#gardening t shirt in us

[gardeningloverfamily]

Help me This is my new gardening t-shirt website. If you have any design then send your design to my email. I will upload the t-shirt as per your design.

Check Out This Design

Email: trendylunchshop@gmail.com

[mortalityplays]

You need more free art.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, actually I quit my job eight weeks ago, but they finally released me yesterday for good behaviour. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do - but I do it for the wrong reasons. Working for major charities, you learn very fast that 'I want to make the world a better place' is a phrase you use to ask people for money, not to give them things. I was an ass-backwards fit for that world.

You need more free art. I need more free art. Everyone has felt the shift in our media landscape over the last ten years, away from access and towards nickel-and-diming the human experience. That lack of access is making life and culture worse for all of us, across the board. Paywalled news sites leave us less informed, attacks on the Internet Archive leave us less capable of research. Algorithmic social feeds and streaming walled gardens trap us inside smaller and smaller demographic bubbles, where we are increasingly only likely to encounter ideas that have been curated for us by marketing departments. Hasty efforts to resist AI commodification have only led to more artists locking their work away and calling for even more onerous systems of copyright law. This is not good for us.

We all need more free art.

So what am I going to do about it?

This is a question I have been asking myself for years. It's easy to sit here feeilng frustrated and thinking 'boy I hope SOMEONE does SOMETHING'. It's harder to take action in a world where I still have rent to pay. But hard doesn't mean impossible. Sometimes hard just means time-consuming, frustrating and slow. And sometimes it's worth doing something time-consuming, frustrating and slow because...I want to make the world a better place.

I'm going to do this:

1. From April 1st, I am relaunching as a freelance writer and editor.

This is the one that will (hopefully) help to pay the bills. I am a very good and experienced editor. I've worked on hollywood movies, I'm a member of the Chartered Institute of Editors and Proofreaders, I have clients who have been coming to me exclusively for more than 10 years.

Alongside bigger contract jobs, I am going to refocus on offering my services to small-press creators at a reduced rate. That means you, graphic novelists. That means you, itch and amazon writers. I want to help you develop your work, the same way I help large organisations. You can learn more about what an editor even does and what kind of pricing you can expect here.

2. I'm also going to start giving shit away. Like, constantly.

Next week I'm going to launch a new free shop. If you're unfamiliar, a free shop, giveaway shop, swap shop, etc. is an anarchist tradition of setting up a storefront where anyone can take what they like for no cost. Offline, this often means second-hand clothes, tools, furniture, food etc. Online, I am going to be giving away digital art. Copyright-free, no strings attached. It will (eventually) feature everything from print-res posters to zines, poems, tattoo flash, t-shirt designs and anything else we come up with.

Yes, I said 'we' - while this is a curated collection, it will feature work from a variety of credited and anonymous artists and activists, all of whom have agreed to give their work away to the public domain. Some of it will be practical, some of it will be political, but a lot of it will be decorative or personal. This is, in part, a response to recent difficulty I had finding somewhere that would print a one-off joke poster for a friend that featured the word 'faggot'. Enough. No middlemen - no explaining ourselves. Just print our shit and enjoy it.

I'm very, very excited about this project. I'll have more to say about it closer to the launch, but you can expect it to go live on March 27th.

2.2 I forgot to mention the ACTUAL LAUNCH GIVEAWAY

To celebrate my launch, I am going to be giving away a ton of physical prints. When I went looking for my old stock to see if it was worth setting a new (paid) storefront up, I realised I had way more old work in storage than I thought. This will be announced in its own right on Monday, but this is why I've been hinting you should go follow my Patreon.

On April 1st, I will pick 8 random patrons (from across all tiers including non-paying followers!) and mail them a bundle of assorted prints and postcards. The prize pool includes A3 and A4 posters, packs of A6 postcards, and printed minicomics that I've previously sold for up to £12 each.

You don't have to be a paying subscriber to enter - this is strictly no-purchase necessary. It is purely and entirely a celebration of the concept of GIVING ART AWAY FOR FREE.

3. PORN, YOU PERVERTS

Because I still have to pay to stay alive, I am going to be subsidising all this free art with the introduction of Fuck You Fridays. Starting from March 29th, I will drop a new 18+ short story on the last Friday of every month, over on itch.io (yes I know my page is desolate right now, don't worry I'll get there).

The first edition, Go Fuck Yourself, is about, well - telling your boss where to stick it. Julia has had it with her millionaire man-child manager, and is just about ready to let him know what she really thinks. It's a short and steamy 5k words, with a gorgeous cover illustration by @taylor-titmouse, and you can pick it up for $3 starting from March 29th.

4. ANOTHER BIG SURPRISE

I'm keeping this one under wraps for now, but April 1st will also play host to one more (FREE) launch. If you've been following me for a long time, you might remember the other significance of this date (no not April Fool's day, though that is certainly thematically relevant to this entire effort). That's all I'll say right now. Watch this space.

tl;dr: I'm sick of paywalls and career ladders. I'm literally putting my money where my mouth is. More free art for everyone and I'm not kidding around!!!

[gremlingottoosilly]

Slasher!König who’s used to catfishing girls online to lure them in for murder. His next victim is reader, but when she shows up on his doorstep, he can’t physically bring himself to go through with it. Something in him just doesn’t feel right about murdering them like the others. (So he’s gonna keep them in the basement, until he figures those feelings out. :/ )

Konig is having his Meet Cute awakening. Usually, whenever he meets people from dating apps, he is catfishing; they are different from their profile pics and descriptions. They might smoke while rocking out their healthy lifestyle, they might be ugly, might be taller or shorter, or might be completely different people - two can play the catfishing game, after all. It doesn't save them from being killed by Konig, but it does make a difference in whether or not he is torturing them for 12 hours or 13. You're different too. Fucking adorable, that's who you are. He is having a crisis - it's normal to be nervous, for him, it's something he is holding since being a kid. He just never realized that he could make the mistake of falling in love with his victim. You were supposed to be tortured and thrown into his basement after or fed into fertilizer for the garden. Instead, he knocks you out, ruins your clothes, and then feels bad because you're shivering in your sleep, and he gives you his t-shirt. Then the slasher stares at how big his shirt is on you, how pretty you tremble under him, and how gorgeous you look in dim basement light, covered in the blood of his previous victim. You're going to be his downfall. He doesn't know what to do with you, so he kidnaps a random guy going to the nearest gas station. Konig thinks about the way your chest swelled with each breathing moment under his shirt as he guts the guy's insides out. Plunges the knife inside and imagines fucking you until you call him daddy. Cleans himself before going to the basement again, his cock swelling painfully in his pants. He didn't even do anything to you yet. You cry when you see him, and he almost cums in his pants. You're too adorable, cuteness aggression overloading him as he squeezes you in a hug until he can almost hear something cracking. You whimper like a kitten and he presses a kiss to your temple. Then - your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, he licks your face like a dog and you smell like blood and saliva and you gag at the feeling, but he is already halfway pushing his cock past your thighs. He can't hurt you, his everything goes beyond the possibility - but he can't let you go either. At least you're provided with a very warm place in his bed after he can't stand putting you away in the basement. You should be grateful, honestly.

[thetriumphantpanda]

freedom felt like summer | joel miller

Summary | Weeks of flirting back and forth with your neighbour Joel all comes to a head when he makes sure every inch of you in covered in suncream.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.6K

Warnings | Explicit - reader wears a bikini and uses sun cream but is otherwise a blank slate. Alcohol consumption. Swearing, flirting, and dirty talk. Explicit smut - oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected PiV smut, creampie. No outbreak au and no use of y/n.

Authors Note | We've had a slither of sun in the UK and this is what happens. Big thanks to @undercoverpena for the shorts idea ;) I hope you enjoy! If you do, please consider reblogging, leaving comments or leaving a tip via my Ko-Fi.

Divider by the wonderful @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

There’s nothing quite like an Austin summer. Hot sun beating down, but with the new pool your parents had built when you’d moved out and their fully stocked fridge of soda and ice, it wasn’t too bad at all.

