and your hands touch as you arrange it on a paper plate. 
“Ask her yourself,” he says. He lifts an arm to wave someone over and you definitely don’t look at the little sliver of exposed skin that peeks above his jeans. You prepare yourself to meet the mysterious Sarah, no doubt beautiful and amazing and Joel’s.
Your mouth drops open as a little girl runs up to the two of you, throwing her arms around Joel as he chuckles. There’s a tiara in her curly hair and you can’t help but smile. His daughter, obviously–she’s got the same big brown eyes, the peek of the same dimple that you’ve seen on Joel’s face. She flashes you a big smile. Her front tooth is missing.
“Are you a princess, too?” she asks, pointing to the crown on your head. You step back and give a quick twirl, the tulle of your skirt puffing out as she giggles wildly.
“Sure looks like it,” you tell her. “Very nice to meet you, princess Sarah.”
She gives a curtsy of her own before she runs off to join her friends, all of them looking back and waving at you and Joel. He tips his cowboy hat to them and they screech with laughter.
You start gathering the trash from the table. “And what are you supposed to be?”
“Me?” He spreads his arms out, letting you get a good look at the stretch of his t-shirt across his shoulders, the pink hat settled on top of his ruffled hair. “A cowboy, duh.”
“What’s with the toolbelt?”
“Oh, that.” He looks down like he’d forgotten it was there. The weight of it pulls his jeans low on his hips, the black band of his underwear threatening to show when he shifts. “Forgot to take it off on my way here. Cowboys need tools too, right princess?” And he winks.
You’re not sure what to say to that, heat rising to your cheeks–is it warm in here or what? He looks like he wants to say something else, mouth snapping shut when a woman in a pantsuit sidles up next to him, squeezing in between you and forcing you to step back with a little huff. 
“Joely!” she says. Practically screeches, the way your ears are ringing. She completely ignores you. “I’m so glad you could make it today! We–me and the other PTO ladies, you know–we were just saying how it seems like you’re way too busy for us now.” She gives him a fake pout and squeezes his hand between hers. You roll your eyes and straighten the rest of the napkins out so you don’t have to watch her flirt obnoxiously with Joel right in front of you, acting like you’re not even there. 
He slips his hand out of her grasp with a polite chuckle. “Yes, ma’am, been busy. Never too busy for Sarah, though–she asked me to come today.”
“Oh that’s so cute,” she simpers, running her manicured hand up and down his arm. He shifts to look around her, to look at you, still standing there like an idiot cleaning up, pretending your’re not listening to their conversation.
“Janet, I don’t think you two’ve met. This is Ellie’s aunt.” She finally turns her sharp gaze to you, scanning you up and down without a word. You want to fidget, pull your stupid tutu right off, but the warm look Joel gives you fills you with a little bit of confidence as you mumble your name.
“Ellie’s…aunt,” she says, slowly, like she can’t wait to ask the usual follow-up questions. Why are you here? Where are her parents? You nod, give her a tight smile, refusing to elaborate. 
“She’s an interesting girl,” she says, a bright flash of teeth that turns into a smirk. You bristle and Joel, sensing an impending cat fight, reaches around her again to grab your hand.
“C’mon,” he murmurs. Just for you. “Let’s get out of here.” The woman, Janet, sputters and starts to say something else, probably to offer herself up on a silver platter to him, but Joel ignores her, keeping his eyes on you as he leads you out into the hallway, one hand on your back.
“You okay?” he asks. He hasn’t moved his hand. In fact, he seems closer to you than ever. Your breath hitches. If even this random lady can tell you’re not fit to be a parent, what does that say about you?
“I knew people were going to wonder, you know, why I’m here with Ellie. Where her parents are. I just…it caught me off guard, that’s all.” 
He’s quiet for a moment. “Didn’t want to ask, figured it’s none of my business. And if it’s not my business, it sure as hell ain’t theirs.” He jerks his head towards the classroom, where the head bitch of the PTO and her cronies are huddled together, no doubt whispering about the way Joel coming to your rescue.
