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macfrog · 9 months

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ride it, cowgirl cowboy like me chapter ten

hey dudes. anyone up for some dbf? i seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the love y'all show this series. blows my mind every time. i have been super excited for this chapter for a WHILE. might be my fave so far. who knows. you can grab chapters 1-9 on my masterlist and also my ao3 if ur feeling fancy. love u all sm!!!!!! ✨💘💫

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader isn't an astrology girlie (sorry), more pining beCAUSE, alcohol consumption + a mention of the devil’s lettuce, very quick bit of unwanted touching, even quicker bit of protective joel, soft!joel, softdom!joel, one tiny mention of daddy, protected piv sex this time (feeling conservative slutty max will return), reader rides him into the sunset, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand. His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper. “There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

You never believed much in the power of the universe. Astrology, moons, manifestation. Whatever. None of it ever really meant much to you. You knew your star sign, knew which cool little symbol resembled you, and that was about it. Everything past that was…confusing and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

However.

If the universe were to send you a sign, one huge, fluorescent, multi-colored, in-your-face sign, that it was on your side…this weekend might just be it.

Your dad’s downstairs, finishing up packing for his work trip. His departure is imminent. Sarah’s been in Nashville since last night. A series of texts she sent you at 3AM riddled with spelling errors and heart emojis tell you she’s been having a pretty good time so far.

You are Joel are…alone. All by yourselves. For a whole…twenty hours.

Can’t have it all, I guess.

Your eyes skim down the texts you sent him this morning, texts he is yet to reply to.

You: Merry Christmas!!!

You took his non-reply for confusion – he is almost fifty, maybe he doesn’t get the joke? It’s a pretty lame joke, anyways. Very lame. If your thumb hovers over the send button before you press it, it’s probably not that great a joke. And your thumb had most definitely hovered. So, you’d followed it up.

You: As in, today’s the day

You: I don’t mean it’s actually Christmas

You: I mean like, happy ‘we’re finally gonna be alone again’ day

You: Never mind

“Hello?” Anna’s voice cuts through your train of thought. “Are you even listening to me?”

You drop your phone, shaking your head clear of Joel. “Yep. Sorry. Just didn’t catch that last part. You froze.”

The image of her on your – pretty fucking dusty – laptop screen rolls its eyes, knowing you’re lying. “I don’t know whether to go with the pink or the black boots,” she says.

“Ain’t your dress yellow?”

Her head falls into her hands. She throws herself down onto her bed and slides her laptop closer. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I’m goin’ with the pink strappy one now.”

“Pink does say rodeo.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps through a giggle. “Remind me what you’re wearin’, again.”

“Black hat, black boots, black dress.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Thanks. Really looking forward to our night out.”

Anna snorts and then stands back up, strides over to her closet and resumes rummaging. “Black jacket, too?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uhuh,” you reply, glancing back down to your phone. “Although – it has rhinestones. And tassels. Not so boring after all, huh?”

Anna’s silence drags your eyes from the text thread back to your laptop screen. She’s frozen in place, twisted around with a dress in her hands, jaw on the floor. “Show it to me. Now.”

“Hold on,” you roll over and off your bed, your shoulder stiff from the position you’d been lying in, “I think I left it downstairs.”

“Tell your dad I say hey!”

You pad down the carpeted stairs in your socks, toward the sunlit hallway.

“Dad, have you seen my– Oh, fuck.”

As you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder to the front door, your chest knocks into something hard. Steady. Strong.

Something you recognize the feel of before you’ve given him a proper look.

“Mind your step, baby,” Joel says, and your heart leaps.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” you whisper, peering around his body to look for your dad.

“He’s out front,” Joel tells you, then takes your shoulder and reels you in against his chest. “’m just here to help ‘im with his GPS.”

He plants a kiss on the top of your head and gives you a squeeze. Your head rests safely on his chest, arms link at his back. If you didn’t have plans tonight, and if your dad wasn’t, like, ten feet from you guys right now, you’d never let him go. Just follow him around, vice grip around his waist, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

Not that that means anything. You’d do other stuff, too. You’re not…you know.

Your dad’s voice streams in through the open door and Joel releases you.

“It ain’t for workin’, Joel, I’m about to throw it at the f– Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. What’s the matter with your GPS?”

You lean in to the tiny device in his hands. Joel’s elbow comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“Just won’t connect to the car. Every time I plug it in, it just…” He lifts his hands, screen loose in his fingers, and hands you a bewildered look.

You look at him, expressionless. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I paid almost a hundred bucks for this thing, and I’ll be damned if I’m– Alright,” he stops himself, eyes shutting in exasperation, “I already explained this to him. I ain’t justifyin’ myself to the two of you.”

Joel’s laughing behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose when your dad stalks off to the kitchen and throws the device down, snatching the instructions off the table.

The pair of you follow, both still trying to swallow your laughter. Joel wanders around the table and sits down beside your dad, fumbling with the screen. You dive into the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and fish out your bejeweled, tasseled jacket.

“You lookin’ forward to your girls’ night?” Joel asks, eyes flitting up and down the leather jacket in your hands.

“Mhm,” you reply, opening your mouth to continue when your dad butts in.

“S’posed to be a girls’ night, but that boy Sam’s crashin’ it, ain’t he?”

“Well, we asked him.” You shrug. “It’s his night off.”

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head to Joel, who looks up to you with a confused expression. “’s the big deal with that?”

“Oh, wise up, Miller. He’s only goin’ ‘cause of…” He wags a finger in your direction, and a smirk peels across Joel’s lips.

“Is he, now?”

“Uhuh,” your dad replies, intense stare still on the instructions in front of him. “Makes no damn sense. I plugged it in using the cable they gave me in the box. Stupid thing…”

You shake your head to Joel, who’s still looking at you, bemused. He knows you and Sam are just friends. Also knows your dad is the most oblivious theorist to walk the planet. Just aiming his gun at the wrong target, is all.

“I’m gonna let you two get back to…that,” you say, turning to head back upstairs. “Anna says hi, by the way.”

Your dad’s eyebrows rise once, his eyes never lifting from his GPS. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hey, Anna,” Joel echoes, smirk on his lips.

“Not to you,” you throw back, hopping up the first step. You hear his chuckle as you disappear.

----------

Anna’s reaction to your jacket in person matches that over Facetime: a deafening squeal. A squeal which she repeats almost every damn time she sees you throughout the night.

“So – fucking – cute!” she exclaims for the fifth time, fingers dancing through the tassels. “And it goes so well with your hat.”

You sip on your cocktail, nodding enthusiastically, pushing your eyebrows up underneath the brim of the black cowgirl hat on your head. Trying to match her energy. Your mind’s elsewhere.

Joel texted you a few hours ago. Told you to have a good night, said something about Sam, but you were stood right next to the dude, so you quickly locked your phone and slipped it back into your clutch.

Now, standing with your back against the wall of Franks, watching Sam play pool with Eve, you feel safe enough to read over the message.

Joel: Have fun baby. Be safe. Tell Sam good luck from me.

You squint at the screen, pulling it away from your face and leaning back in to read it over. Good luck? The fuck does he mean –

You: Good luck??

He replies almost instantly.

Joel: Yeah. Good luck winning you over. Took me, what, a week?

Oh, fuck off. You roll your eyes and throw your phone facedown onto the table where Anna and Kara sit, about twenty minutes deep into a conversation you missed the beginning of.

Your attention turns to the room before you – brick-walled, metal dome lightshades hanging over each pool table. Glass-paneled door to your left leading back through to the main bar. For being a tiny bar on a backstreet, Frank’s is pretty lively. There are bodies everywhere, bumping by each other, drunken arms slung over shoulders, hips swaying with the soft rock song blasting from out front.

You imagine your dad here with Joel, maybe Hank and Bill, too. Playing pool, beer bottles resting on the felt while they take their shot. Or sat on the rooftop, sipping on a whiskey. Talking about you and Sarah. What does Joel say about you when you’re not around?

And what does he want to say, but can’t, ‘cause it’s your dad? What does he think, and bite back when it bubbles to the surface?

Your straw gargles, slurping up the last few sips of your drink. You lean over to Anna and Kara, holding your empty glass up.

“Another?”

They both shake their heads, and you nod, turning on your own back to the bar.

You squeeze between two older women, both dressed smart and sharp. One of them – clutching a Manhattan – shifts out of the way as you pass.

“…one more conversation with him about squash,” she tells her companion, “and I am gonna blow my brains out…”

You edge over to the bar and slot into a free space, propping your elbows up on the wood. One of Sam’s coworkers – her name escapes you – notices you and shuffles over, smiling sweetly.

“How you doin’?” she asks, running a damp cloth inside a tumbler.

“Good,” you reply. “Could I just get a Bud, please?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and reaches behind to grab one. You slide her a note and she hands you change, and then you’re on your way back to the pool room.

As you slink by the two women, a weight knocks into your shoulder, almost sending your beer flying out of your hand.

“Sorry,” a rough voice sputters on your left, and you glance in its direction. Some broad dude in a tight t-shirt.

“’s fine,” you mumble, clutching your hat; a smell of weed choking your throat.

He passes by behind you, one hand lingering a little too long on your waist, and you saunter back over to Anna and Kara.

“That dude stinks, right?” Anna whispers behind a cupped hand, and you snort.

“He smells like he’s having a good night.”

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet over there. We’re basically third, fourth, and fifth wheeling,” Kara says, nodding over to Sam and Eve, who’re finished their game of pool and have now graduated to darts.

“I don’t…think that’s a thing.”

“Eve asked me if Sam was single earlier,” Anna says, lifting her straw to her red lips.

“What?” Kara spits out, choking on her drink. “Eve has a boyfriend!”

Anna giggles. “He’s kinda an ass, anyway. Look at them, they’re so sweet.”

“You say sweet, I hear morally wrong.”

“Who says it’s morally wrong?” you chirp, alcohol pushing the words over your lips before your brain’s had time to stop them. Your fingers clutch your phone, still laying on the table where you left it. “You?”