They’d gone on their annual holiday, two weeks in Mexico, which meant you had two weeks of lounging by the pool, soaking up the sun and bleeding them for their food and drinks. No responsibilities, is what you’d told yourself, laptop shut and job applications waiting, whilst you soaked the sun into your skin and made margaritas too strong once the clock struck 1pm.

The heat across your skin had dried the chlorine water quickly, coconut scented suncream slathered across every inch you could reach, not worrying about your back because it was pressed against the back of the lounger. You’re just started to drift off, eyes closing behind your sunglasses, when a voice jolts you.

“You manage to reach your back with that?”

There’s a small smirk that flashes across your mouth, quickly bitten away by your teeth as you sit up and turn around a little, looking over to the fence where Joel Miller is leaning over, pointing to the bottle of suncream on the small table next to you.

“Hard to reach there when it’s just me,” You shrug, “But it’s okay, it’s not getting any of the sun anyhow.”

He shakes his head and makes a tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth, “Don’t mean you shouldn’t try and cover it,” He says, sounding more like your dad than you’d care to admit, “The sun ain’t gonna look at that lounger and think it can’t burn you.”

“Well, I'm here on my own,” You offer, “Unless you’re gonna volunteer to smear it on my back, Miller, I'm gonna have to risk it.”

You can see him thinking over the fence, wondering if this is a good idea, much like he’s been thinking since you came home - degree done, jobs waiting - he’d flirted with you at your dad’s cookout in honour of you graduating, swapped numbers with you the day your parents left for vacation ‘in case you needed him’, and has spent the last week making any excuse to peek his head over the fence and talk to you, specifically when you’re out in your bikini, mostly when you’re dripping wet from coming out of the pool.

He holds his finger up and then disappears from view, only to come back seconds later through the gate at the bottom of your garden that connects your land with his. Your dad had been weary of it at first, but as soon as he’d met Joel, they’d hit it off, and now the gate is used more than the front door when they want to drink together.

He’s dressed simply, a pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt. Too stifling for you, you think, but you know he’s spent most of his life on building sites, so he must be used to the heat of the sun on his skin. Joel comes to a stop near the small table, but instead of picking up the bottle of cream, he opts for the half-empty glass of margarita you’d made not too long ago. He takes a sip and makes a face, which makes you laugh.

“Never understand how you women like this stuff.”

Setting the glass down, he picks up the bottle of cream and flips the lid, motioning for you to sit up, which you do, turning on the lounger so your back is facing him. The bottle of cream is really on its last legs, coming to the very end, so you can hear the bottle express more air than cream the first time he squeezes it. You hear him rubbing his hands together and then feel him step a little closer to your back.

“Ready?” He asks, voice low, to which you nod your head.

Then his hands are on you and it’s better than you ever had thought. They’re rough against your skin, but the way they’re gliding across your back is gentle. His hands drag the cream down your spine to the band of your bikini top, before he’s working it into your skin, all the way up to the nape of your neck. You can feel your head tipping forward, struggling to stifle a groan when you feel him gently shift one of the straps of your top down so he can bring the cream up and over your shoulders, his hand big enough that his fingers brush your collarbone. He repeats his actions on the other side, making sure to bring the straps back up when he’s done, then he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“All done.”

“You’re a professional at that, Miller,” You praise, “Spend a lot of time rubbing suncream into girls backs, do you?”

“All the time.” Is his dry response as you move to lay back down.

When you turn your head, he’s already walking away.

“You can stay,” You offer, “If you’ve got nothing else to do.”

He stands still for a second before he turns over his shoulder, “Let me change and then I’ll come back.”

He’s doing this on purpose, you think, as you watch him glide under the water again, head dipping up as his arms work him down the pool where he comes to a stop, taking wet hands to slick his hair back from his forehead.

“You ever thought of having your own built?” You ask, sipping from the fresh margarita you’d made.

He shakes his head, “Thought about it a fair bit when Sarah was younger but now it would be wasted on me,” He explains, “Besides, I can always come and use yours,” You watch him bend his knees a little in the water so his chest is submerged, “Kinda hot out there, why don’t you come in a cool off.”

Joel has a point, even though it’s mid-afternoon now, the heat is still just as strong as it was when it was midday, so you drag yourself as carefully as you can manage off the lounger and plop yourself down on the side of the pool, dipping your legs in as Joel swims over. You expect him to stop, but he doesn’t, just puts his big palms on your upper thighs and spreads your legs wide, settling himself between them. You lean back, palms against the warm stone behind you, and push your sunglasses onto your head so he can see your eyes.

“Finally gonna make your move, huh?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Somethin’ like that.”

His palms are dragging up your thighs, resting on the band of your bikini bottoms, looking up at you like he’s waiting for permission, which you gladly give with a nod of your head. His fingers are hooking into the waistband and dragging down, you lift your hips to make it easier for him, and watch as he steps back in the water to drag them down your legs, leaving them forgotten on the side of the pool as he spreads your thighs wide. You’re not even think about the neighbours on the other side as you watch him, eyes focused on your bare cunt in front of him.

“Like what you see, Miller?” You ask, with a smirk, reaching your hand down your body, using two fingers to gently spread your folds in front of his face, dragging one up the length of your pussy to play with your clit.

You swear he growls at you, big hand gripping your wrist to drag your hand away from your core. He steps back between your thighs and uses the hand not gripping your wrist to push you back a little. Then his mouth is pressing hot kisses to your thighs, working up and across your tummy, back down the other side until you’re squirming and ready to beg.

You can feel the back of his knuckles drag up and down the folds of your cunt, “You gonna be wet if I touch you?” He asks, tone low.

“Why don’t you find out.”

So he does, using a single finger to dip between your folds, dragging down gently until he’s pressing it into your cunt, easy because you are in fact already dripping for him. You feel him work his finger in and out of you, before he’s adding a second and curling them up inside you at just the right angle to have your head tipping back and a moan dropping from your mouth.

“Gotta be quiet, Darlin’,” Joel speaks, “Do you want next door knowin’ what you’re up to?”

You’re about to come back with some smart retort when he leans forward and uses the tip of his tongue to flick gently against your clit, making it all the more harder to keep your moans at bay. Joel continues the light flick of his tongue against you whilst his fingers more in and out of your cunt, until he switches things up and wraps his lips around your clit, suckling it into his mouth whilst his fingers remain buried deep inside you, curling up in a ‘come hither’ motion to caress that perfect spot inside you.

Your hands fly to his hair, tangling deep in his chocolate curls, keeping his face flush to where he’s working you towards the edge.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel,” You breathe out, “Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna come.”

At your words, he doubles down, moving his fingers faster inside of you, sucking at your clit with more vigour. He pushes you over the edge easily, easier than anyone ever has before, legs shaking, skin alight, a silent scream sent forth to the sky as his mouth works you through it. Your body feels like jelly when he finally pulls away from you, but there’s enough energy left through your body that you can pull your legs from the water and get up onto your knees.

“Get out of the water, cowboy,” You murmur, bending down to press your lips to Joel’s, tasting yourself on his mouth, “I wanna fuck.”

You push yourself back from him, shuffling back to let him pull himself out of the water. His swim shorts are wet, rivulets of water dripping into pools at his feet, but all your eyes can really focus on is the outline of his cock through his wet shorts. He’s hard and from what you can tell, he’s big. It makes your mouth water, makes you want to wrap your lips around it, but it seems like he has other ideas for you. He’s dragging you up from your knees, walking you over to the low patio chairs, where he sits himself down on one and promptly drags you onto his lap, your thighs wide as they straddle him in the chair.

Your naked pussy is dragging against the wet bulge of his jeans, his hands moving your hips as you lean down again to kiss him, the endless flirting and build up over the last few weeks finally coming to a head as you let your tongue run against his, his hands lifting your hips a little so he can reach between the two of you to pull his shorts down just enough to free his cock.