“Is that right, Joely?” you tease, and he groans at the nickname. He scuffs a boot on the floor and rolls his eyes. 
“Let’s go, before they destroy that room even more.” 
You’re loading the leftover party goodies–plus two tired, over-sugared kids–into your respective cars when Joel turns and asks you out.
“Like…a date?” 
He smiles, slamming the back door closed. “Exactly like a date.”
You look at Ellie in the backseat of your car, her once-white ghost costume now covered in sticky frosting handprints and smears of chocolate, and then at Joel, who’s watching you expectantly.
“What about the kids?”
“What about them?” You roll your eyes and push his shoulder. His hand settles over yours, dragging you even closer, until you can count every tiny freckle on his face, each individual lash. He’s so pretty.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says. “We can get babysitters, go to the movies or somethin’. Haven’t seen a non-Disney movie in the past three years, figure I’m overdue.”
A night out would be nice–even before Ellie came to stay with you, you hadn’t had many opportunities to go out. And when Joel looks at you like that with those big puppy dog eyes, you want to say yes, but then you remember that he didn’t call like he was supposed to, after the grocery store. Insecurity flares up–what if he’s lying, what if he doesn’t want to see you again, what if it’s a trick?–and you do your best to shove those thoughts away quickly.
“I think we could do that.” He smiles, the kind that lights his whole face up and crinkles the corners of his eyes. “You actually gonna call me this time?”
He frowns and then his face lights up in realization. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, barely recognizable under the hundreds of tiny cracks shattering the screen. One corner of the screen is just completely blank when the rest of the screen lights up. Even through the shattered screen, you can tell that his background is a picture of Sarah in her soccer uniform, holding a soccer ball in one hand with a big smile.
“Dropped it at a job site,” he says. “Was gonna get it fixed this weekend, but I’ll go right now. Can I call you later tonight, for real this time?” 
A car horn blares behind you and you both jump. Ellie’s leaned over into the front seat, waving at you to hurry up. And then Sarah rolls her window down, asking Joel if they can please get Chinese for dinner tonight.
“The princesses are waiting,” he says, tipping his hat towards you with an exaggerated wink. He mouths call you later?, and then they’re gone with a light beep and a wave as they drive away.
You’re still smiling when you drive home, listening to Ellie chatter away in the backseat about how fun the party was, how nice Sarah and her friends are, and did you know that she doesn’t have a mom either, just like me? I think she’s my best friend now and that would be so cool, right? A weight is lifted, seeing how easily she’s fitting in at school, how well she seems to be adjusting to life here with you. Maybe you’ll both be okay.
You’re laying in bed with the tv low in the background later than night when your phone lights up with a call from Joel. You sit up quickly, clearing your throat and smoothing your hair as if he could see you, before you answer on the fourth ring. Not too desperate, right?
“Hey,” you say. Lean back and stare at the plaster-swirled ceiling, hoping he can’t hear the nervousness in your voice. “I guess you got your phone fixed?”
“I did.” God, he sounds so cool, voice a low rumble through the speaker. “Easy fix, so. Just wanted to say hi.”
You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand, watch as the numbers switch from 9:48 to 9:49. Too early for a booty call, right? Do adults even do that anymore?
“A late night call from Mr. Joel Miller, I feel honored.”
He laughs, a low chuckle that you want to record, hoard the sound in your brain forever. The sound of him shuffling fills the speaker and you freeze. Is he laying down in his room? Sitting on the couch? Shirtless, or in pajamas maybe? Your mouth goes dry picturing his long body spread out on the bed in only a pair of black boxers, whispering your name as he slicks a hand over his hard cock.  
He says your name again, a little louder and you flush with a little hmm? You yank your other hand out from under your shirt where it had been resting against your stomach, inching beneath the band of your shorts as he talked. 
“You okay?” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “Need me to come rescue you again?”
The laugh that bubbles out sounds weak even to you. Just his rough voice in your ear, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a familiar blanket, has a low simmer starting in your stomach. You shift, sheets crinkling, and he inhales sharply.
“And what if I want you to?”