“Uh, it’s cheating, dude. What if Nick found out?”

“’s not that big a deal,” you reply, phone screen lighting your face in a blue hue, “they’re just having fun.”

Anna points to you, lifting her glass. “Here’s to havin’ fun, I guess.”

Kara lifts her own reluctantly and they clink, but you’re distracted. Already typing a message to Joel. Bored. Drunk. Morally wrong.

You: What you doing?

Joel: Watching TV. What you doing?

You: What ya watvhin ?

Joel: None of your business. Go get another drink. Looks like you’re not drunk enough.

You lift your head with a giggle, almost ready to turn your phone around to Anna and Kara and say, look what the dude I’m sleeping with just text me. And then, thankfully, your good sense kicks in and you bring the screen closer to your chest.

You: Kinda bored. Wanna come home now please

Bored, horny. It all means the same.

Joel says he’ll be at Frank’s in twenty minutes. You rest your chin on your palm and watch as Sam cheers Eve for hitting bullseye.

“I think they’re cute,” you whisper.

Anna and Kara are already preoccupied, taking photos of one another across the table. Kara leans into you and you smile, flash blinding your hazy eyes for a few minutes afterward. A few more pictures, couple boomerangs of your glasses cheersing, and then your phone’s vibrating.

Joel: Outside. No rush.

That last part is where he’s wrong. There most definitely is a rush, and it’s in the form of the heat that starts to pool between your legs.

“Alright,” you shimmy off your barstool and stretch your back. “My ride’s here.”

“What?” Anna almost screams, her hand slapping down on the table. “You’re leavin’?”

You nod. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t babe me, traitor. It’s, like, midnight.”

“Uh, it’s, like, almost 2AM. I’m tired. I don’t know how y’all do it.”

She sighs, conceding, and agrees to walk with you to the front door. Kara and Eve stop off by the bar to grab another drink. Sam holds the door open for you and Anna and you’re hit by a wave of cold night air, instantly cooling your hot, sweaty skin.

“Is that…Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, mouth falling wide open.

You glance down the street and notice his black truck, parked up by the curb. “Mhm,” you reply, “my dad’s out of town, so he’s picking me up.”

“Can he take me home, too?”

Sam snickers. “Wow, Anna. That’s just…Wow.”

She shrugs, lips closing around her straw as she stares at Joel’s truck. Something inside you lurches at the idea of Joel sitting there, his eyes glued on you, watching everything you do, everyone around you. And then again at the thought of Anna and her doting gaze on him.

“Alright, I guess that’s my cue to skip.”

Anna pouts. “One more drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you scoff, patting her head affectionately. I got business to attend to.

You give her a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze before you’re wandering off toward Joel’s truck.

“Hey.” Something – someone – hooks around your elbow, and you turn back. It’s that same guy who stank of weed.

“Hi,” you reply, as sweet as you can, but trying to loosen his grip.

“Saw you inside, you out with friends?”

“Mhm. I’m just leavin’, my–”

“Few of us are headed upstairs. You wanna come?”

You glare at him a few seconds, before yanking your arm from his grasp. “Nah, no thanks. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

You stagger off, feeling his eyes on you as you go. Joel’s truck headlights switch on, dazzling your eyes, and you quickly click around to the passenger side, throwing yourself in beside him.

Joel doesn’t say hey, doesn’t squeeze your thigh, doesn’t even look at you when you settle into the seat. Just asks –

“Who’s that kid?”

“Uh…not sure. Bumped into ‘im in the bar.”

“He give you trouble?”

“No,” you lean over the console, pulling your seatbelt over your body, and flash him a tipsy grin, “thought that was my job. Givin’ trouble.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Doesn’t take his scowl off the dude outside Frank’s, either. Your eyes meander across to his hand, locked in a tight fist around the wheel. Your smile drops.

“Joel. It’s fine. Can we go?”

When you lift a hand to the crook of his elbow and he feels your warmth on his skin, he tears his gaze away and it lands on you. Soft, gentle. His lip isn’t curled anymore. His brows lift.

His eyes watch your lips as you whisper the words to him.

“Want you to take me home.”

“’s go, pretty girl.”

----------

Joel refuses, no matter how many times you ask, how hard you bat your eyelashes, how many promises you make, to stop by a drive thru.

“Please?” you ask one last time before he’s pulling in to his neighborhood.

He shakes his head. “Look at that, we’re already home.”

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, Miller, not until the engine’s off. We’re still driving.”

He doesn’t reply. Just pulls up in his drive, cuts the engine, and looks at you. Shrugs. “Oops.”

“Fuck you,” you groan, sliding down in your seat. “I’m starvin’.”

“Make you a big breakfast in the mornin’, how’s that sound?”

“Wanted a Big Mac, but whatever.”

Your fingers fumble for the door handle, clicking it open. You roll out of the truck and stroll around to meet Joel at the driver’s side. He snakes an arm around your shoulders, steadying you as you walk up his porch steps and into the house.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, glancing around his living room.

“Alright,” he says, tossing his keys and kicking his boots off.

Your eyes settle on the TV screen, paused. Probably around the time you text him. There’s a crowded hospital room onscreen, doctors in dark blue scrubs, all surrounding someone lying on a bed, someone who looks pretty familiar…

“Is that…fuckin’…Grey’s Anatomy…?”

Joel chuckles, peeling your jacket from your shoulders.

“That’s Meredith! When she–”

“She fell in the damn river,” Joel mutters, placing the tasseled leather over the back of his couch. “Derek had to go in after her. Intense stuff.”

“Right? I told you it was good!” You smack his arm. “I can’t believe you’re watchin’ it without me.”

“I ain’t watchin’ it,” he protests, “it was just on, ‘n I needed something to keep me awake. I’m still rooting for Meredith ‘n George.”

“We can watch it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, moving over to him. “And then I can be over here all the time, and you can make me all the grilled cheese I want, and we can lie in bed and…do stuff.” Your chin rests on his chest, flashing him a toothy grin. Hands swinging in his at your side.

Joel’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I had a couple drinks. I’m not drunk.”

“H’many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Joel asks, raising his fist. You punch it away.

“Ha-ha,” you say tonelessly, and wander away from him.

“Baby,” he calls you from behind. Sure, you’re tipsy, and he can be a cocky asshole – especially when he has to take care of you, but that’s a sound you’ll never get tired of hearing. Baby. You’re his darlin’, his sweet girl.

You spin around, very nearly losing your footing, and he’s standing with an arm out, ready for you to take.

You smile dumbly. Meander over, and take his strong hand in both of yours, wrapping your fingers around two of his to let him reel you in against his body.

“C’mon,” he whispers, as you lean against his frame. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You follow him up, knowing where he’s leading you. You’ve spent more time in there the last few weeks than you have your entire life.

His room is cool, not cold, but comfortable. It’s Joel all over; the muted colors, the décor, the smell that calms you as soon as you stumble over the threshold.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels, pulling your boots off one by one.

You giggle.

“You laughin’ at me?”

“You’re like my own personal tr…No, not trainer. Wait. Personal ch–”

“Chef?” he says, snorting. “Not chef. Try again, soberhead.”

“Oh, I dunno.” You throw your arms up as he sits your boots against the wall, then stands and takes your hat off.

“This,” he says, placing it on the nightstand at your side of the bed, “is very cute. I like it.”

“I’m cute, too, y’know,” you whisper, pouting.

He smiles, and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, pointer finger under your chin.

“The cutest.”

“Ha!” you roar. Joel twists around you to undo the zipper at the back of your dress. “Joel Miller thinks I’m the cutest. Take that, Anna…”

He laughs. When he unzips you, he pulls the dress off your bare chest and down your legs. You don’t shy away, used to the idea now of him seeing you naked. Used to the idea of him seeing you in any vulnerable state; drunk, or naked, or in a sobbing mess on day two of your period.

You notice, even though you’re a tad dizzy with what alcohol is left in your system, that his eyes linger on your panties a moment before he turns and grabs a tee from a chair.

And something inside you ticks.

“Joel?”

He’s pulling the shirt over your head. It smells like him. Intoxicates you much more and much quicker than any drink you could order from Frank’s.

“Mhm?”

You feed both arms through the sleeves, swallowing the question you were about to ask. He’s standing up now, telling you to get into bed.

He walks over to his dresser and begins removing his own clothing. He only sleeps in boxershorts. Your eyes track him as he yanks his t-shirt up over his toned shoulders; fingers undo his belt, unzip his jeans. Everything is discarded to the side for now; he has something more pressing to attend to.

His best friend’s daughter, laying in his bed, a pool of wet forming in her panties.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

As he slips under the covers beside you, you pull off your underwear in one quick movement. Joel doesn’t seem to notice, or so you think; his arms immediately take hold of your waist and pull you against his body. You’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping pressed against his torso, his thigh between your legs. Joel settles comfortably with you draped over him, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Joel?” you whisper again into the darkness, growing braver.

“Hm?” he replies, starting to fall asleep.

You toss ideas over in your head. None of them good, you’re sure, but you’re getting desperate. How he can’t feel your damp core on his thigh, you’ve no idea.

But then, maybe he can? Joel doesn’t miss anything, especially not where you and your…arrangement are concerned. Can he feel you? Is he deliberately ignoring it?

Maybe he has something up his own sleeve?

“I…was just wondering…”

“Wondering what, darlin’?” His voice is muffled, spoken through unmoving lips. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed.

You grow more desperate.

“…wondering what your body count is?”

You ask it as innocently as you can, your voice wavering on the words body count. It gets him, though, as his eyes blink open a few seconds after you say it.

“I ain’t tellin’ you that. Go to sleep.” He closes them again.

“I wanna know.”

He ignores you.

“Joel,” you moan.

He calls you by name now, and you’re not sure if you’re pissing him off or turning him on – or both.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“I’m not tired, though. Not yet.”

In response, Joel lets go of his hold on you and rolls over without another word. It’d sting if you weren’t soaking wet right now, and didn’t have a strong hunch he was hardening under the sheets.