You can feel the thick line of him running through your folds, wide head of his cock brushing against your clit as he moves, making you moan into his mouth just as he pulls away.

“You wanna sit on it?” He asks lowly, hands moving back to grip your bare ass, spreading you wide.

“I do.”

“Go on then, darlin’,” He speaks, “Show me what you’re made of.”

He helps raise your hips, letting you reach between the two of you to grip his cock, lining him up with your seeping entrance, sinking down just enough to let the tip of his cock notch into you. You lean your forehead against his, both damp with sweat, and revel in the fact that his mouth drops open in a sigh of pleasure just at the same time as yours does. You ease yourself down onto his cock a little more, letting the slight burn and stretch of him easing in, inch by inch, set your skin aflame.

You still once you’ve sunk down fully onto him, letting yourself get used to his length nestled inside you. You feel your cunt fluttering around him, and you know he can feel it too, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip when you start lifting yourself off him and sink back down.

“Shit, baby,” He breathes, leaning up to catch your mouth with his briefly, “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

He makes you smile when he says things like that, it makes you bold, makes you lift up on him, almost all the way, and then sink back down, but harder and faster than before. As you move, Joel lets go of his grip on your ass and brings them to your bikini top, slipping the straps down, then pulling the material over your tits. He leans down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it until it’s a stiff peak, switching sides to give the same attention to the other.

Once he’s given enough attention to your tits, he takes your hips in his hands, guiding your movements from bouncing to grinding, his cock sitting right within the depths of you as you move backwards and forwards on him. Joel brings a hand between you, using his thumb to draw rough circles over your clit.

“I need to feel you,” He breathes against your skin, “Need to feel you come on my cock.”

“Just…” You breathe right back, “Don’t stop, keep doing that, I’m right there.”

Joel leans up, mouth hot against the skin of your neck as he starts to suck at your skin, tip of his cock brushing just perfectly against that spot inside you as the familiar feeling at your spine builds and builds until it’s crashing over you. You bury your head in his neck, damp with sweat and the remnants of pool water, letting out the quietest moan you can manage as your pussy pulls tight around his length and you feel yourself gush against him, his thumb continuing to work you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“You gotta tell me where,” He mutters urgently, “I’m close baby, where do you want me.”

“Inside,” You beg against his skin, realising it was muffled, you turn your head and speak again, “Inside me Joel, please.”

It only takes a few more deep grinds of your hips before he’s gripping your hips tight to keep you still, spilling inside you, warmth spreading through your cunt and as groans your name quietly, so as not to alert the neighbours as to what they just missed in your backyard.

He pulls you close, arms wrapping around your lower back, both of you catching your breath for a moment. You press a kiss to his chest, nuzzling your face into his warm skin as his softening cock slips from your tight heats. You can feel the trickle of his cum down your inner thigh, but make no effort to move, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you.

“Same time tomorrow?” You mumble against his skin.

“Same time tomorrow, baby.”

[kaiijo]

SUPER-GLUED JAR PRANK — [WIND BREAKER]

characters: sakura haruka, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, togame jo content: gn! reader, a (very old) tiktok prank notes: they’re so silly, i love them

sakura haruka ✶

in hindsight, you should have known giving sakura the super-glued jar might not have been your best idea but his bright pink face paired with an inevitable tirade were too good to pass up. you can’t take all the credit for it — kotoha played a role too, supplying you with a nearly-empty jar of sprinkles and some acting. 

your boyfriend is sitting with nirei and suo when you emerge from cafe potus’s pantry with the jar. she feigns disappointment when she asks, “any luck?”

“no,” you say, shaking the jar in your hand for effect.

“it’s such a waste to just let all that stuff sit at the bottom.”

you turn to sakura and asks, “can you try opening it, sweetheart?”

sakura’s face flushes at the pet name, which makes his friends giggle, and he takes the jar from you. with each attempt his make, sakura scowls more and more, huffing as he sets it down. nirei suggests that he tap the lid against the edge of the table but sakura uses just a bit too much force and the glass breaks. you gasp and the trio at the table jumps back with fast reflexes. 

kotoha’s already running to grab a broom and dustpan and you’re reaching down to pick up the big pieces. sakura’s hand closes around your wrist before you can and he says, “are you crazy? you could hurt yourself, let me do it.” 

“no one touch it,” kotoha orders as she sweeps the shards up. nirei is apologizing profusely and sakura mutters an apology, complaining about how he almost had it and how they shouldn’t make jars that sealed that tight. when you come clean to him about gluing the lid, he’s huffing and puffing at you, and you make it up to him with a lot of food and a lot of kisses and cuddles in private. 

umemiya hajime ✶

you find umemiya on the roof of furin high, tending to his garden. your heart swells as you hear him coo at his plants, carefully and lovingly watering them. you almost feel bad about this little prank. almost, but you remember the prank he pulled last week with that fake rubber bug in your lunch so you don’t feel too bad.

you thank every star in the sky that sugishita’s not here at the moment because you’re pretty sure this prank would be the last thing you’d get to do if he was. “hajime?” you call to him.

 his head immediately swerves to look at you and his smile is as bright as ever as he set down the water can and makes his way over. he presses a loud, messy kiss against your cheek, and you don’t even have to ask umemiya; he notices the jar in your hand and says, “i can help you open that!”

“thanks,” you say and he takes the jar from you. 

he’s beaming when he replies with a breezy “no problem, baby!” and firmly grips the lid, giving it a firm twist. his smile dims a little and he tries again with no luck. umemiya squares his feet and gives it another go, and you can’t deny that seeing his arms bulge with exertion against the sleeves of his white t-shirt is in any way unpleasant.

he slides on his gardening gloves and tries again. the lid doesn’t budge and umemiya is pouting at the jar and mumbling, “i’ll be right back.” he disappears into the school for about twenty minutes. he comes back with a look of defeat, shoulders slumping. “i can’t help you,” he says. “i’m really sorry.”

oh my god, you feel your stomach twist in sympathy and you answer, “i know. i’m really sorry, haji, it’s because i super-glued the lid.”

he blinks once, twice, and then his smile is back on his face. he wipes some sweat off his brow and sighs in relief, “phew! i thought i’d totally lost my strength there for second!” you can’t help but stare at him as he grins, outshining the sun. what did you do to deserve this angel?

hiragi toma ✶

you walk into your living room, where hiragi is setting up a movie for the two of you to watch. “any movie in mind?” he asks as he leans back in the couch, remote in hand. 

“howl’s moving castle?” 

“again? we watched that last weekend too.”

you grin at him. “it’s not my fault howl’s so cute.”

your boyfriend rolls his eyes, grumbling, “he’s not that cute. and he’s not real.” before you can argue, hiragi motions at the jar in your hand. 

“can you help me open it?” you ask him, holding it out to him. 

he eyes it suspiciously. “you hate pickles.”

“i want to try them again.”

“but why buy an entire jar if you want to just—”

“can you please just open it? help me start this new journey in my life?” he still looks confused but, ever the dutiful boyfriend, takes it from your hand. 

one attempt. two, then three. by the fourth, you feel a giggle threatening to burst forth but the familiar sound of the air pressure releasing has your jaw dropping. hiragi doesn’t take the lid off entirely, letting it sit on top as he hands it back to you. he takes in your awed expression with a frown. “is everything okay?” he’s already reaching for his stomach tablets. 

“i super-glued this,” you say, still a little starstruck. “like, with a lot of glue. you weren’t supposed to be able to open it.” 

you show him the lid and as he swallows down the pill. he sighs, “you’re going to be the death of me.” 

togame jo ✶

“these looks so good!” tomiyama says, marveling at the spread of sandwiches and snacks you had brought to the park. he had been the one to propose a shishitoren picnic, though togame was the one who had pared it down to just a couple of people to make it more manageable. 