The whoosh of his breath crackles through the speaker and then it’s quiet. You’re about to say something, maybe just kidding, not trying to be weird or anything, when his voice comes through, raspier than before, somehow even deeper.
“Let me tell you what I’d do if I was there with you. Are you wearing anything right now?” You nod and then give him a low mhm when you realize he can’t see you. “Good. Take your pants off, now.”
Heart pounding, you scrape the tiny shorts down your legs and kick them away, shoving the worn t-shirt up to bunch at your collarbones, warmth spreading throughout your body despite the cold air. Your nipples harden and as if sensing what you need, he says go ahead darlin’, touch ’em for me. Your fingers swirl around them, lightly, teasing like you imagine he’d do to you. It’s not nearly enough and you whine. His chuckle is low and slow, voice like caramel as it drips into your ear.
“Yeah that’s it, play with ’em. Can’t wait to get my mouth around them, fuck–bet they’re the prettiest little nipples I’d ever seen.” He pauses. “Defintiely not prettier than that pussy though. You wet for me?”
Since the moment you started talking, you want to tell him, and instead you say, “Yes, of course, all for you. Are you, um, are you hard yet?”
He groans, and you hear him fumble on the other end before he’s back, breathless. “Been thinkin’ about you all day, had to get off in the shower this morning and it still- it still wasn’t enough.” He spits, lets out a sigh of relief as you imagine he’s finally taken his hard cock out from his shorts, flushed and leaking from the lack of attention. You can picture it so clearly when you close your eyes, pinching a nipple and moving your hand lower, to the band of your underwear.
“Joel, can I–”
“Fuck, ’course you can,” he grunts. “Lemme hear you, pretty girl. Tell me how it feels.”
Your finger sneaks down, running through the slick there as you tease yourself, fluttering the tip before slowly sinking a finger in with a low whimper. It’s good but not enough–you wonder if one of his fingers would feel as good as two of yours.
“Not-not enough,” you whimper. “Wish you were here.”
“’S okay, baby, you can do it. Next time ’m gonna be there for you, touch you however you want me to. Wanna get my mouth on you, get that little pussy drooling for me, beggin’ for me to fill her up.” The slick sound of his hand moving over his cock fills the speaker and a whine gets caught in your throat, head spinning as you slide a second finger in, pumping steadily as he listens, telling you what a good girl you are, so fuckin’ pretty, make the prettiest sounds, gonna have you bouncin’ on me next time, you want that? It’s so much, so overwhelming–he’s not even there, physically, but it feels like he’s right next to you, whispering in your ear, coaxing you towards the edge as you rub your clit to the steady shlick shlick shlick of you fucking yourself and him stroking along. Your breathing shallows and he somehow hears it, the little hitch in your breath as you get close, breathing out his name lowly.
“Joel, please, please,” you whine, and he groans in your ear, sounding even closer than before, like he’d shoved the phone in between his shoulder and ear as he worked himself. 
“What do you need honey, tell me,” his voice a rasp in your ear, desperate. “Need me to come over there and fill you up? Gonna stuff you full of me, ’s that what you want?”
Your muscles tense, mind blanking until all you can think about is his voice in your ear, how rough his hands would be on your skin, and you come in between one breath and the next with a low noise and a rush of slick down your fingers. He’s still talking, voice slurred as he chases his own end, the rough slap of skin almost drowned out by his grunts, breathing faster as you tell him to come for you and–he does with a long, drawn out groan. The sudden silence afterwards is almost disorienting, both of you breathing heavily.
“I’m so glad you fixed your phone,” you finally say and you can hear the smile in his voice when he says yeah, me too.
The night of the big date finds Joel standing in front of the bathroom mirror, running a hand over his jaw, feeling the overgrown stubble there. Should he have shaved before? Is it too patchy, too grey? He feels so old all of a sudden, anxiety twisting his stomach like he’s some teen picking up his date for the prom. He barely recognizes the face looking back at him, so many new wrinkles and grey hairs, the crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes that crinkle as he watches Sarah sprint past the open door, screeching and laughing as Tommy follows quickly behind. There’s a loud slam from the living room and when he hollers what was that? they both yell back nothing! at the same time. He deserves a night out, he decides.