“Joooel…” you whine, sitting up on your elbow. No use.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back. Like a deadweight, he remains frozen.

“Ugh,” you groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He’s hard.

Not as hard as he can get, as you’d like him to be, as you’ve felt him before…but he’s hard.

“Joel…” you mewl into the darkness, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

“If you don’t stop that,” Joel’s voice finally grumbles, “I’ll be sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Sex in the living room sounds good to me.”

His eyes open. “We,” one hand comes up to point between the both of you, as if he doesn’t expect your sobering self to understand which pairing he means, “are not having sex. No sex tonight.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Huff all you want, baby, it is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re a few drinks too deep and it’s three in the morning. I’m tired, it’s been a long night waitin’ for you, I–”

“So let me make it up to you. I ain’t even drunk anymore.”

“No?”

“Nuh-uh. Could count any number a’ fingers you put in front of me.”

“Funny.” He closes his eyes.

“Joel.” You drag your hips again. If anything, he’s harder than he was when you first sat down on him. “I had a few drinks, I’ve sobered up. C’mon…”

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“I wanna ride you, daddy.”

This gets him. His eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling. His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t– That’s low, even for you, kid.”

You giggle and straighten up. When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn’t stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Joel breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he’s not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

Well, you’ll be screaming either way.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

“Go on,” he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

“Uhuh,” you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Joel’s humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

“Woah, woah,” Joel takes hold of your wrist, “slow down, cowgirl. I gotta get a condom.”

You huff as he leans over to his nightstand and opens the drawer. “Don’t want one, Joel, I’m on the pill.”

“No way, baby,” he says through a chuckle, silver wrapper in his fingers. “We already did that, one too many times.”

“So just pull out?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, frustrated.

Joel holds the packet out to you, smirk on his face like he doesn’t expect you to take it.

So, you do.

You steal it from him and tear the wrapper, fishing the rubber out between your two fingers. Pinching the top, you roll it down his shaft and pump up and down for good measure.

“Ready?” you ask, head tilted, cocky smile on your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, shoulders lifting off the mattress. He lifts the hem of your shirt, telling you, “Off,” before pulling it over your head, exposing your bare breasts.

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, figure silhouetted against the slivers of light peeking through the shades from the streetlights outside. You’ve never felt so confident, mounted on top of Joel fucking Miller.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. “Fuckin’ – knock yourself out, baby.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Joel hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Joel groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

He’s so deep it brings tears to your eyes, so big that he’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, hitting all the right spots already before you’ve even begun.

Joel’s eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Joel’s chest now for balance. You’re whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good and borderline painful at the same time, but you don’t stop.

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” Joel moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. “’attagirl, just like that.”

“Joel…” you cry, letting him bottom out each time, feeling his balls slam into your ass with each bounce.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me, baby, use your words.”

“So – good – Joel – oh!” you shout.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you’re directly above him now. One of Joel’s hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Joel speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

“Like ridin’ me, do ya? Like the way it feels?”

“Mhm,” you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. “Fuck…”

“You look so good, baby, so good. Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear, even at this hour. Joel smirks back, resting his hand back on your hip, where he has a grip of you.

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

“Joel – I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, sweet girl, cum all over me. Let go, baby, I’m here.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Joel lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That’s my girl, doin’ so good, baby as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can’t take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you’re not sure you can sit up straight on top of Joel.

But he’s always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

“Joel…” you whimper pathetically. “Can’t do it anymore…”

“That’s okay, baby, we’re gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?”

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn’t shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You’re overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Joel makes you feel so good that it’s impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

“Good girl, that’s– that’s it, so fuckin’ tight for me, pretty girl.”

When it all becomes too much to take – Joel’s hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open – you push him back down onto the bed.

Once when you still lived in New York you read something in a Cosmo about spelling the word ‘coconut’ with your hips when riding a guy. You’d tried it a couple times with hookups, and it’d never done anything for you. They’d never done anything for you.

But here you are, nearing your second orgasm, on top of someone making such a mess of you that you brain can hardly compute to spell coconut, never mind your hips being able to round the shape of the word.

His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper.

“There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

It’s all you need. It’s all it takes, by this point.

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Joel’s mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

“So – fuckin’ – big – inside me,” you slur, and Joel moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he’s there. He’s just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Joel’s groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

“Fuck, darlin’.”

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his. “Good?”

“So good, baby, did so well. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you, condom full of his seed.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

Then Joel gets up, and wanders over to the bathroom, where you watch him through the open door as he pulls the filled rubber from his soft dick. He bins it, then runs a facecloth under the faucet, dabbing it across his own forehead as he makes his way back over to you.

You can’t hide your grin as you watch his naked form approach; tan lines where his t-shirt must end, dark hair decorating his arms, legs, chest, the base of his cock. He sits at the edge of the bed, arm outstretched with the flannel in hand.

You go to take it from him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Just pats it over your face gently, soft gaze on yours, your fingers intertwined around his wrist. Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

“Feel nice?” he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he’s being, how tender. When he stands to throw the flannel back into the sink, you almost find yourself reaching out to hold him down.

He climbs over you, springing back down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

You prop yourself up and shimmy over, positioning yourself on top of Joel, chest-to-chest. He looks down and smirks, running a lazy hand across your cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head with a smile and lay down on his chest. You can hear his heartrate slowly calming down. His fingers twist through your messy hair.

“I have no idea what you’re laced with,” he says, “but you got me.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

Joel nods. You shift positions, adjusting your aching hips safely between his thighs. “You hurtin’?” he asks.

You nod. “Mhm. But I like it. It’s you.”

Joel’s hands run through your hair and his fingertips trace your shoulders. His touch is so light it almost tickles. You turn your jaw and kiss the back of his hand.

“My dad gone, Sarah out, free house…” you mutter.

“Hm.”

“So, you invite your mistress over.” You lift your head, smirking at him.

Joel’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You ain’t my mistress.”

“Oh really? What am I, then?”

“I am not having this conversation at 4AM, kid. Ask me again tomorrow.”

You’d think of something to throw back at him, messing with him, but your entire body aches, and your heavy eyes are starting to fold closed with how sleepy you suddenly feel.

You pull Joel’s sheets over yourself, turning your back to him. Joel instantly follows suit, pulling up right behind you, your back tight to his chest, his thighs cupping the back of yours, then slipping one between your legs.

His arms lock around your torso under the sheets. Safe. Secure. Nothing can happen to you as long as he’s got you.

“Ten,” his voice mumbles against the back of your head.

You turn so your ear is pressed against his lips. “Huh?”

“Ten. That’s my number. Includin’ you.”

Oh.

He doesn’t ask to hear yours. You wouldn’t mind if he did, but he doesn’t. You don’t think he’s telling you to hear yours in exchange. He’s telling you because you asked. He’s telling you because, whether in attempt to turn him on or simply to know something about him that you didn’t before – something nobody else knows – it mattered to you.

He’s telling you because you matter to him.

You nuzzle back into him a little, a form of reply, and, as you start to fall asleep, you feel him place a gentle kiss to your ear.

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @sharp-cheekbones-locked @suzmagine @endlessthxxghts @ivebeenflagged @blognametakenn @jessahmewren @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @ranahx @pedropascalsbbg @cartoon-garbage04 @caatheeriinee07 @kngslayr @hopplessilse @vickywallace @gracieispunk @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #dad's best friend #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller pedro pascal #joel tlou #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #cowboy like me

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0asisbliss · 1 month

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How JJK characters react to you cooking for them

Warnings: None. NOT PROOFREAD. Fluff.

Characters included: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Yuuji, and Sukuna.

Dividers by: Plutism, and k1ssyoursister

A/n: inspo from my hxh version of this I thlought it would be fun - ̗̀ ( ˶'ᵕ'˶) ̖́- I kind of headcannon Sukuna as a weird boyfriend. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Gojo

When he comes home it’s a possibility that he hasn’t eaten all day, so when he comes home to a freshly cooked meal he’s gonna eat everything in his sights. You always have to make sure you make enough for him to get seconds. He’ll always make sure to give you little compliments about your food.

When he gets in really, really late you often just put all of the food in the fridge, and write his name on it. When you do little things like this it makes his still heart skip a couple a beats. It’s always the small things you cook, and do for him when you’re in the kitchen is what he loves most.

He won’t always verbally tell you what he might want to eat. You sometimes have to take a lucky guess, and most of the time you’re correct. We all know Gojo has a huge sweet tooth so when you bake for him it makes him swoon he loves it when you bake cookies, and different cakes.

If there is room for improvement when you cook for him he’s more than happy to help you. Even though he doesn’t know the first thing about cooking or baking.

Kisses, and hugs go a long way when he’s in the kitchen with you, or when you bring him a plate and give him a small, but cute kiss on the cheek.

When you cook for him he likes to think of it being a very careful and thoughtful task you did just for him. It kinda makes him feel special you know?

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Geto:

He thinks it’s cute when he comes home from dealing with annoying curses, and non-sorcerers to you in a cute little apron stirring some type of soup in a pot. He’ll eventually come behind you, and greet you. It’s like any other usual afternoon, he asks you how your day went, and what you did today.

Afterwards he might just observe you cooking. From time to time he’ll tell you bits and pieces of his day while leaning on the counter next to you. He also lets you do your own thing. Like he won’t tell you if you’re doing something wrong, or right. He’ll might tell you easier ways to do different things though.

He hugs your waist as you chop up onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and other vegetables. He looks closely for any errors or anything you might be during wrong. Not to be annoying, but to help you improve.He doesn’t intentionally interrupt you it’s just by habit having to correct someone. That’s he even does it with you.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Nanami:

Its was just another regular long day at work. He hung his coat up, and slipped inside the kitchen for a bite to eat. He noticed you when first entering that you were cooking something. You were in some sweats, and one of his t-shirts. He thought you looked beautiful just in a baggy t-shirt, and sweat pants.