“thanks! help yourselves!” you reply, watching on with a small smile as the boys dug into the food you had prepared. you lean against togame, who rests his chin on your shoulder. 

he leans forward for a sandwich, handing you one as well. it’s your favorite variety of the ones you made and you’re thrilled that your boyfriend remembered that. as you take a bite, you figure this the perfect time to execute your plan. you reach into your own bag, pulling out a nearly-finished jar of chili oil. you nudge togame. “you think you can help me open this? i tried all morning.”

“sure,” he says, gently lifting it from your grasp. his arms are still around you as he makes his first attempt and you feel the quick breath he exhales as he tries again. he eventually untangles himself from you, eyebrows furrowing. “shit,” he says, “i don’t know if i can.”

tomiyama makes grabbing hands at it. “let me try!” togame hands it over to his friend and tomiyama tries a couple of times, pouting when he can’t open it either. he hands it over to sako, who glowers when he fails too. the jar gets passed between the shishitoren members present and each one is unsuccessful. the last guy hands it back to you and togame sighs, “sorry we couldn’t help, baby.”

as everyone else apologizes to, you feel a little bashful as you admit to gluing it. you’re relieved when they take it in good stride, letting out relieved cries and playfully protest. you pull out another jar of the same chili oil, this one totally super-glue-free and give it to those who want it as a peace offering.  as the group settles into a nice rhythm, you lean back against togame and his head finds its place in the crook of your neck again.

[fuctacles]

wiggly wormy wednesday

Thanks @formosusiniquis for tagging me!!! Here's a thing inspired by that one fanart of Eddie in that one t-shirt that I can't find now

Steve works during the summer as a pool boy. 

It's a good ego boost as he's been in high demand among the housewives in the area. His schedule is full, to the point he has to start declining some offers to have time for himself. When his phone rings with another job offer, he doesn't reject it right away because he's startled to hear a man's voice for a change. Then he hears he'll double the salary and he agrees. 

The address he jotted down leads him to the oldest mansion in town, dark and looming over the neighborhood. He understands the raise in money now and is glad that he told Robin where he'll be. 

The gate is open, so he pushes his way through the artfully neglected garden towards the door, where a note is waiting for him.

You'll find cleaning tools in the shed. Knock on the back door when you're done.

Steve knew of eccentric old people but this one was slowly taking the cake. He rounds the estate to find the pool behind it, and the cake is pulled out of his grip. Who in their right mind paints the pool red? 

By the state it's in, it probably hasn't been used in weeks. The surface is fully covered in leaves and twigs, and the tiles around it are covered in grime. It's a wild 180 after being called to clean pools just so he can hand out sodas and towels to a group of old ladies, but he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

Every now and then, he looks up from his work, expecting to find someone ogling him, but he never finds anyone. It's a weird thing to consider a constant of his job, but he came to expect it. Double-checking that he's really alone, he starts humming to himself to make the time go faster. If he's ever called here again, he might take a radio or a walkman with him. 

He's done surprisingly fast, with the sun still high when he goes to knock on the back door. His curiosity is through the roof to see what kind of person his employer is. 

He hears a click by his feet and when he looks down, he realizes the cat door has spat out an envelope. Inside he finds his payment and a note. 

Will double it if you come at 5pm next week

So Steve does, not worried much because the sun is still up, even if it casts ominous shadows around the mansion. 

In one of these dark corners, he spots a lawn chair, the shade doubled with a huge umbrella over it. He wonders if this time, some rich lady is going to join him. Or, the tiny bi-curious bone in his body supplies, the guy who hired him. For the time being, he focuses on his task. 

It's so dark, that he almost misses it. But when he does a double take as he's swiping the poolside, he yells. 

On the chair in the double shade, wearing all black, a huge straw hat, and sunglasses, sits a figure. Steve's eyes are confused as to why they're seeing a black-and-white picture in the middle of his technicolor world. 

The figure raises its hand, making its features more distinguishable. 

"Sorry!" says a voice Steve vaguely recognizes from the phone call. "Don't mind me, just getting my money's worth!" The man grins, sharp and bright, and relaxes against the chair with intent to stay, a glass of wine held in his hand.

Steve considers him for all of two seconds, before grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt. Fuck it. This is what half of the job is about anyway.

The fabric hits the ground, and he gets a surprisingly goofy whoop of approval. 

tagging if u wanna join: @stevesjockstrap @yesdangerpls @stevieharringtonwifeguy @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly @adverbally

[pseudowho]

Thinking about...

...long-term 'too comfortable' relationships with the JJK guys, when all the weird/gross/silly things creep in.

Pinning Gojo Satoru against a wall, having spotted an enormous pimple on his chin that you just have to get: "there's nothing wrong with m-- how dare you-- ow ow ow get off me--" "don't be such a melt, Satoru, keep still, that absolutely cannot stay on your face--"

Sitting on the toilet and chatting with Nanami Kento while he showers, and he wordlessly hands you a fresh toilet roll from the cabinet while he brushes his teeth; "thank you Kento" "mmmmmhm" and you continue chatting while you pee, leaving the bathroom door open. You forget to get off the toilet, so he brings you your tea there, while you continue to tell him about your day.

Laughing at Geto Suguru as he steps out of the bathroom after a bit of manscaping; "no no no-- go and get your razor, you're all patchy" "ah shit, really?" "yeah, you look like you've got a really bad gardener" "at least I try to trim the hedges..."

Plucking Fushiguro Toji's back hairs out one at a time; "OW-- dammit woman, stop doin' it like you hate me--" "--look, if you keep getting hairier, I'll just wax you instead, you're such a bear--" "--alright alright, I'll get your little witchy chin hair after--" "hey!"

Calling out to Okkotsu Yuuta while you're stuck on the toilet, blood over your hands and panties; "hey, Yuuta! Can you grab me some new underwear, and a pad?" "Sure!" Yuuta shuffles back to you, unfazed, as you hand him your bloodied panties to put in the laundry basket, "that bad, huh? You got enough stuff to last you?" "actually, I might need you to run to the shops..."

Creeping up behind Zenin Maki while she washes her bras in the sink, dropping a few of your own ones in, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek; "hey, hey, I'm not your washer woman" "yeah you are, such a beautiful washer woman" "psh...you're doing them next time"

Takuma Ino smiling as you curl on the sofa beside him in slummy old pyjamas full of holes (an ancient t-shirt of his, joggers you've had for at least ten years...), and you let out a fart; "sorry, sorry..." "don't be, I know you can do better than that" and Takuma lets one rip himself, sighing with relief.

Dropping your toothbrush down the toilet at Higuruma Hiromi's house; "ah, shit!" "oh, damn...just use mine" "eurgh, I'm not doing that!" "darling, be reasonable, I eat your pussy, we share much more--" "that's different--" "well by all means then, my love, enjoy your toilet toothbrush..."

Catching Todo Aoi taking a swig of milk out of the carton; "get a glass, jesus!" "whatever babe, it's just me and you here" "that is disgusting, unsanitary" "oh? I'll show you disgusting and unsanitary...c'mere"

When Kugisaki Nobara steps out of the bedroom, wearing your panties; "hey, they're my favourite!" "well they're my favourite too..." "yeah, on me! Get them off-- get back here--" and you dart after her, Nobara laughing as you try to pull your underwear off her, "help, help, I'm being assaulted!"

Catching Itadori Yuuji giving himself a scratch and sniff; "you absolute goblin-- go wash your hands!" Yuuji darts after you, laughing, his hand outstretched as you screech, ducking and running past him; "what, this hand? Come back baby! Where you goin'?"

Telling Fushiguro Megumi every single time you need to poop; "pause the movie! Gotta go poop," and he absolutely returns the favour, sitting on the toilet while you're taking a bath , "I'd wait...but I can't" "alright alright, just don't stink the place out" "I don't make promises I can't keep"

[capquinn]

A Closeness | Q. Hughes

summary: the lake house has never felt smaller. moments alone become something of the past. but after longing touches here and gentle caresses there, quinn seizes an opportunity. pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes content: fluff, mild smut (v vanilla…….seriously) word count: 3k note: the smut is for sure tame but it still had me blushing lmao enjoy!!! ↪ masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The off-season had finally arrived and so had summer in Michigan.