Tommy whistles when Joel walks in the living room, dodging the shoulder punch Joel throws at him with ease. “Don’t you look spiffy.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles, smoothing his wet hair back again. “Thanks for staying, by the way.”
Sarah pops up from the back of the couch, hair falling out of the two braids that Joel had carefully done for her that morning, after she promised that she’d keep them in and not mess them up. He hides his sigh as she runs over to hug him, tiny arms wrapping around him and squeezing hard. He pretends to fall, landing with a loud oof on the couch just to hear her laugh. She squirms out of his grip as he plants a smacking kiss to the side of her head.
“Daaad! Don’t you have to go?” she whines. “We’ll be okay, Tommy said we can order pizza after you leave.”
“Is that right?” He glares at Tommy, who shrugs and holds his hand out expectantly. Joel slaps a bill into his hand and finally glances at his watch. He’s gonna be late if he doesn’t leave right now, pressing another kiss to the top of Sarah’s head with a stern be good. They’re already back at it when he pulls the door closed behind him, arguing over who should be player one this time. Jesus–sometimes it’s like he has two children to worry about.
He navigates the streets carefully, not wanting to get there too early and seem too eager–even though he totally is. It’s been a few days since the late night call, and all he can think about is the little noises she’d made, the way his name sounded coming from her mouth. Heart pounding, he pulls up to the driveway of a cute little house, set a few streets away from the main road. There’s a neon green bike tossed haphazardly on the front lawn, covered in disturbing little alien stickers. There’s her car parked in the driveway. He pulls out his phone to send the I’m here text and decides it’d be better if he went to walk her out. 
The sun is just setting as he makes his way up the stone path to the front door. The porch step squeaks, just a little, and he pauses. Steps on it again, to make sure, listening to the wood groan under his heavy boot. That’s not right. His hand twitches towards a tool belt that’s not there and he huffs out a breath. There’s a rocking chair in the corner of the porch and a sad pot of wilted flowers next to the front door. He presses the doorbell, stepping back and–no answer. He presses it again, just in case, but once again no sound, no one coming to answer the door. He knocks, lightly at first and then more aggressive. And then he’s tackled to the side by something, stumbling back to try to keep his balance. A tiny figure is wrapped around one of his legs, clutching at the bottom of his jeans and growling lowly. 
“Ellie? What the–”
“Fuck,” she finishes gleefully, looking up at him with a crooked smile. She still hasn’t let go of his leg. “It’s you again.”
“It is me,” he agrees. “You gotta stop saying that though, ’s not a nice word. Where’s your aunt?” He knocks again, leaning against the doorframe to keep his balance.
“I think she’s still getting ready. Thought you were the babysitter. I don’t like babysitters, so I’m gonna sit her instead.” She growls again for emphasis. 
The front door flings open, startling both of them. And there she is, in a sweet little dress as she looks from him to Ellie and back again. She rubs a hand on her temple. 
“Ellie, can you please stay inside? Lucy should be here any second, I’m so sorry. Come in?” she tells Joel. He feels like an idiot, can’t think of anything except how beautiful she looks right now in the low light of the porch. Anxiety rises again in his stomach–what is she even doing with someone like him anyway?–but the smile she gives him, a shy little thing, puts him at ease immediately. He walks through the front door, dragging a giggling Ellie along with him, and puts all thoughts of nervousness out of his mind for the night.
“That dress looks good on you,” he says, lowly, when Ellie runs off to her room. She yells at him to stay put so she can show him the surprise–her favorite book of jokes, practically falling apart at the edges, dog-eared to the pages with her favorite ones.
You smooth the dress down. His eyes catch on the hem, the hint of bare skin there. His hair is pushed back and a little damp still–you want to smooth out the stray curl behind his ear, the way you wanted to all those weeks ago in the grocery store, but this time you can and you do, rubbing the tiny patch in his beard with your thumb.