Nanami always thought you were the most beautiful woman in his world. Even now when you were cooking him dinner. You chopped the vegetables, and other food items with such grace. He just stood there and watched you for a minute. You not even noticing him at first continue to chop and pour things into a pot. Only when you turn around to grab some butter out the fridge you find your husband staring at you in awe and adoration.

He starts to walk up to you. He gives long thoughtful hug then turns around and leaves. He didn’t stay long, and left you to do your cooking duties.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Yuuji:

It was routine for you to wake up and fix breakfast for Yuuji. Today was no different you gave Yuuji a quick kiss on the forehead before getting up and going to kitchen to get breakfast. Yuuji is always asleep whilst you cook breakfast, but today it was different. Yuuji got up strangely early. You thought that maybe he slept the day away yesterday, and decided got up earlier that usual.

Nonetheless he brushed his teeth, and took a quick shower. Once he was done everything he headed to the kitchen to have breakfast with you. You weren’t done though. Today’s breakfast would take longer that usual because you were cooking more stuff. Yuuji didn’t have work on that day so you decided to make something meaningful, and different. Instead of something quick, and easy like usually do on the week days.

On the weekends you would cook such breakfasts like pancakes, waffles, and other extra things. Yuuji’s appetite was kinda fairy big. So on the weekends you fed him want he usuals wouldn’t eat because of short time. So since you had a little bit of extra time you decided more than usual.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Sukuna:

My dude just stares at you. Literally not caring at all. It’s not until you keep doing that you actually see him reacting to your cooking. The thing is he made a uncomfortable face. It wasn’t your food he made that clear. Thank god. No it wasn’t that it was him thinking that you thought you had to cook for him in order to keep him happy.

You don’t know we’re Sukuna got it from.

“You know. You don’t have to do this every night woman.”

“I know I just like doing it-.”

“Oh. Well maybe say that next time.”

He went back to eating after that, and so did you. You thought nothing of it. Later that weekend night you saw Sukuna making you breakfast?

You offered to help him, but he declined and said he wanted you to sit down.

Maybe it was his way of thanking you? You weren’t really sure when it came to Sukuna and his mixed feelings. He always had a hard time expressing them. And when he really wanted to express them. He felt as if he’d say something stupid, or something corny.

It surely surprised you. It’s kinda rare for Sukuna to cook especially if it isn’t a special occasion. Maybe he just wanted to return the favor? You don’t know you maybe should still try to help him by at least washing the dishes. After cooking and eating you expressed your opinions on the food, and you loved it.

It was a start of a date night idea for you two. You two would cook for each other every once in a while. He would never admit it, but Sukuna liked doing this with you.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #yuuji x reader #nanami kento #gojo satoru #jujitsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen

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keen-li · 5 months

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"IT JUST SLIPPED"

Today you had to shoot a cooking talk show like video for your YouTube channel. You were so excited and happy cause you had two special guests. Bangchan and felix.

You had a hard time sleeping cause you were so nervous today. And as you walk through the studio towards the set up kitchen you get even more nervous.

"Have they arrived?" You ask your assistant as she walks beside you.

"Yes they just got in" as she says that the nervousness sinks in more.

Its the first time you and any straykids members are filming something together, you have many reasons to be nervous but the main reason is you're afraid you might slip up. Slip up? Yeah you're afraid you might accidentally call chan 'baby' like you always do when you're with him. But most of the time when you're with him it's not infront of large lights and cameras.

Nobody knows that you two have been dating, not your companies, not your crew, not even you're assistant, it's still kinda new so you wanna keep it low. The only people who know you and chan are dating are his members. Who said they found out when they all "accidentally" saw you and chan's chats. The defenders were han and Lee know, when you saw those two open there mouths to defend you knew it was bullshit. Who accidentally reads three months worth of conversations in front of others accidentally.

You were kinda mad and embarrassed that they read your messages cause you and chan had some spicy texts and pictures in there. But chan promised to talk to them and keep his phone better which made you feel better.

And it seemed like chan's talk did work on them, cause they never brought up any of the messages or made any silly joke about it. They only congratulated you and made you feel comfortable.

You see the familiar figure of your boyfriend and his bandmate walk in straight to you. You and chan give eachother smiles hoping no one noticed cause you and him need to keep this a secret.

When they approach you, felix first, you share greetings and give eachother hugs. When chan hugs you he tries to not make it obvious by placing his hand a little lower on your back.

"I missed you" he whispers into your ear and you feel the heat consume you.

"Shut up were supposed to be undercover" you joke.

"But I missed you too" you confess still in a whisper.

You two missed each other like you didn't text and facetime everyday when you can.

He walks by you as he greets the crew.

After sometime and getting things ready it's time to film.

Since its your youtube channel and show you have to be the one to introduce them.

"So today we're gonna do a little cook and chat" you begin to say to the camera.

"But before we do I wanna introduce you to two people" you give a look to chan and felix as they take it as a sign to get into frame. They give their biggest smiles to the camera as they bow to it and to you which you return as well.

They give their intros and you smile at them as they express how they're happy to be here and how much they've always wanted to be on your show. It makes you blush but it's not like you didn't know. One of the reasons this filming idea came up was because chan expressed to you how much you he wanted to be on your show. And after both of your companies accepted, the date was set.

You and the boys laugh as you answer some funny questions and chop up some food. One of the questions led to chan having to tell an embarrassing story which makes everyone in the studio laugh. You also end up telling a story and chan can't help but watch as you smile and giggle when you tell the story.

He always loved hearing you talk and express yourself, it's one of his favourite things about you. Feeling his loving gaze on you, you glance at him and warn him making him look away and focus on washing the lettuce.

You're cutting some cucumber when it slips from the grip of the knife and cuts you a bit.

You hiss catching everyone's attention. Chan looks at you worried as he watched you rush to the sink. It kills him how he can't just run over to you and care for your wound just because people might find out.

"I'm good guys" you say but it doesn't help lighten chan's heart.

Felix notices his uneasiness and taps him on the back. "She's okay bro relax" he doesn't pay much attention to that as he watches a staff wrap your finger with a bandaid.

After you get back you grab a new knife and new cucumber as chan stares at you still uneasy.

"I'm okay chan" you smile at him and he feels a little more relieved when you say it directly to him, maybe it's your smile that comforts him. But he still wishes he had been the one to help you.

You continue to shoot the video as chan takes over the cutting duty and puts you in egg boiling duty. Which you rolled your eyes at. He's so protective, as if you couldn't burn yourself with hot water.

After you're done with the shooting, chan approaches you.

"Let me see your hand" he grabs your hand not even letting you choose whether or not he can see your hand. But you let him cause he's just trying to be caring.

"Are you okay?" It's a question he keeps asking you and you don't know if you wanna answer him again.

"I'm fine chan, now let go of my hand before someone sees us." He doesn't take heed to your words and continues to examine your finger touching I lightly which you find comforting.

"You don't look fine. Want me to give you a hug?" He says slowly moving into you. If no one has noticed the two of you someone's gonna notice now. You try and push him away giggling at his words, you really don't want your cover blown but chan doesn't seem to care. He doesn't care actually.

"Baby I'm okay" you say a little louder than you expected. You immediately move away from chan and stare at the people now staring at you. If the company hears about this you're screwed.

"I meant chan" you laugh awkwardly.

"It just slipped" you try and assure the people around you. You know they couldn't care less but you'd never know who'd be a snitch.

"I call everyone baby anyways" chan laughs as you try to convince yourself.

It's no use they heard you clearly.

.....

Its been been seven days since your cooking episode with chan and felix aired. And you heard some rumours and theories going around on the Internet.

So you decided to check on the comments yourself.

Chan giving y/n those loving eyes

I want someone to look at me like the way chan's looking at her

If these two aren't dating I'm gonna take y/n

These two gotta be dating look at the way he's looking at her.

I can feel the tension between them

The chemistry between these two.

Kiss already

You didn't realise the tension between you and chan was so obvious. Maybe it's the way you spoke and looked at eachother. And after watching the video for yourself you can definitely see it.

"Our love can't be hidden" chan said when you brought the issue to him. You laughed, he doesn't take this seriously huh?

#fanfic #bang chan #skz channie #bangchan x reader #bangchan x y/n #bangchan imagines #idol au #bangchan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bangchan fluff #christopher bang

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fallloverfic · 26 days

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April Fool's Day art for My S-Class Hunters by 비완

The manhwa artist for My S-Class Hunters made some April Fool's Day art: "This year's April Fool's Day, the S-Class turned back time too much." The head of storyboarding for the manhwa, serikachan, explained the different animal choices in this thread:

Machine English translation: "Have a good April Fool's Day! This year's concept is around the N years of the characters, but if I vaguely turn back time, it seems like there will be a time before the regression or a future where only Eugene becomes a grandfather, and that was so sad that I turned it around too much [dinosaur emoji] I'm going to follow the thread of the reason why I matched each dinosaur.

Seong Hyun-je is the world's strongest character at the time of the story, so he naturally became a Tyrannosaurus. I wonder if only Jo Gu can swing the chain with his front paw… Me: How many claws did the Tyranno have? Who gets angry if you get confused? Biwan: I need to put three conditions on Yujin, so I need three fingers. ??? : Oh shit!!! This is an Allosaurus!!!

Yoohyeon is Dimetrodon. Dimetrodon looks like a dinosaur, but it is not actually a dinosaur. It often appears as a fire attribute in other media (Hellfire Dimetrodon in WoW too…), so I thought it would be the best fit. At first I thought it was Charmander, but I couldn't tell it apart from Irene. [laughing face emoji]

Yerim was torn between Spinosaurus, which is very strong and lived a semi-aquatic life, and Plesiosaurus, a plesiosaur, but went with the latter for a more intuitive visual.