Days spent on the water with rosy sunburnt cheeks and friends turned into nights in the garden basking in the glow of a deep orange sunset and warm flickering shadows of the bonfire. Drinks poured and secrets spilled under starry skies that echo with celebrations of the hockey season and despondent mumblings of what it could have been. The conversations oscillate between just the two for the first three nights and then on the fourth night, there is a sense of normalcy. Just a bunch of friends engaged in animated conversations about some silly gossip, voices rising and falling like the rhythm of waves lapping at the shore by the pier. Hockey long forgotten. At least for a little while. 

But even in the midst of his friends, Quinn’s attention is mostly on you. 

So when your laughter punctuates the night air, Quinn turns his head, distracted from his own conversation. You’re standing with Jack by the cooler, nursing the same glass of wine that he had poured you an hour ago, and sharing an inside joke. 

A small smile plays on his lips, and a warm feeling washes over him. You fit into his life seamlessly, and every once in a while, the universe conspires to remind him of just that. 

He excuses himself and falls in place next to you, hand naturally slipping to lay rested on your waist. You lean into him without letting it disrupt the flow of conversation except only when Quinn leans down to press a soft kiss against your forehead. You pause briefly, glancing up to meet his eyes. Love you too. And then you’re bouncing back into conversation, enjoying the way he traces soothing circles onto bare skin under the hem of your t-shirt. 

That’s how the evening continued. The moments ebb and flow, never going far at all. Returning with small touches here and tender caresses there that nobody seemed to notice… all whispering that he just wanted you near.

That’s when you finally retreat to the edge of the gathering to share a single deck chair. Nestled on his lap, head resting on his shoulder, finding solace in the quiet spaces between words. Fingers trace idle shapes down his arm, and he responds with a kiss to your shoulder. The world fades away around you both; you’re existing within your own reverie. 

But after a while, your glass of something sweet and bubbly now empty, you let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll be back,” you whisper, untangling yourself from his body, clasping an empty wineglass. 

As your feet meet the grass, Quinn is grasping at your free hand to keep you close. 

“Baby,” he whines quietly in a way he only does when he’s buzzed. It’s still early in the evening and you are halfway there yourself. “Where are you going now?” 

“Need more wine,” you giggle quietly, sinking back into him, wrapping an arm around his neck. 

He shakes his head, disapproving of your answer. “Stay with me,” he tells you, arm snaking back around your waist and hand laying firm against your stomach. “It’s the first time they’ve left us alone,” he states, nodding his head towards your guests.

Hosting your friends had been a great idea. And it still is. Sort of. But with so many of them all here at once, you were both already exhausted. Quinn misses the silence and having his own space. Not used to sharing living quarters with fifteen other people after living in an apartment with just you for the last two years. Because with every turn, there’s another familiar face trying to get a piece of you both. To ask how to use the dishwasher or how to use the washing machine. Where’s the TV remote? To chat and hang out during every awake moment of the day. And the damn teasing that never stopped. Small comments here and shared jokes there whenever Quinn tried to show any form of fondness towards you. Friends unused to seeing their buddy engage in public displays of affection. He’s an easy target so he’s the master of his own undoing, really. Blushing and rolling his eyes, and then snapping back with a witty remark in response that did a poor job of hiding his slight embarrassment over being the centre of attention. A man but with all the awkward boyish charm that made his friends howl with laughter every time. Regardless, never did Quinn imagine that you would both be surrounded by this many people at all times. 

A moment passes and then there is a soft murmur, lips brushing against your ear. “Love you so much.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him. Firelight dances in those green eyes, shimmering and intoxicating. And you forget to breathe, enraptured. It doesn’t help matters when he licks his pillowy pink lips. He’s practically begging you to kiss him boldly right here in front of all his friends. But you don’t and instead, the years are thrown back and suddenly you’re both twenty-one again, listening to him confess that he loves you for the very first time right here on this very lawn with those very same loving eyes. 

It had been a lazy summer evening and the house was brimming with the energy of family and fiends, but you had both slipped away to the quiet of the lawn. Sprawled out over a faded plaid picnic rug with the golden glow of a setting sun reflecting over the water. Air warm, filled with the distant chirping of crickets. You had been lying side by side, staring up at emerging stars in silence. Quinn had turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes tender. And then you felt the change in the night air, the way his gaze made your heart start to race. 

He cleared his throat. “You know,” he began, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while now.”

Curiosity piqued, a small smile played on your lips. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” 

He had taken a deep breath, eyes flickering between yours and the lake as if searching for a bout of courage in the still waters. “I… uh, well, I love you.” The words tumbled out in a rush, awkward and unpolished, and he immediately bit his lip, cheeks reddened. 

You’re snapped back to reality as Quinn lolls his head to the side with a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his sun kissed cheeks. An amused twinkle in his eyes, noting your obvious lovesick gaze. But he can hardly blame you. He often found himself staring at you like you had hung all the stars in the sky. 

There is a soft chuckle and then he’s reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, sending shivers right down your spine. And finally, he’s kissing you. Paying no attention to whether or not his friends are watching, and frankly, at this point, he really doesn’t care if they are. 

“Wanna get out of here?” He mumbles against the corner of your mouth, glancing around to see if you were able to sneak off without anyone noticing. 

It seems likely. Jack is yapping on the other side of the fire, animatedly recounting a story with just enough drama that it’s keeping most of the group entertained, and off to your side, a seperate group of friends are bickering competitively over a card game. 

In silent understanding, you untangle yourselves and discard the empty beverages on the grass beside the deck chair, and with practiced ease, you slip away from the group. Departure unnoticed. 

Thank God, Quinn thinks to himself, intertwining your hands as you cross the lawn towards the lake house looming ahead. He’s not sure how much longer he could have feigned interest in the party. He loves his buddies, don’t get him wrong, but at this point, he’d do anything for just five minutes alone. 

When the sounds of the party fade and your giggles mingle with the chirping of crickets and rustling of leaves in trees, it becomes Quinn’s very own private symphony. He can’t resist pulling you close, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

“Been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says, voice low and husky, velvety against your skin.

You smile against his lips. “I thought we were just getting away from the mosquitoes,” you tease. 

“Well, that too,” he grins. Quinn pecks a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “But mostly ‘cause I’m sick of sharing you with everyone else.”

All week long every corner of this house has been occupied. Every room, every spare sofa. The deck chairs during the morning, and the sun loungers on the pier during the afternoon. The kitchen brimmed with life at all hours of the day with friends cooking, eating and talking late into the night, and it was becoming a battle for bathroom privileges, too. Even his favourite spot in the hammock was taken up by somebody new at every sunset. 

The house has never felt smaller. 

And then you’re stumbling down the hallway in that very same house, kisses growing more urgent and heated in a way that makes it difficult to move forward.

Hands roaming over each other’s bodies like you’re mapping territory. And there’s strength in Quinn’s embrace. The controlled power that made you feel safe and cherished all the same. 

You barely make it through the bedroom door, lips never parting. His fingers fumble with the lock before you’re even inside and then it’s swinging shut behind you with a thud.

“Finally,” Quinn mutters against your skin.

“We’ve got to be quick, okay?” You tell him. It wouldn’t be long until the fire turns to hot coals and your friends decide to call it a night. He only hums in response. “Quinn, I’m serious.”

He grins into the kiss. “Okay. I promise.”

You tug Quinn’s tee over his head and press palms against his back, feeling every dip and curve of his roping muscles. You lean in closer, chest flush with his. 

Quinn slowly moves his mouth across your cheek…along your jaw…moving lower, grazing against sensitive skin right over your pulse point. 

“Oh,” you gasp, melting into his body, and hands finding their way into his hair.

Fingers drop down your sides, gripping greedily at the material of your sweater and he pushes it up enough so he can make a start on unbuttoning your shorts. Before he even has a chance to remove the garment himself, you’re clutching hastily at the sweater, which is really just Quinn’s that he had given up trying to get back, and pull it from your frame. 