“It’ll look better off, I think,” you say casually, just to feel the thumpthumpthump of his pulse under your hand.
Ellie comes skidding in the room before he can answer, already chattering a mile a minute as she tugs at his sleeve, directing him to sit on the couch and listen to her. He goes patiently, listening intently as she flips through to find her favorite joke (“Why did the bicycle fall over?” “I dunno, why?” “Because it was two tired, get it? Because it’s sleepy!”). You could watch them talk to each other all night, the patient way he sits back and waits for her to sound out the words, never trying to interrupt or rush her through her reading. 
Your phone beeps with a text, heart sinking as you see that your babysitter has decided to cancel last minute–something about a concert she’d gotten last minute tickets for. You must make a noise because Joel looks up immediately, brows furrowed.
“Babysitter just canceled,” you explain over Ellie’s cheering and whooping. “I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t have anyone else to watch her, it’s too last minute, should we–?”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He’s up in a flash, rubbing his hands over your arms, pulling back to tip your chin up to look at him. “We can always stay here, it’s no problem. Or if you want to try a different day…”
“I just,” you lower your voice in case Ellie is still listening. “I really wanted one night just for me. I know it sounds selfish–I love her, but I’m still trying to get used to it all, having someone depending on me 24/7.”
“Believe me,” he whispers. “If anyone gets that, it’s me. Don’t have to feel guilty for wanting to have fun sometimes. You’re not just a parent–you can still a person, you know?” He holds out his arms and you burrow deeper, pressing your face into his chest, letting the steady rumble of his breathing settle you both. His phone makes a noise, vibrating against your leg from his pocket and he sighs, pulling back just enough to dig it out. His arm brushes your thigh and the little noise you make has him pausing. His eyes are dark when you meet his gaze. 
“Got an idea,” he says. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
He pulls you back in for a slow kiss, the kind that leaves you dizzy when you pull back. “Hey Ellie,” he calls, voice rough. “Do you want to go see Sarah?”
She skids around the corner before he’s even done speaking. “Can I, please please please? We’ll be good, promise, best behavior, pleeeease?”
“Go get your jacket.” She turns around to say something and you stop her. “Leave the hammer at home, you don’t need it.” She pouts and nods–you remind yourself to check her bag before she gets out of the car.
Joel is by the door fiddling with his keys while you get ready, looking at the pictures hung up in the hallway. He pauses on one of your favorites, Ellie with her parents a few years ago, and when he notices you standing there he smiles. 
He looks thoughtfully at the backpack leash hanging from the keyhook. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“We don’t.”
It’s a little nervewracking to drop Ellie off at Joel’s house, to watch as his brother come to the door with a wave as she barrels out of the car towards the door. Sarah peeks out from behind his legs and lets out a happy scream when she sees it’s Ellie, pulling her in the door as Tommy waves you off. You wave back and swallow the guilt that’s building as Joel pulls away. His other hand rests on the center console and you grab it, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes once.
“They’ll be okay,” he says, like he can read your mind. “You hungry? I know we missed the movie but we could go at a later time, or just skip it and go to get food. Up to you.” 
He looks so nervous, a light flush starting under the collar of his shirt, his other hand reaching up to scratch at his beard when you roll to a stop. He’s so pretty in the red glow of the traffic light–you can’t stop looking at him. His eyebrow quirks when you don’t answer him right away, turning to face you fully. The nervousness fades away completely when you look at his hand on top of yours, so warm and solid and big, and imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been interrupted earlier, if he’d fuck you with his big fingers if you asked nicely.
“Can we go home?”
“Home?” He sounds disappointed, a little confused, until you reach over and push your hand high up on his thigh, brushing the bulge there lightly. “Oh, home. Yeah, let me–yeah, fuck, of course.”
It’s a ten minute drive back to your house–he makes it there in five.
Seeing him here in your room feels surreal, like some kind of dream. He looks out of place here on your flower-print sheets, watching as you pull your dress off, leaving you in just your underwear. You want to pinch yourself, make sure this is real, but then his rough c’mere baby has you crawling over to settle on top of him, the rough denim of his jeans scratching at the inside of your thighs. 