In many works, Spinosaurus and Tyrannosaurus are often paired 1:1, so I thought about having Director Song, who is currently fighting Hyeonje in the free game, take on the role of Spinosaurus, but I needed a dinosaur that would give a presence in the distance, so I decided on Brachiosaurus. It is done. Chew the lettuce well and enjoy the huge brachio song director…

Hyuna is a triceratops. The horns remind me of a giant spear, and while I was looking for information, I saw several Triceratops taking up a defense position, and it really suited Hyuna's situation in the early stages of her awakening. It had three horns and somehow even raised a spear with its front paws, making it an even more powerful and kingly aceratops.

Noah chose Pteranodon, a representative pterosaur, and Riet chose Deinosuchus, which is said to eat dinosaurs. It looked so natural that it seemed like it had been like this from the beginning… I'll be happy if you enjoyed it! I give my love to Biwan, who even drew dinosaurs under a tight deadline. [face holding back tears emoji]"

#비완 #my s class hunters #sctir #s classes that i raised #sung hyunjae #moon hyuna #han yoojin #han yoohyun #park yerim #noah luire #riette #song taewon #t-rex hyunjae alkdjlaj #taewon just lakjdlaj #this is hilarious #amazing

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ashenberry · 3 months

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happy aj trilogy day thrilling sequel to the last ms doodle post

[ID: Several MS Paint doodles featuring the cast of apollo justice ace attorney.

Image 1: Trucy looking disappinted at apollo Trucy: God apollo your such a poser Apollo: Somebodys dead.

Image 2: Daryan and Klavier arguing. Daryans hair is censored

Image 3: Trucy and apollo in shadow looking at something Apollo: I hate looking at this [daryan] guy Trucy: Why does it have anime boob jiggle physics

Image 4: A stickman on fire going, "AGGAGAGAG achtung baby!!! AGHHAGGAH

Image 5: Daryan looking to the side (hair censored) saying, "Im his silly little rabbit

Image 6: Trucy looking up at him asking, "does he call you that" to which daryan responds with "no"

Image 7: trucy and apollo spot a banana and trucy says, "YOO WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT"

Image 8: Lamiroir saying, "and hes very good at the piano, which is nice because orphans usually suck ass at the piano"

Image 9: A bowl of lettuce on the dance floor with the text, "he should have been at the club..."

Image 10: Patrick star edited to be wearing klavier gavins clothes

Image 11: Machi pointing a big gun at a bowl of salad that is nervously sweating. there is a note that says, "prosecutions recreation of the crime

Image 12: Apollo pointing with crunchy text that says, "RECALL"

Image 13: The judge and apollo The Judge: Did you see anyone else that night backstage mr justice Apollo: uhhhh (thinking about a banana in a top hat)

Image 14: Apollo over trucys body laying on the ground upset yelling, "MR LETOUS NOOOoooo"

Image 15: Trucy sits up and apollo says, "And thats how i found the body your honor 👍"

Image 16: Trucy and Apollo, with apollo looking shocked Apollo: hmm i dont think i knew daryans hair was long in the back Trucy: to be fair its also long in the front

#ace attorney #aa4 spoilers #apollo justice #trucy wright #sequel to the last ms paint doodle if you ignore the mg one there in the middle but im pretty sure thats still at 0 notes so u did #anyways ^-^ these will be reversing through the cases bc i have a back log so the other one was the middle section of serenade #this one is like the first part of serenade #next one will be the beggining of serenade etc etc #ashenart

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naffeclipse · 6 months

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Heya @skizabaa! I'm your Secret Skeleton! I might have gone a bit over the word count minimum, but I had so much fun writing this! Your interests/likes are exactly my jam and I loved crafting this little piece for a cozy and sweet Halloween treat for you! I hope you enjoy some creature Sun and a Y/N who wants a friend!

The Harpy and Hazel Trees

Harpy!Sun & Reader

Word Count: ~3,500 Warnings: N/A

You’re so used to the quiet—birds calling to each other, crying out about the cold, and the buzz of the last insects filling the air with the gentle crunch of leaves underneath your feet, fallen off the hazel trees. Your lone heartbeat pulses within your ears.

The quiet eats away at you in the way a caterpillar gnaws away at a leaf: slowly devoured. And yet, you remain. There’s still more of you left to be eaten. It surprises you every time you think you can’t take another moment of silence, of a lack of another’s voice.

Behind your simple wooden cottage, you kneel. Only a pale brown fence marks your lost lot within the forest for the deer merrily prances over it. Knees sinking down into the moist earth, you tug out the last few weeds crowding your pumpkins though they are only weeds in name. The plants, you’ve learned, hold nutrients that pair well in salads. You won’t have fresh greens for much longer.

Autumn sweeps back as if this was always its home, and you, its guest. Your garden is bursting with foods that make the harvest moon happy and the dreaded months of winter bearable. The late-season sun heats the crown of your head and strokes your hair, but it is not a substitute for a friend.

You toil away, cleaning out weeds, plucking fat cucumbers, and snatching a wide green head of lettuce. You’ll have a wonderful bowl of fresh salad tonight and cook an egg to go with it. Your chickens are still producing well but when the cold of the dying year steps in, the chickens will convert their egg-laying efforts to keeping warm, and you don’t blame them.

These winters are brutal, on body and heart.

You shiver under a cool wind. A gust flips leaves of dill and oregano and you mutter of the cold to no one.

Then a shadow falls over you. You lift your head.

You startle in your garden. Perched on your fence just a few feet away from you is a beast, one with a rather wide grin at that. A harpy. He tilts his disk-like head, a large mouth displaying sharp teeth fit for pulling meat off of bones. Beautiful feathers sway around his face, long and curved, bright as sunshine and exquisite. He holds a rather polite expression; if only you could ignore the sharp teeth.

His wide eyes, the color of cornflowers, hold the intensity of the hawk but soften upon gazing at you. His body is covered in a finer layer of plumage, off-white and yellow, with wings for arms and long claws on the ends of his fingers, though his large, raptor-like feet wield talons that currently balance upon your poor fence. He wears no shirt but an ascot tie of silky ruby around his thin throat. Billowy pants conceal his animalistic legs, stripped in a bright pattern of red and yellow. His wings are gently tucked against his side, hands curled in front of his chest in an almost nervous, shy manner. Radiant feathers of scarlet and gold decorate his wingspan.

You understand immediately that he is beautiful and, perhaps, dangerous.

“Hello, I’m so sorry to drop in like this,” he begins, voice bouncing and cheerful, though a touch strained. “I hope I haven’t startled you.”

You slowly get to your feet, stunned. You clear your throat, afraid of how raspy your voice will be—the only conversations you hold are with the chickens and the goat.

“I don’t usually get company out here,” you begin, though you sound a touch defensive. You clear your throat again. “Are you lost?”

“Lost?” The harpy cocks his head to the other side, feathers swaying like a rooster’s tail. “Oh, well, I’m only lost in that I have yet to find what I’m looking for and that I don’t know what I’m looking for yet, but the most pressing matter, currently, is the oncoming storm.”

He lifts one wing, long fingers nearly hidden under the cloak of gold and scarlet feathers, to point to the sky behind you. Careful to not turn your back on the stranger, you glance in the direction.

The harpy is right. Creeping forward are black, angry clouds. They gather low, pushing through the blue skies like a stain of ash. The storm wasn’t climbing the horizon this morning but swiftly it arrived.

He is being very polite, you muse.

“Oh,” you say, then face the harpy again. You clasp your dirt-covered hands, wishing you had thought to wear your apron so you might make yourself a little more decent. Of course, who could have predicted a visitor? Certainly not you. “Yes. I assume you don’t want to be caught in it? You’ve probably flown a long way here, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” he echoes with a grin that’s still toothy but much less sharp. His eyes upturned, the cornflower color beaming. “Could I trouble you for shelter for the evening? I won’t be in your way and I’ll gladly stay in your chicken coop or wherever won’t disturb you.”

You laugh gently. The harpy waits, his nervous hands returning once more to his chest, feathers rustling.

“Oh no, you’re far too big to stay in the chicken coop. You’ll scare my rooster half to death.” You look at him, resting a hand on your hip, forgetting the dirt caked on it. “No, you’ll come inside and out of the storm. The wind that will come will be fierce.”

“Oh!” The harpy leaps from the fence in a flurry of plumage. You start at the snap of his wings but find yourself gazing up into his towering expression, his smile absolutely delighted. “Thank you, friend! You’re so sweet!”

You look away, coughing once, unsure how to take the title he already bestows upon you. Is it even true? Could it be?

“It’s nothing,” you give.

You bend down and snap a pumpkin from its stem, the bright orange gourd is more than ready to be harvested for its seeds. On second thought, you’ll roast pumpkin seeds and have a stew today. A meal that will honor your harpy guest as much as your little garden can.

“Would you take this into the cottage for me?” you ask, pointing. The harpy is watching you closely, his head ticking with sharp adjustments to his gaze, his alertness unparalleled and fascinating. “I could use a hand for a few other things, too… friend. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated, but saying it out loud dusts a lightness in your chest.

“Of course!” He kneels and scoops the pumpkin into his feathered arms as if it were a mere trifle, not a fully grown vegetable. His claws carefully cradle the orange shell. “My name is Sun. I am at your service!”

You give your name in return.

It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone call for you, but when Sun says it, you feel a little more alive. A little more real.

“Do you like stew?” you ask, plucking your gathered leafy goods that will wait in the cupboard until tomorrow, and lead the way to the back door of the cottage.

“Stew sounds heavenly compared to what I've been scourging these last few days—bugs and berries and other bitter things!” Sun’s jubilee voice is no less dampened by recounting his horrid meals. “Yes, stew sounds lovely. How might I help you, friend?”

He doesn’t see you smile. You lead him to the door and open it, holding it so that he might duck inside and not fumble the precious pumpkin.

“We’ll need a few spices, celery and potatoes. Help me dig some up.”

* * *

Harpy claws, as it turns out, are great at digging up dirt, though you think he might have put them to better use hunting. Sun is cheerful and he easily takes to work. It’s not glorious, digging up potatoes, but he does it all with a smile on his wide face.