He stands back for a brief moment once you’re almost undressed, taking you all in. He thinks you’re so… so…

“So pretty,” he murmurs, pulling you in to meet your lips again. 

He steps back, dragging you with him, until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he’s sinking down into the softness. You’re standing between his knees, clutching onto him for dear life. Afraid you’ll topple over if he ever lets you go. Dizzy with anticipation.

He presses an open mouth kiss to your sternum…a few more around your belly… and then he’s making his way back up to your chest to give the swell of your breasts some attention. 

Your arms wrap around Quinn’s neck, head lolling back as the goose bumps raise across your skin.

“Your shorts…” you choke out, trying to hurry things along despite every fibre of your being eager to keep this going deep into the night. 

He drops his hands to the waistband of his shorts and peels it from his skin, and then he starts tugging at the waistband of your panties, dropping spongy kisses to your waist as the cotton slackens and falls to the floor. 

And when they do, you’re rushing to fill the space between you and straddle his hips. Lips meet in soft collision; slow and deliberate, but it’s desperate all the same. Warm hands trace the curve of your back, coaxing quiet moans to fall from your lips when your hips start rocking into him. Quinn relaxes into the mattress some more and in quick succession, you’re suddenly on your back and he’s between your thighs, mouth pressed against yours, hot and frantic. Chest to chest. Hips moving in long, drawn out strokes.

And then your lips are parting slightly, long enough for him to say, “fuck, I’ve missed this,” each second stretching to an eternity.

You pat his back when he starts to scatter kisses below your ear, thrusts slowing to a halt, trying to hurry him along. There is nothing you want less than to face your friends in the morning if they happen to hear any of this. “Quinn,” you whisper, a plea and reprimand all in one. “They’ll be back soon.”

Lips travel along your jaw and down your neck again, and your hands tangle through his hair, pulling him closer even as you try to remind him of reality. But reality feels far away. Banished by the heat that is building in this moonlit bedroom. 

Hands run down your side and dig into your waist before hitching one of your legs over his hip, and he rolls into your body deliberately slow. Again and again. Eliciting sweet sound after sweet sound from your pretty little mouth, hot breath against his neck, and it’s driving him wild. 

He shivers. The feeling of you beneath him, body arching into his touch. It’s intoxicating. He just wants to lose himself in this moment and forget everything else. To etch it into memory. Every second, every heartbeat. Warm skin and quiet moans. The smell of your shampoo with his face tucked into the crook of your neck. It fuses together into a heady mix which makes it hard to think or care about anything else.

But you won’t let him forget where you are.

You push his hair out of his eyes and caress his cheek, bringing his face up from your neck, eyes locking for a heartbeat before you kiss him. “I really hate to rush this but—” you start to say, lips lingering over his.

“Then don’t,” he mutters, cutting you short. He runs a hand up and down your torso before pinning your body to the mattress with a hand on your waist. He grinds into you again, still deliciously slow. Savouring it. And if you didn’t know any better, he’s teasing you.

And then he sits up so he’s kneeling between your thighs, and your legs fall around him. He rubs his shoulder with his chin, trying to hide a smirk but it’s there despite his efforts. “Why are you thinking about them anyway? Should be thinking about me,” he tells you, hips grinding into yours, abs clenching. 

You bite back a grin, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip. “Trust me, I am thinking about you. But if our friends come back and hear us, I’ll be thinking about murder.”

A chuckle vibrates through Quinn’s chest. “Fair point,” he concedes, leaning over you so your chests are flush. Lips finds yours again, demanding your attention.

With the snapping of his hips, rhythm quickening, you give it to him. Stars blurring your vision. Hands roaming fevered skin, tracing the contours of his body with a reverence of desperation. Ache bubbling under your skin. Breaths coming out in ragged gasps. 

“Quinn,” you say through gritted teeth between a moan, nails scraping down his back, overcome with a storm of sensations. The friction. The pressure. It’s all too much. 

It spurs him on. Driving him to the edge of sanity and back again, chasing the elusive promise of release. And you’re no different. Clasping at the sheets, struggling to hold on. His movements grow more frantic with each passing second. The short, sharp whimpers you’re letting fall from your lips push him back to the precipice. 

He shifts slightly, adjusting his angle, and suddenly hits a spot so divine that you’re unable to spare a word. The stars behind your eyes becoming more vivid as you surrender to the ecstasy that pulses between you both, a tempest that rages unchecked in the darkness. Through the haze, you hear the telltale sound of heavy footsteps on the patio, signalling the return of your friends.

“We’re gonna get caught,” you gasp, very much aware that you’re stating the obvious, panicked. Nails dig crescent moons into his shoulders, urging him on even as you try to anchor him to reality. 

Quinn's breath hitches, a low, guttural moan escaping as he teeters on the brink. "Baby, I'm—," his voice breaks. Deep and throaty moans reverberate through you, skin to skin, chest to chest. A plea for something that hovers just out of reach. “Almost there. Just a little more,” he whispers into your ear, voice a low and soothing murmur despite the urgency in his tone. 

The world around you blurs. 

Quinn’s breathing hitches again and he shudders, thrusts stuttering, and it’s the final push you need. His pleasure your catalyst. And with one last final desperate roll into your body, the coil of tension snaps and a wave of ecstasy washes over you both. 

Starlight swapping for solar flares. 

“Baby,” he whines and you wonder if he knows that he’s only making it harder for you to stay quiet.

The room spins. Eyes stinging. Mind blanking. Toes curling. Your fingers grasp at his hair, knuckles white. His head tucked into the crook of your neck, mouth pressed against your skin. Trying your damn hardest to keep your voices low but it’s hard. It’s raw. His teeth scrape over your throat as he grinds his jaw, groaning deeply. The waves keep crashing until it dissolves into nothing but heaving chests. His breath, your exhale. 

There’s low murmurs in the hallway on the other side of the bedroom door. Footsteps shuffle on hardwood floors and then there are more heavy footsteps as whoever it is begins climbing the stairs.

“You promised we’d be quick,” you remind him, touching lips to the corner of his parted mouth.

Quinn chuckles softly, a playful glint in his eyes. He kisses you breathlessly, and then rolls off of you, crashing into the pillows. “That was quick,” he defends, feigning innocence. 

[astraystayyh]

minho x gn!reader. hurt/comfort. reader used to feel lonely but not anymore with minho. for u my @rachalixie <333

it is a regular sunday afternoon, filled with all the chores you procrastinated for the end of the week. you're halfway through a batch of fresh laundry, when your eyes find Minho- he's fiddling with a pair of your pink socks, completely engrossed in a trashy sitcom playing on your TV. a bowl of fruit sits between you two, one he meticulously peeled because he knows you don't like the fruits' skin.

your hands go limp as you observe minho, who places your socks down before blindly grabbing one of your t-shirts. he carefully folds it in half, smoothing away its creases because he knows you like perfectly folded clothes, neat and tidy.

a lump materializes in your throat as minho quietly chuckles at the TV, your mind not on the sitcom but on the man folding laundry beside you.

in that moment, a sudden light penetrates the shadowed parts of your mind, ones you've left uncharted for too long, fearing what you'll find hiding in their darkness. instead, you discover a flourishing garden, watered by minho's attentions everytime he's near.

the realization dawns on you suddenly, yet gently, like an unexpected kiss gracing your forehead, a hand grabbing your own when you least anticipate it— you haven't felt lonely in so long.

you couldn't feel lonely on a sunday morning when minho woke with you, willingly giving up on sleep so you could make breakfast together. you couldn't feel lonely when he propped his chin on your shoulder as you scrambled the eggs on the stove, his cold hands sneaking underneath your shirt, a gentle kiss on your neck to compensate his chilling touch.

loneliesss couldn't loom in the supermarket's aisles when minho pushed the cart near you, whining when you didn't give him attention for too long. you couldn't feel lonely as minho helped you pack up the groceries into your car, before caging you against the door, planting a short, but fervent kiss on your lips.

loneliness doesn't cast its shadows on your home when minho helped you clean it, washing the dishes as you diligently swept every counter. you couldn't feel lonely when he suddenly pulled your hand before waltzing around to the soft hums escaping his lips.

loneliness is a stranger when minho folds your laundry, some pieces of his clothing sneaking into your closet. you aren't lonely when minho lives with you, throughout your extraordinary days and your most mundane, boring ones.

a sniffle leaves your lips before you can stop it, and minho's head snaps instinctively to yours, worry drawn onto his face as he furiously racks over your figure. you don't even know where the tears are coming from, but they are streaming furiously down your cheeks, showing no sign of stopping soon.