His kiss is rough, a little desperate as he brings a hand up to cup the back of your head and bring you closer. It’s intoxicating and you tug at his shirt, off, off, a little whine caught in your throat when he doesn’t move right away, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck when you lean back. He sucks a mark right on your collarbone, pulling back to look at it.
“Gonna mark you up, make you mine,” he whispers. “You want that? Walk around ’n let everyone know you’re mine, baby?”
You nod, head spinning as he lifts his shirt up from the back, yanking it over his head and throwing it off to the side. It ruffles his hair even more, all wild fluffy curls. He’s so warm, practically burning underneath you as you explore his bare chest with your hands, the sparse hair tickling your palms as you make your way down down down towards the button of his jeans.
“Please take these off, need you to- to fuck me.” 
He flips you over before you finish speaking, hovering over you as you lay flat on the bed. He sits back, pulling you to the edge of the bed as you squeak and then he’s getting up, kneeling on the floor in front of you, holding your legs open with his broad shoulders. He looks up at you as he runs a hand along the band of your underwear, smiling when you push up into his touch, silently asking for more. 
“Let me taste you first, honey,” he coos. “Been thinkin’ about it since the other day–no, before that. First time I saw you at the zoo, you remember that? Thought about asking you to meet me in the bathroom right there, see if you were wet under those tiny shorts you were wearing, all wet for me.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, ducking his head to lick a stripe up your inner thigh and again in the crease there as he slowly–too slowly, what a tease–rolls your underwear down, murmuring good girl, so good for me when you lift your hips and let him pull them off. And then he’s just looking at you, bare and exposed, thumb pulling you open to look at the slick gathered there. Just for you, you tell him and he nods, letting his thumb barely graze your hole but you jolt anyway, so keyed up from the simple touch as he hums, it’s okay baby, you’re okay, i got you. He brings the same thumb up, a quick little swipe on your clit that takes your breath away, clenching around nothing as he watches greedily. He grips your hips in his hand, ordering you to stay put as he lowers himself back down, letting his warm breath fan over you until you’re squirming in his grasp.
“None of that,” Joel says, pressing you harder into the mattress. You can feel the bruises beginning to form there and you like it, the idea of a physical marker of him on you even after you’re done. “Be a good girl for daddy.”
He licks into you slowly with the flat of his tongue, pointing it to catch the edge of your clit on the way up, flicking over and over again as you pant and whine, more daddy please, need you, until he shushes you. One of his thick fingers circles your hole slowly, lightly, the barely-there touch driving you crazy. You reach a hand down to pull his hair, trying to get him to move and do something, anything.
“Touch me, touch me, c’mon,” you pant, too worked up to say anything else and he smiles, a quick press of teeth against your skin that makes your breath catch.
“I am touching you,” he says. He drags a finger up through your dripping folds, ignoring the tilt of your hips up as you try to get more contact. 
“Not fun–ah shit oh shit.” He presses two fingers in without warning, slowly, watching your face as the discomfort quickly turns to more more more. They’re so much bigger than yours, crooking just right to press along the sensitive spot that you can never reach alone. You clench around him, back arching as he rubs the pads of his fingers against the spot slowly, fucking his fingers in and out at a steady pace until you’re dripping all over them, slick running all down his wrist and pooling beneath you on the bed.
It’s so good, he’s so good, whispering in your ear the whole time–you’re such a good girl, letting me touch you, knew you’d have the prettiest pussy–so wet for me, gonna let me fuck you open, honey, can you be good and come for me now? Your breathing stops and when he thumbs your clit again that’s enough to send you over the edge, legs trying to clamp around his shoulders as he fucks you through it until you whine and he pulls away. You’re so empty, so vulnerable and exposed and raw and he lets you pull him up on top of you, licking the taste of you out of his mouth as he groans. His hand is wet when he grabs your jaw, slick smearing on the side of your face as he looks at you.