You love his chatter. He sounds like birds trilling and cheeping, talking of the weather and the storm and how he was alone before he ventured into these strange but wonderful woods. He doesn’t tell you what he’s seeking, but he doesn’t seem to know either. A wanderer. A lost soul.

Like you.

People like you often end up here, in this forest. A woodland of spooky, lingering things, full of yellowing trees. Everyone is seeking something. A heart hungers beside the hazels. A person gets lost here, but sometimes, a person gets found.

Taking a much-needed breather from work, you lead Sun to the hazel trees. The leaves are soft and pale as butter and halfway melted, dripping to the ground. You show him the hazelnuts, perfectly round, dark treasures. In fascination, he gazes at the hard, black shells that you easily crack, shuck, and reveal the smooth nut hidden within.

For a while, you two snack on hazelnuts. Sun’s tongue is dark red and licks at his teeth, chewing away. You love the soft crunch, and how nutty the flavor is. In summer, you take what you have left from winter storage to mix with cocoa and sugar then crush into a paste. A treat that is so lovely you tell Sun that you wish he could be here to have a bite when you make it.

His feathers perk at the mention. He looks as if he wants to say something, something you earnestly wait to hear, but he only agrees. It does sound lovely.

You return to work. Sun is a bit quieter, back to his anxious hand curling and feather-ruffling, almost pulling a few from around his wrists, but you don’t ask. He would have told you if he wanted to. Why confine a stranger when he’ll be gone after the storm blows through?

You taste something bitter in the back of your mouth.

He helps you haul in the potatoes, celery, and carrots. Your cottage is small, but it fits him and you just right. You begin bowling the pot, adding in bits of beef you fetched from the wooden barrel where it sat in a brine of water and salt to preserve the meat until you were ready to cook. Then you begin chopping the vegetables. Sun fetches you an onion you had forgotten, and when he returns, his feathers blown against his body due to the picking up wind, he begins asking you questions. So. Many. Questions.

You can hardly pause between them. He’s so intrigued by your every boring answer. There’s very little for you to talk about except for the years you spent here and how long you’ve been alone (you don’t tell him the last part, though he does ask about family, and you simply comment that you have none with a sharp chop of your knife across a deep orange carrot.) He smoothly moves on, tending to the boiling pot and feeding the fire when it needs more logs.

You can’t help but stare. A harpy tending to your stew. You think this must be a dream, a wonderful, heart-breaking dream.

Tossing the ingredients into the heated meat and broth, you and Sun wait, listening to the howl of the wind and fearfully eyeing the flames as the pressure in the air snatches at the flames by reaching down the chimney. You’ll let the fire go out when the evening ends instead of fighting with it all night, but it will get cold. You ask Sun if he’ll be alright.

He taps his chest with a wicked sharp finger and promises that his plumage is more than enough to fight off the chill.

You stir the stew and spoon it into simple wooden bowls. You hand one to Sun. His large, clawed hand easily grasps it. He’s so sweet, so grateful. You sit down beside him at your small kitchen table—there was never a need for a full dining room set, and now you worry it’s too humble. You never expected company.

The stew, however, is heavenly. You’re relieved and immediately warmed by the savory broth and melt-in-your-mouth bites of beef and potatoes. Sun tears into the stew and you give him a second, then a third helping. You almost laugh at how sheepish he appears until he eats once more.

He helps you clean up… You didn’t know what you expected, but certainly not his methodical ability to sweep the floor and scrub the pot.

“Thank you, Sun,” you say softly, handing him the last dish to set high on the shelf. “You’ve been a great help today.”

“It’s the least I could do to repay your generosity.” He faces you after setting the bowl away without any stretching or tip-toeing, unlike you. “You’re so kind and there’s so much for you to do by yourself. I’m amazed you can handle all this work. It would put a whole team of fieldhands to shame.”

“Oh, stop it,” you wave him away, ducking your head to hide your bashfulness. “I put you to work. I do hope you’ll sleep well tonight, despite the storm.”

As if summoned by your mere mention, a clap of thunder reverberates through the air. Your heart quakes in the strength of the ferocious growl. Sun whips his head towards the front door as if expecting the storm to rudely barge in without your invitation.

“It’s a very good thing you stopped here,” you say, breathless.

Sun slowly looks back, his hackles raised, and his cornflower blue eyes fall down. You follow his line of sight to your hand touching his feathered wrist, fingers anxiously curled.

“Oh.” You drop your hand away. “My apologies. Let me get you a comfortable place to rest. I’m afraid I only have one bed.”

“No need to apologize,” Sun says quickly, “Were you concerned for me, friend? That’s alright. Friends can be concerned for each other and there’s no shame in that. I truly don’t mind.”

You nod but don’t meet his gaze.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Friend?”

You stop, looking back at him. You wonder if he intends to leave, but that can’t be right. The storm is descending with a vengeance.

“I need only sit by the hearth. I don’t need beds or other human comforts, though I appreciate your offer.”

“Oh.” You look around, the smell of stew having long since drifted away as the fire slowly begins to die. A thick darkness descends. You regard the harpy with a worry for the morning. Sunshine will come, yes, and the skies will be clearer, but he will leave.

You find yourself dreading tomorrow.

“Very well.” You hold his gaze for one brave moment. The cornflower blue holds you. “Goodnight, Sun.’

“Goodnight, friend.”

You close the door to your bedroom. In quiet reflection, you dress into your night clothes and slip under the quilts on your bed. You are so caught up on Sun’s ruffled feathers, his cheerful demeanor, and how anxious he holds his claws.

He calls you a friend. You’ve only just met. You shouldn’t be so attached to a fellow so quickly, yet, you find yourself wondering how you might combat the silence in the afternoon after the thunder ceased its grumbling and the harpy has continued on his way.

You hardly sleep a wink before the storm splatters rain upon the roof and sends winds to rattle the shutters. A quaking bolt of lightning strikes, the thunderous cry shaking the very cottage and you bolt upright. You cry out, disturbed from dozing, dark dreams.

The very world is being torn apart by a dark tempest.

“Friend!” The shout is muffled through the door, but you hop out of bed, bewildered and frantic, and throw it open to find the harpy.

He stoops low, his height eclipsed by the stout door frame. You stare up into his concerned eyes, long hands almost reaching for you but hesitating.

“I heard you shout. Are you alright?”

You lay a hand over your chest and breathe out. The wild blood pumping in your veins has yet to calm, but the sight of Sun’s cheerful face plumage, swirling about his expression like rays of the sun, and his big blue eyes, looking over you for injury or harm, touches your heart.

“Yes, I’m alright. The lightning—the thunder scared me!”

“It’s alright. It startled me, too,” he gives, though grinning with the energy of a thousand afternoons.

Sun peers through the small window in your bedroom. The lightning flashes again, not so close, but the thunder roars upon the little cottage as if a beast had snatched your home into its mouth.

You shudder to think of lying down now.

You hesitate, contrite, then ask quietly, “Sun?”

He visibly perks up and almost hits his head on the top of the doorway. His golden feathers brush against the ceiling of the cottage.

“Yes?”

“Can I sit with you for a while? If I’m not keeping you awake, that is…”

His expression blooms as if a flower under the sun. He grins, the sight so lovely and tender before he takes your hand in his down-soft palm.

“Of course! There are still hot coals in the hearth, and I do hope I can help you stay warm, just a little.”

You lower your shoulders. A calming pulse moves through your chest as Sun, your friend, guides you into the room with the dying embers that beat a last, desperate red in the sooty black.

“Are you cold?” you ask, concerned.

“No,” his eyes upturn, “If it’s alright, I would like to keep you warm.”

He opens his arms, the plumage of his wings falling like a cloak of ruffled sunshine and scarlet. His chest is fuzzy with soft down, and his billowy pants cross to make a comfortable seat on the floor before the cooling heart.

You want nothing more than to enter his embrace. Worry of the morning strains against your weary thoughts, holding you away.

“Are you sure?”

You only met him today. Why do you feel so much for this blossoming friendship, newly made under the threat of a storm and in the dirt of hard work?

He inclines his head gently, his feathers softly sashaying with reassurance. “Yes. I would be delighted to help my friend.”

His warm confidence chips away at the last of your reservations. Breathing in, you ease yourself into his embrace. Settling into his warm body—you didn’t realize how wonderfully comforting his form is, wrapped around yours, like a drop of sunshine. It immediately chases away the autumn cold nipping at your edges. Once you set your back against his chest, feeling a bit conscious of his presence and how you hold yourself, Sun wraps his arms around your shoulders. His beautiful wings cover you up in the burning colors of sunsets. Outside, the thunder and rain harmonize.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod and hook one hand over his fluffy wrist. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” you murmur.

It’s nice to have a friend.

You sit a while, gazing at the fire. Sun hums a low, throaty sound that reminds you of birds calling to each other, and you drift quietly. Your head begins to fall. In smooth, careful motions, Sun shifts your legs so they drape sideways off his lap and guide your cheek so it might rest on the soft pillow of his shoulder. His arms fall upon you again. You are blissfully warm, sleep whispering in your ears.

“Friend?” he says. His fingers curl against your arm. An anxious clench.

“Hmmm?” Your eyelids flutter.

“I was thinking—in the morning, you’ll have so many branches to pick up off your garden and you’ll need to check your chickens and see if any of your precious vegetables have been harmed, and you have so much work to do! I could stay a bit longer tomorrow, just to lend a hand, as a final thank you.”

“Sun?”

Your eyes open in the blue dark of the autumn night. Your heart melts quietly in your chest, and you think you might be brave. You dare to want to be bold enough to let him stay with you, beside you.

The harpy titters nervously. “Well, only if that wouldn’t be an inconvenience for you, of course. I don’t want to impose or linger where I’m not wanted—”

“Sun?”

“Oh! Yes?”

You sigh softly and close your eyes.

“Would you like to stay?” You hesitate quietly. Your heart thumps with all the desire of your being. “My friend?”

The beat of silence is devastating. The echo of nothingness deafens your ears and you almost lift your head to see if you cross a boundary or assume too much, but Sun quietly trills.