"baby," he calls out tentatively, putting the fruit bowl on the table and moving closer to you. "what's wrong?" he asks and you straddle his lap, burying your face onto the crook of his neck instead of replying.

you aren't lonely when minho pats your back, rubbing soothing motions on it from the crown of your hair down the end of your spine. you aren't lonely because minho spoke to your loneliness, gently, patiently, until he finally convinced it to desert your bones.

"i love you," you whisper against his skin and he pulls you slightly away, his hands tenderly cradling your face. "i love you. what happened?"

"it's silly and stupid," you mumble, looking down at his lap. he gently hooks a finger beneath your chin, urging you to look at him.

"nothing that makes you cry is stupid. tell me, hm?"

"you help me fold my socks," you say, lower lip slightly quivering. "and clean the house and get my groceries."

"do you not want me to?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.

"no, no. i just can't believe you'd want to."

"why is that?" he inquires, gently wiping your still cascading tears.

"because those are things i used to do alone. i... i never thought I'd have someone with me, by my side, every day," you pause, tears doubling over at your impending confession. "i never thought that one day i would no longer be lonely."

minho's eyes soften incredibly, the way your heart turns into mush in his hands. he silently brings your head to his chest, your cheek pressed right above his heartbeat, and then he sways from left to right, body pressed tightly to yours.

"i'm here now. it's okay, angel, it's over," he whispers, planting a lingering kiss on the top of your head. you clutch his shirt tightly between your fists, allowing his words to permeate your being. to dust every misguided idea you held about your future.

you won't be lonely when minho loves you.

"you know i want to marry you, right? so i plan on folding your laundry for a long long time. under one rule, though."

"what?" you ask with a small voice.

"you won't cry next time i fold your clothes."

"shut up," you pinch his side playfully and he giggles before tickling you in retaliation. your laughter fills the air, quieting down the sound of your tv and simultaneously, all the ugly thoughts that once occupied your head.

[ace-turned-confused]

planted in your garden | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | read on ao3

summary: joel has always shown his love for you through flowers, and now it's your turn to do the same word count: 1k warnings: 18+ only, reader has tattoos & is shorter than joel, joel being soft & lovey-dovey & just the best in general, bit of spiciness at the end a/n: written for @morallyinept's Fauna & Flora Challenge ❤️ not beta’d or any of that jazz, please enjoy :)

If there’s one thing you know about Joel Miller, it’s that he will always find a reason to buy you flowers, no need for a special occasion. It’s been a long hard week and I wanted to get you something, saw these pretty flowers and thought of my pretty girl, got them just because I love you. Whether it’s an entire bouquet or just a few wild stems tied together by a ribbon, you’re sure he’s given you more flowers than you’ve received in your entire life.

It started on your birthday — you told him you hadn’t planned anything because you didn’t want a big fuss and it wasn’t a number worth celebrating, and he insisted on bringing you dinner so you wouldn’t have to spend the evening on your own. Every number is worth celebrating, it means you’ve been around another whole year. You were floored when he showed up on your doorstep, pizza boxes in one hand and a bunch of red and pink tulips in the other.

“Saw the ink on your arm there and just assumed they were your favourite. None of the stores ever have anything fresh or pretty enough, so I just cut these from my back garden.”

Joel Miller. Cut red and pink tulips for you. From his own garden.

You’d only known each other a few weeks at that stage, and he’d been more observant in that short time than any other man you’d met. At first, you didn’t read into it too much, he’s just doing something nice for you. You told yourself it didn’t matter that this ‘something nice’ was the single nicest thing anyone ever did for you.

You ate your takeout pizzas and talked for hours that night, record player on in the background, sharing stories of years gone by and remembering the person you each used to be. A few stray tears even slipped down your cheek at one point — Joel moved to sit close next to and almost on instinct you rested your head on his shoulder. It was oddly comforting knowing just how vulnerable you could be around him. He was a kind soul, a rather rare find in today’s world, and you found it surprisingly easy to open up to him.

You asked him for a hug that night and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head and it was the safest you felt in years. Of course, and next time you don’t have to ask. You smiled into him, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. He eventually pulled back to check on you and planted a hand on your waist; he bid you goodnight with a wink, called you sweetheart and went home, leaving you standing like an idiot, mouth hanging open in a daze and still feeling the heat that had radiated off his palm and the grip of his fingers through your shirt on your skin.

‘Sweetheart’ played in your mind over and over for hours, days, weeks after that — soon enough you acknowledged that you weren’t immune to his charms and you’ve never looked back.

The flowers aren’t only for you to enjoy — you noticed early on that Joel takes great pride in his garden. The lawn always mowed, flower beds always with manicured edges, bees and butterflies in abundance. You’ve spent many hours lounging in the sun just admiring him, your book long abandoned — temples and greying curls damp with sweat, t-shirt clinging to his arms and back, gym shorts showing him off deliciously, all while he potters around tending to his garden, refilling a bird bath, touching up the fence and spewing out endless plant facts.

He even expanded the bed of tulips, planting bulbs of different varieties and an array of colours — ones with frilly edges, ones with pointed petals, and even blooms that look almost hand-painted in their beauty. He told you he’d been planning this for months, long before he met you, but you knew that part of him was doing this for you, too.

Late one night he finally told you the red and pink of your birthday flowers represented eternal love and affection, and sheepishly admitted he only remembered that once he’d already knocked on your door. He had hoped you wouldn’t ask him the meanings that night and figured there must’ve been someone looking out for him when you simply accepted them with a dazzling smile and that twinkle in your eyes. He wonders how things might have played out differently if you had asked him that night.

Now it’s Joel’s birthday and you want to do something special for him — so here you are, lying underneath him in a matching set, simple and white and covered in daisies. Propped up by his elbows, he traces over a flower right in the centre of your bra.

“You gonna tell me anything about them?”

“Daisies supposedly represent innocence and purity…” His voice fades off as he trails his fingers featherlight across you, goosebumps rising in his wake. With a faint smile pulling at his lips, he lifts his gaze to look you in the eye. “But something tells me you already knew that.”

He leans to kiss you, tongue licking into your mouth and you feel him pressed against your core, thick and heavy. You spread your legs wider to accommodate him and he grinds his hips into you, your fingers raking through his hair and tugging ever so slightly. He pulls back and starts snaking a hand down between you, now taken by the same applique daisies on your panties.

“Not sure those words apply right now, though,” he whispers to you, knuckles grazing the fabric.

“What, ‘innocence and purity’? You don’t think that’s true about daisies?”

“I ain’t talkin’ bout the daisies, sweetheart.” He smirks at you and you simply grin at him and huff a laugh in response as he shuffles down your body to pull your panties down your legs.

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[gardeningloverfamily]

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[s0fthunny]

polished princess doll tips

🍨 doing your skincare every morning and every night! you don’t have to wear makeup 24/7 if you don’t want to but your face should ALWAYS be clean, moisturized, and protected with spf!!

🍨 keeping your facial hair well groomed!! so if you like waxing, threading, tinting for your eyebrows!! also tweezing and shaving any peach fuzz around your lip!! (i used to slack so bad with my eyebrows but recently i’ve been shaving them for the soft straight brow style!!

🍨 if you can’t get your nails and toes done all the time make sure they’re filed, well shaped, cut, and moisturized!! foot and hand masks are so easy and not super expensive!