“Open your mouth,” Joel says and you do without hesitation, sticking your tongue out for his approval. He grunts, watching a string of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. “Swallow it.” And you do, letting out a little mmph when he crashes his mouth back onto yours, stealing the breath from your lungs.
“Fuck me,” he breathes. “Dirty fuckin’ girl. You want me to fuck you now, pretty girl?”
You nod, yes yes please fuck me, and he reaches a hand down, tweaking your nipple between his damp fingers. “Words, baby, use your words.”
“Need you to fuck me daddy, want you to fill me up, p-please.” His thumb swipes over your nipple again as he soothes you, okay baby, okay, gonna fuck you now, ’s okay. He leans back, shucking his briefs down quickly before he’s hovering over you again, letting his cock rub against you, smearing your thigh with precome as you both groan. He’s as worked up and needy as you feel, shoving his hand between your bodies, the one with your come still clinging to his fingers, and wraps a hand around himself, so close you can feel the brush of the back of his hand against your clit. He slides his cock through your folds, letting the slick coat him, both of you gasping when the tip catches on your swollen clit. You hook an ankle around his back, trying to pull him even closer, and finally he stops teasing, pushing into you so so slowly, holding your breath as he fills you so deeply, your sigh rolling into a moan when he bottoms out. He holds himself there, not moving as you adjust to him–so fucking big–sucking a twin mark above your collarbone as he waits. And when you flex your foot, push it into his ass as you lift your hips up he grunts, fucking in a little at a time, more and more. The slapslapslap of your bodies is loud, almost completely drowned out by your panting.
“You see that? Look, honey, look how you’re taking daddy so well, such a good girl for me.” Your eyes fly open when he snaps his hips harder into you, grinding deep until you’re practically wailing. “Keep your eyes open baby, wanna see you when you–fuck, when you come for me.” 
It’s overwhelming, right at the point of being too much and he notices, rolling your clit gently between his fingers, whispering praise in your ear as he slows his thrusts. When you come it’s a relief, tensing under him as he talks you through it–thaaat’s it, so good for me, daddy’s good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl- gonna let me fill you up, give my baby a baby? bet you’d look so pretty knocked up with my baby, all full of me. let everyone know you’re mine. All you can do is chant his name over and over as he fucks you harder, the squelch echoing in your tiny room, and he finally comes when you say please daddy, fill me up, make me yours, give me a baby please please please–the stutter-fuck of his hips pressing deep into you, giving you all of his come, making sure none of it escapes when he finally pulls out and flops on his back next to you.
“Holy shit,” you say and he snorts.
“You think?” He groans, running his hand through his sweaty hair. “You good with all the…you know. Baby stuff?”
His face is red when you run a hand over his cheek, trying to hide the smile on your face. “Yes daddy, it’s fine. I needed that more than I thought.”
He presses a kiss to your scrunched up nose. “Any time. You don’t really want a–right?”
“Hell no.”
Two hours later, you go to pick up Ellie from Joel’s house. Tommy’s grin is wide when you walk in with Joel, both flushed and rumpled. 
“Looks like y’all had fun,” he says. “Girls are sleeping now. That Ellie, man…” you hold your breath, waiting for the inevitable ellie bit someone, ellie threw a shoe again, ellie ran outside to lay in the middle of the road that was sure to come. “...she’s a sweet kid. They had a lot of fun together.”
Your breath whooshes and you thank Tommy again, walking upstairs into what looks like Sarah’s room. At first you don’t see them in the dark, the blue light of the DVD menu flashing on the tv casting an eerie glow over the room. You almost step on them, sprawled out on the carpet, breathing deeply in the way that only small children can, completely oblivious to the world around them. In between them is Ellie’s joke book, propped opened to her favorite page–how did the telephone propose to his girlfriend? he gave her a ring!
And when she whispers your name as you tuck her into bed later, says ’m glad i get to stay here with you, i love you–you can’t help but think the two of you will be alright.