“If you’ll have me.”

You smile.

“Yes, I will.”

“Then you know my answer, dearest friend.”

You soften in relief, and in Sun’s gentle melody humming in his chest and soothing your very soul, you drift away. In the morning, there will be Sun. For every day after, it will be you two in the cottage.

You and your dearest friend.

#DCAH2023 #harpy!sun #sun & reader #skizabaa #i hope you like it!!!#naff writing #happy halloween

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

Photo

The autumn growing season in the greenhouse is coming to an end, so here are my plant reviews!

1. Basil: 11/10

I’ve never had so much basil before! I planted it when it was a baby and it grew to the size of a baobab. I’ve made SO many jars of pesto, I can make pasta all winter. The basil plant started suffering from the cold around mid-November and I harvested the last leaves, but it grew amazingly as long as indoor temperatures remained above 10°C at night.

2. Bell pepper: 10.5/10

The only reason I’m ranking it lower is because I like basil better, but I’ve had a constant supply of beautiful green peppers all throughout the autumn! The plant is very low-maintenance and bravely produced peppers in 35° greenhouse temperatures in early September and 10° temperatures in November without a complaint.

3. Green beans: 10/10

I love fresh green beans. I planted different kinds, purple ones and green ones, and discovered with a bit of surprise that the former grow a deep purple colour and then become green when you cook them. It’s a fun plant. And they grow very well in vertical growing towers!

4. White onions: 9/10

They didn’t thrive in my planters for some reason (they seemed to get smothered by the other plants around them) but they were very happy by themselves in the vertical tower. Will keep that in mind for next year.

5. Kohlrabi: 8/10

Kohlrabi shouldn’t be so high in the list because I don’t like eating it all that much, but it grows so enthusiastically and then it looks like little green aliens going \o/ in their towers, it’s just a very endearing plant.

6. Lettuce: 7/10

The lettuces (I’m making this word countable) in the towers grew amazingly in September thanks to having their feet constantly soaking in water, while their sisters in the planters were suffering from the heat. But as soon as the weather grew colder and more humid all the tower lettuces became covered with mildew :( Meanwhile the planter lettuces were having their 15 minutes of fame (see second picture)—until the weather got even wetter in November and they finally succumbed to mildew as well. So I’ll note that tower lettuce is good for summer and planter lettuce for early autumn, and then the greenhouse gets too humid for healthy lettuce.

6. Parsley: 5/10

Parsley is in the shame corner. It grew very very well in its tower—so well that its roots started colonising the little pipe that brings water, so the pipe became clogged and water stopped circulating in the tower and the parsley died. That is the definition of shooting yourself in the foot, parsley, you short-sighted plant. You wanted instant water gratification and ended up with nothing. There’s a lesson to be learnt here. (The lesson is to put parsley at the bottom of the tower rather than at the top where the pipe is.)

7. Miscellanies: my aubergine plant produced stakhanovically in September and then shrivelled up and died as soon as October (and cold nights) started. Definitely a summer-only plant (at least in a non-heated greenhouse). Fennel grew incredibly well, both in the planters and in the towers, but I discovered (I’d never tried it before) that it tastes exactly like anise and I hate anise. I tried cooking it in a gratin as I figured cheese makes everything okay, but not even cheese could make fennel tolerable to me. No more fennel. Arugula (<- the superior word. Boycott rocket) grew well but had trouble asserting itself next to my giant basil plant. I’ll try to give it more space to grow next time, poor arugula got so squished.

And finally:

8. Fish (not rated for reasons explained below, but it’s hard to imagine what a fish could do wrong)

The point of the vertical growing towers is to try aquaponic gardening—they are connected via pipes and a pump to a water tank in which I would like to raise fish. The idea of aquaponics is that the fish and the plants have a symbiotic relationship, with the fish’s waste fertilising the water for the plants, and the plants’ roots cleaning the water for the fish as they absorb these nutrients. It’s recommended to start with goldfish for the first year as they are quite sturdy, then once you know how your greenhouse behaves in every season, the water temperature changes etc, you can try other kinds (including edible fish).

^ So I had four little pioneers in an aquarium in my kitchen waiting to move to the greenhouse—but I needed to stabilise the pH of the water (among other things) before bringing in the fish, and that proved very difficult! My pH had daily fluctuations that I tried to tame by adding potassium bicarbonate or varying the % of rainwater vs. spring water in the tank, and nothing worked. I thought it was because I had put so many plants in the towers, but as I started removing the summer plants and the pH didn’t improve, I finally tried putting my pH sensor in a bucket of distilled water to see if it worked... and it turned out that the sensor was malfunctioning. I bought a new sensor, who immediately told me that my pH was perfectly adequate. I felt daft.

Anyway, my brave pioneer fish were moved to the greenhouse last week and they seem to be enjoying their new tank (they’ve got lots of plant roots dipping in the water to nibble on or hide behind), so I’ve ordered the rest of the goldfish gang! My greenhouse will become a lot more populated tomorrow, stay tuned :)

#crawling along #i procrastinate on writing posts sometimes and then they become incredibly long monster posts instead of several little posts i'm sorry!#it should be noted that pandolf was freed from his glass jail after that first photo was taken #i just think his presence improves photographs

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speedycoffeedelight · 2 months

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An Animalistic Disaster

Summery: Where Charlie ignores Vaggie's warning once again and falls into a disaster

Master list

CH- 2 : The golden book

*Back to the present*

You released the sheep on the kitchen floor as you went to your fridge. 'Wait, sheeps do eat lettuces right? I think they do..' you thought as you picked up some lettuces that you were saving for salad. You made sure to properly wash them before putting it on a bowl and giving it to the sheep. As for the moth, you cut a bit of orange that you had and put it on a small plate near the moth.

Charlie was looking around and trying to take all of your room in. She was suddenly painfully aware of how small she was and how big everything looked. For Vaggie it was worse. She was trying to take everything in too but the light bulb in the room was far too distracting. They told each other what they were while coming inside. Charlie was squealing in joy to learn she was a fluffy adorable little sheep, though a bit worried on how to turn back.

Vaggie on the other hand, was not happy to learn at all that she was a moth now. She was small and weak now and can't do anything to help herself or Charlie. Plus being a moth came with its disadvantages. Like right now.

'damn light bulb....'

With a click you put down the plate in front of the little sheep wondering around. The sheep started to eat it rather quickly and you chuckled looking at it.

You looked around to find the moth on the orange bits you put out. You decided it's time for you to eat and pass for the day. You were tired as hell from unpacking today. You can start working tomorrow.

You just warmed up some foods that were prepared beforehand. While washing your dishes you felt a poke at your leg. You looked down to see the little sheep staring up at you.

"Aww, has my little ewe finished eating? Don't worry dear, I'm giving you a spot to sleep soon." You said while walking over to pick up the bowl and plate." Just let me finish washing these real soon"

After cleaning them you quickly took out a big ass basket that you had in your room. You took out your stuff from there and placed a soft pillow there. You then picked up the sheep and put it there. And behold, it fit perfectly!

"Sleep here darling, it's comfy no?" You said while petting the ewe again and feeling it fluffy wool. 'thank you for doing these for us!' Charlie wanted to tell you but all she managed was a little Baa.

"I take that you like it then?" You said smiling. The moth from before suddenly flew over and sat on top of the sheep's wool.

"Hey look your little friend is here too. Sleep tight both of you" you said as you got up and went around the house making sure everything was locked properly since you've living alone now.

You moved to your own bed after finishing some small things you needed to do and prepared to sleep. As soon as you layed down, exhaustion quickly caught up to you leaving you knocked out soon. Charlie and Vaggie soon followed being exhausted by today's turn of events as well. You slept in peace knowing you made two small friends today.

However, that peace was broken when you woke up to loud barking the next morning.

(image not mine!!)

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lettucesquid · 1 year

Photo

ok there was gonna be a really cool caption here but I couldn’t think of anything so have this Olive

#OC: Olive #lettuce's doodles #yes this is exactly what you think its for #tumblr messed with it tho so if you see anything weird no you didnt #really happy with it tho!!#art

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allgremlinart · 14 days

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whenever I get married in Stardew its like the same as when I get a dog or cat in Minecraft I can barely play the game anymore because I get too stressed out about my responsibility for the health, safety, and happiness of these simulated beings what if my dog gets killed by a creeper I would have to build myself a funeral pyre. what if I dont give my wife lettuce on Tuesday and she hangs herself. psychiatrists love me

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cockdestroyer32 · 8 months

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it's rotten work.

peter b. parker x fem!reader

word count: 2615

summary: Peter's been a wreck after his divorce with MJ. Thankfully, you're there to look after him.

aka me just fantasizing about taking care of peter b. parker when he needed it and giving him the love he so very deserves.

a/n: yeah I write abt this loser now

Two months. That’s how long it’s been since Peter and MJ’s divorce. Two months of countless pizza orders and late-night fast food trips. You tried your best, of course, most days making lunch and dinner for Peter, but it still wouldn’t help his insurmountable need to shove oily fries drenched in high amounts of salt down his throat. Though he would gladly take them. His hand finding yours on the table, giving you a knowing look with his sad, tired eyes that you’d gotten used to seeing so damn often on him. His own way of a thank you. Two months of coming home to Peter’s place to find him sprawled out on his couch, his head lying on his own arm and still wearing shoes. The TV would be on playing the most random channel. He’d be staring at it, but if you turned it off he wouldn’t even blink. Two months of trying your best to be there for him.

You were still getting used to the new apartment. For as long as you could remember, Peter and MJ lived in the same house for the past 15 years. You’d gotten used to it. It was nice. Two stories, wooden floors, big dining room. They’d have Thanksgivings there, it was almost a tradition. The turkey was served and everyone gathered around, talking and laughing about nothing. Peter was happy then, at least most of the time.