--
thank you for reading! ✨
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lavender-rroses · 4 months
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// jrwi riptide + apotheosis spoilers
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low quality anatomically questionable doodles
my stress relief before school 😞
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I simultaneously want to live a lifestyle where I can regularly afford to EXTRAVAGANTLY tip service workers, whilst also living in a world where topping culture is not normal or necessary because minimum wage laws do their damn jobs and actually allow all workers to comfortably support their selves & families without relying on the arbitrary "generosity" of entitled customers
#not a shitpost#anyway tipping is not the norm in many countries bc employers are held to a higher accountability re: liveable wages#and in the U.S. specifically tipping as a cultural norm is DIRECTLY descended from post-civil-war racism#I highly recommend googling that shit bc there are MUCH better sources than my dumb little blog#but basically i believe it arose in industries that employed (exploited) a large newly unenslaved black workforce#by offering service jobs that paid unethically low wages (to post-emancipation black americans with VERY few options/resources)#with the excuse that 'tips' would 'reward' good performance and make up the wage difference to 'deserving' workers#while actually it was a control tactic that enabled racist white customers to financially abuse underpaid black employees#keeping in mind that many white americans at this point resented the new legal right of former slaves to earn money and hold jobs at all#ANYWAY I'm rambling and I don't have a list of sources that's just a summary of stuff I remember reading#I apologize for any accidental misinformation this is why i normally stick to dumb clown biology horror posts#(the nose is the fruiting fungal body. honk it thrice to Release The Spores)#...no wait wait wait i thought i was done BUT:#it's no coincidence that tipping culture has continued predominantly in industries more likely to employ women and people of color#and people without access to higher education. because TIPPING IS FUNDAMENTALLY A FORM OF FINANCIAL ABUSE MEANT TO ENFORCE SOCIAL HIERARCHY#ok whew i think im done#oh P.S. LEAVE A FUCKING TIP for people who provide you services in industries where tipping is (unfortimatrly) standard#Yes even if they do a crap job. TIPS AREN'T A 'BONUS' for 'good performance' they're literally something exploited workers need to SURVIVE#you should be able to screw up occasionally at work without being terrified of being able to pay this month's bills#Humans are human. Which means we are DEEPLY FLAWED and IMMINENTLY DESERVING OF DIGNITY AND COMPASSION.#There i did it i summarized my personal core theology nobody asked for. and in entirely too wordy a process okay i am going to BED
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deplorablewoman · 3 months
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Beloved
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useragarfield · 1 year
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I know what it looks like when you’re in love with someone.
BILLY DUNNE & DAISY JONES Daisy Jones & the Six | “Looks Like We Made It” 1.08 (2023)
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minotaurust · 7 months
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minotaur tattoo call that a minotattoo
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endless thanks to @dog-teeth for the kickass art; i couldn’t be happier
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cordiallyfuturedwight · 8 months
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🤍 favorite kim seokjin looks by @namjoohyuk (cr. 0613data)
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cloverjelly · 2 months
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drawing life series members based on the songs in my playlist - full edition!
this was super fun and its rly cool to see how my art style/designs progressed thru these drawings
ok im gonna go not post here for another million years
links to the individual posts (under the read more):
1 - etho
2 - grian
3 - scott
4 - impulse
5 - tango
6 - scar
7 - jimmy
8 - martyn
9 - pearl
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comraderoscoes · 10 months
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the way i wouldn’t give a shit about this verstappen era had it not started with a hate campaign that incited racism against lewis and inevitably robbed him of a championship lmao. like no one can be on top forever and things change that is sport but why HIM LOOL. why THEM. why the racist corpse of helmut marko and a fucking cocaine fuelled tory behind him being the worst possible competitors known to man and egging him on even tho he doesn’t need any help to be awful
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roychewtoy · 1 year
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WAYSTAR CROSSING
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chronophobica · 7 months
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part two of this
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koroart · 1 year
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“—For however long it lasted…they were happy.” 💚💜
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khytal · 2 years
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more sprite swaps!!
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acetier · 2 years
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The fate of Hyrule rests with you.
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mastersoftheair · 2 months
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Four More Days!
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gurenmonster · 23 days
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Rewatched this video...
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