This apartment was none of that. It was way smaller, one small cube covering kitchen, living room and bedroom, with a room to the left including the tiny bathroom- which has a bathtub? You never quite understood that, what is it with Americans and putting bathtubs in their already tiny bathrooms?- not to mention it was unkept. The dishes practically overflowing, two pizza boxes, one awkwardly thrown to the counter, not even closed, its gaping mouth allowing you to spy the damp spots the hot pizza left on the cardboard box, and the other shoved inside the trash, which was also nearly overflowing. A barely-eaten cereal bowl rested on the sad excuse of a dining table, some colorful circles creeping out of the white liquid. It was more milk than cereal. And both ingredients also stood there, not put back on their respective places.

Peter does not have enough money to just waste perfectly good milk.

You grab the carton and open the refrigerator, the light illuminating the kitchen/living room/bedroom area. God, even the refrigerator was sad. An already open can of soda standing lonely to the side, feeling unsafe on the grids of the shelf, a container of cheese at the top, four eggs to the side, and untouched lettuce to the middle. You place the milk inside, now making company to the lonely soda, and shut the refrigerator door, making your way back to the couch. As you do you pass by the wall of the apartment that includes Peter’s attempt at decorating, one only possible after much pleading by you that the place might feel more like home if he did so.

They were pictures. Pictures on the wall. Four to be specific. All taped to the wall with double-sided tape. They were all scattered like corn and asymmetrical. How and why did he manage to do that? You don’t know. Was it awful? Yes.

But you were still excited when you’d shown up to his place and found them there.

This was only a fraction of the pictures he had back in his place with MJ. Their old living room had once been full of pictures of them and the memories they made together. But these were the ones he took and remained. The middle picture was one of you and Peter, back when you traveled to Barbados. You stood behind him, hugging him with one arm from behind, your chin resting on his shoulder as you both smiled at the camera. The one to the side was a picture he took of you on your birthday, you wore one of those birthday headbands, a huge smile spreading across your face as you saw one of your other friends bringing you your cake. It was slightly blurry, not one you’d usually have on your wall but beautiful regardless. When you’d seen that picture, your finger reached out to touch it, surprised it was there, and you turned around to look at Peter, who refused to look at you, clearly embarrassed. The third one is a picture of May, 2 years before she died, her grey hair perfectly framing her smiling face, and the fourth one of Peter and May, sitting on her couch, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his head on hers.

Peter sits on the couch, his ankles extended out, looking like he wanted to trip someone. He wore the same grey sweatpants he always wore, and his sweatshirt was stained. The bags under his eyes were prominent, and his eyebrows were furrowed. His gaze was fixated on the TV, but he actually seemed to be paying attention this time, so that’s progress…right?

You threw your body on the couch beside his, letting out a sigh and looking at the screen. He was watching a documentary on…pandas? You don’t comment on it. Or on his stained shirt. Or on the cereal bowl. Or on the milk. You just stare at the TV.

“I’m fine,” He says, his voice raspy.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You don’t reply. He’s used to you asking the same question, and you’re used to hearing the same answer. You both know he’s not fine, that he hasn’t been fine in a while, but that there’s not much you can do but let time pass, to let the wound heal as best as it can, leaving only a scar, that at least won’t sting as much anymore. You know Peter. You’ve known him for years. You know his moods, you know what makes him laugh, what makes him angry, his mannerisms and what they mean, his favorite foods, his favorite flavor of cake…you know when he needs love.

Except for on days like this. On days where he’s grumpy and barely speaks at all. Days where his arms are crossed and he’s always tapping his foot. Sometimes he just wants to be left alone, sometimes he wants as much physical affection as possible. You don’t know.

So, you leave a hint.

You place your hand next to his on the couch- they have always been so rough, so calloused, yet always felt nice- and you lift your pinky, it grazing across the back of his hand. Up, and down. You do that once before stopping it at the bottom of his hand, just next to his pinky. If he wants to take it, he can take it, if not, he doesn’t have do anything.

You feel the back of his hand being taken away from the tip of your finger, before his palm finds yours and he entwines your fingers together, giving your hand a light squeeze. Yours is smaller than his, and certainly softer. You don’t look at each other, you don’t have to. You keep your eyes on the panda eating bamboo and feel his thumb caress the side of your hand.

If that wasn’t clear, it’s been a rough two months. And you’ve been there for rough months. You were there for when Peter and MJ would have tough arguments, for when being Spider-Man started being just a little too much for him, for when he couldn’t save everyone, for when Aunt May died. But this? This was bad. Almost as much as May’s death. He just…fell into a hole. And you don’t blame him either. He’d been married to Mary Jane for fifteen years. Fifteen years. Having to separate from someone you spent more than a decade with must be one of the hardest things ever, and you couldn’t exactly say you understood.

It wasn’t all bad though. One time, you decided to watch a movie together. You let Peter choose the movie. Horror. You were never quite used to it, but were you gonna say no to him? No, and he knew it. About 40 minutes in, there was a scene where the main character was inspecting his house after having heard a strange noise. He walks around for a while, letting the tension build until suddenly the monster rises behind him. It’d been about 11pm at that point and you let out a loud yelp, followed by your hand slapping over your mouth as you realize what you did. You did a slow turn towards Peter, finding his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly agape, before he burst out into laughter. The sound rang through your ears like your favorite song. God, it’d been so long since you heard that laugh. If you knew it’d happen you’d grabbed your phone and started recording it immediately. But at that point it’d been enough, and you couldn’t help but start laughing too.

Now, you feel Peter’s grip slowly loosening on yours and you turn your head towards him. His eyes are closed, and his eyebrows are more relaxed now, though he’s not asleep just yet. From this angle you could perfectly see his roman nose, the bridge sticking out in all of its wonder, and the little bend to the side, where he’d broken it so many times his healing factors had just given up. He hated it. You always loved it, and he knew it. You leaned in slightly.

“Pete…” You whisper, “Pete, let’s get you to bed.”

He murmured some nonsense. A chuckle leaves your lips and you reach for his arm.

“Pete, if you wanna sleep we gotta get you to bed, come on.”

“O…kay…” You get up from the couch and place both hands on his arms, motioning for him to get up. When he does he rests his head on yours, and you drape your arm over his shoulder, leading him to his bed. He drops his body on it and oh he looks adorable. His arms curved in front of him almost in a praying motion, and his knees slightly bent. You notice his shoes are still on and reach to take them off, he doesn’t even move as you do so, and you set them down neatly on the floor. You know what’s next, you’ve gotten used to it: you crawl on the bed beside him, and wrap an arm around him from behind, the other creeping from under his body so you can hug him properly. You bury your face on his shoulder and squeeze him tight, your legs lying just behind his.

Peter likes being the little spoon. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if it was born out of an extreme need to receive the physical affection he lost after his divorce. Those thoughts are quickly brushed off but everlasting, you probably shouldn’t be thinking about that. This happens every night now, to the point Peter doesn’t sleep without you anymore. If you take too long to crawl into bed, he tells you in a groggy voice, “Come hereeeee…”

One time you got up in the middle of the night to drink some water, and in comes Peter, wearing his grey pajama shirt, rubbing his eyes as he sleepily asks you, “Why'd you go?”

The first time you fell asleep cuddled together was a little over a month ago. Peter’d been quiet that entire day and you left him alone, figuring he just wanted time for his thoughts, until eventually you lifted a gentle hand, resting it against his shoulder as you asked, “You alright? Wanna talk?” And a few minutes later you found yourself holding a sobbing Peter, his hands desperately clutching to your back as you rubbed his, his face pressed against your chest as his own heaved. Wet trailings ran down your body and made your shirt damp, trailings that’d grow salty and sticky on your skin, but that’d you pay no attention to.

You don’t even know how long that lasted, you just held him for as long as he needed, until his weeping subsided and the sobs were replaced only by the shuddering breaths one gets after crying so desperately. Then even those went away, Peter’s breath completely evened out and calm. You noticed he was heavier in your arms, and whispered his name as you leaned your head down, looking for his face, only to be met with one of a sleeping Peter. His lashes were wet and eyes were shut and relaxed, as if he hadn’t just had a full breakdown in your arms. You stayed like this for a moment, wondering if he’d wake up, and knowing you didn’t have the heart to do it. Eventually you leaned back on the couch, your back resting against it as your head was placed awkwardly on its stiff arm. He slid down on your body a bit as you did, his face now at your stomach, and he tightened his grip and pressed his nose into your skin. You still don’t know if he remembered he did that.

And now Peter has you climbing into bed beside him every night, trying your best to envelop his body with yours even though your frame is much tinier.

You turn your head to him as you feel him shift and take a breath.

“I wanna…be big spoon…” You can barely make out the words due to his raspy mumbling, and before you could even process them, Peter was turning around and grabbing your arm, flipping you on your side as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. Tight as if to ensure you wouldn’t try to escape his grip.

Woah. Is this what MJ felt every night when she was with Peter? Again, probably not something you should be thinking about, but still. This? This comfortable?

If you were MJ you would have never given up on this. Ever. No matter what.

God, he’s strong. I mean, you knew he was strong, he’s Spider-Man for crying out loud. But you’d never thought about how that came into play in moments like this, where he could wrap his arms around you with such a firm yet tender grip that it felt like absolutely nothing could tear you two apart.

Though you were still quite a bit frozen. Peter had never done that before. This was new and sudden. And slowly you could feel that information seep back into Peter’s presumably more awake mind as well, with the way he turned his head slowly to the left, and his body straightened and stiffened on your back.

“Uhh, is this okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” You replied. He was probably awake right now, mortified by his own actions but too comfortable and scared to pull away. And so were you. So you placed your hand on his arm, and gently ran it back and forth, telling him you really were okay with this, and if anything you wanted him to keep it up. His body remained frozen for at least 3 seconds until he lifted his arm from under your hand, and placed his palm over it, enlacing your fingers together. He pressed your arm in the front of your body and buried his nose in your neck. It sent a few shivers down your spine, you won’t lie. But you just took a deep breath and toughed it out, closing your eyes as well and relaxing. His breath on your neck slowly lulled you to sleep.

Hopefully, this is your new night routine.

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