🍨 always smell good!! even if it’s just body spray and not perfume make sure you have SOMETHING on!! and not just one or two spritz- DROWN yourself in it! the air and room should smell like a pretty bakery or sweet floral garden when you’re around!

🍨 moisturize your entire body! after every shower and before you leave your house!! and i LOVE scented lotions, they make my perfume waft and last so much longer!!

🧸 scent tip: rubbing the stick vaseline on your pressure points where you spray your perfume for longevity!!🧸

🍨 always have on some form of jewelry!! stud earring, hoop earrings, a necklace, a bracelet, anything you want!! but jewelry is always such a dainty and pretty accessory and just makes you look girly and put together

🍨 make sure your lips are soft and glossy!! chapped lips are NOT polished, pretty, or doll like!! i reapply my lip gloss any time, any place!!

🍨 no more sloppy clothes outside!! no stains, nothing ill fitting. You don’t always have to be dressed up, but if you’re dressed down it doesn’t have to be sloppy!! you can wear a t shirt, but make it cute- so cute colors like pink, cute designs on it like hello kitty, etc!!

[strawberrystepmom]

umemiya x f!reader. reader is wearing a bathing suit. established relationship, very suggestive, mentions of marriage. | divider thanks to cafekitsune like always, wc 1k even.

The haze of summer has settled thickly over all of Makochi, the air almost heavy enough to wrap around you and wear it. A subtle sheen of humidity settles over your shoulders and face; cicadas sing their song in the distance and wind chimes tinkle when a breeze mercifully blows by to cool your heated skin. The heat can’t prevent you from being outside, though. You lie on your belly beneath the blazing sun in your stringiest bikini, legs stretched out behind you while Hajime cares for his personal garden - the one meant just for the two of you - atop his apartment building. He hums a little tune, occasionally throwing in a whistle for good measure to make you giggle at him while your cheek rests against your folded arms, watching his every move.

It didn’t feel so hot about fifteen minutes ago but now that you’re watching sweat dampen the back of his white t-shirt and cling to his body, you sigh dramatically and he’s at your side in an instant, ever in tune with whatever you need.

“What’s wrong?”

You glance up at him and smile, unfolding your arms and stretching them above your head, flipping from your belly onto your back to give him a view of the front of you, gentle grooves in your skin when you shift from how tightly your bathing suit is secured around you. He doesn’t hide his ogling, raking steel blue eyes from your throat to your belly button and to your thighs, wiping his hairline with his forearm.

“Wanna use those broad shoulders to block the sun for me for a few minutes?”

Hajime smiles and nods wordlessly at your request, taking a few big steps to the left to block the sun from getting in your eyes, casting a tall and cool shadow over your upper body. He wipes his hands together to free them of any dirt or grime from the plants, twisting his body to point them in the opposite direction of where you lie across a large old sheet, your sandals pinning down opposite corners to keep the breeze from blowing it up. Removing one of his gloves, he pops it in his pocket and reaches down to press his palm against your skin, hissing through his teeth.

“Hot even for you.” He raises a brow, wrapping up his perpetual fussing over you in humor to prevent you from insisting that he does too much. “You really do need shade, huh? Poor thing.”

“My hero.” You nod, putting a smile on his face. 

Umemiya sinks down, kneeling beside you and changing his shadow so that it covers even more of you, your thighs now cooled by the shade provided by his size. He drags his palm from your waist upward toward the triangles of your top, slipping a finger beneath the tiny string stretched across your sternum.

“Do you want to go inside?”

Glancing up at him, you bite back a smile and shake your head, his finger still gently toying with your top. You reach out to toy with him now, gently tugging at the damp collar of his shirt, dragging your palm down his chest.

“No, I wanna be out here with you. You’re hot too, we can suffer together.”

Neither of you are suffering very badly if the way each of you is glancing at the other is any indication of what's really happening here, eyes half lidded, fingers itching to explore sweat slicked skin. Hajime wants to spring into action and plan a way to grow an entire canopy over the roof to ensure you are never uncomfortable but he’s a little distracted at the moment, your hand sliding further down his torso and beneath the hemline of his shirt to rest against his warm skin and hardened muscle.

“What are you up to?” He asks with a smile. He drops from his squat position to sitting next to you, legs spread while he leans down to kiss your lips gently, as sweet as the breeze that ruffles the ends of his hair. “Besides making sure I get nothing done today.”

Giggling, you kiss him back. One set of fingers thread through his hair, brushing it back from his face in the style he prefers and the other drags down his torso toward the waistband of his shorts, playfully tickling him along the way.

“You just make the best umbrella.” You crane your neck to kiss him again, hand settling around the back of his neck to keep him close to you. “Maybe that should be your new name, Hajime Umbrella.” He chuckles and moves closer to you, lowering himself until his arms cage either side of you, his body twisted to hover slightly above yours.

“Then you’d just be Mrs. Umbrella someday but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You wiggle beneath him at the insinuation that you’ll be carrying his last name, something even warmer than today’s temperature pooling beneath your skin. Umemiya laughs and leans in to kiss you again, foregoing any sense of decorum to slowly slide his body over the top of yours. His thighs join his arms in caging you in, pinned to the sheet beneath your back, the sound of distant wind chimes carrying across the cloudless sky to mingle with your giggles.

“Come on Mrs. Umbrella,” he jokes again, sliding his hand up your side. “Let’s work out here a little longer and then we can go inside, alright?”

Your back arches in response to his touch. He takes advantage of the position, reaching into the small space between your back and the sheet to untie your top. He doesn’t immediately move it to expose you, allowing you to make that decision for yourself. 

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

You grin up at him until he envelops you in a sultry kiss, one that truly matches this summer heat, helping him remove his sweaty shirt an arm at a time and tossing it aside. 

[kaluxsims]

To celebrate passing the 2000 followers mark (holy crap, thank you!!), I wanted to do something for the guys. We all know male sims are kinda neglected as far as CC goes. It's not as bad as it used to be, but there's still a relative lack of clothes for the mature male sims. That's the inspiration for what I'm calling Duds For Dads. For now it's a 4t2 collection of three tops and four bottoms originally by @its-adrienpastel. Because we're dad-focused here, everything is for AM-EM. Everything has a fat morph, and AM pieces also have a preg morph. EM is available standalone or repo'ed to AM. Both repo and standalone are included in each download. Pick one!

Since it's a big post, I'm setting it up a bit differently from most. If you just want it aaaaaalllllll, you don't even need to "keep reading". If you want more info or pick and choose, all of that is below the cut.

Download ALL: SFS or MediaFire

Let's go with the more put-together pieces first.

Adrien Pastel's Pileggi Polo is a ribbed long sleeve polo shirt. It sits right at the waist for a tidy, tucked in look. Pair it with higher waist pants, to avoid a gap. Set as Everyday and Formal.

Click for swatch.

Download Pileggi Polo: SFS or MediaFire

Adrien Pastel's David Trousers are the ideal pants to wear with the Pileggi Polo. They hang a bit loose, just like dads want. They're paired with sized-up 4t2 BG child loafers. The shoes and belts match (as best I could), because that's the kind of clothing rule dads live by. Set as Everyday and Formal.

Click for swatch.

Download David Trousers: SFS or MediaFire

A big, comfy sweater like Adrien Pastel's Kane Sweater is another must-have for dads. It comes in a big variety of textures, for all kinds of dad styles. Set as Everyday and Outerwear.

Click for swatch.

Download Kane Sweater: SFS or MediaFire

Adrien Pastel's Landon Shorts sit mid-thigh, perfect for mobility while fishing or gardening. They come with my conversion and recolors of the TS4 BG canvas shoes. Set as Everyday only.

Click for swatch.

Download Landon Shorts: SFS or MediaFire

Adrien Pastel's Rayane Jeans have a relaxed fit and soft wash. The shoes are TS4 BG Oxfords, converted by me. Set as Everyday only.

Click for swatch.

Download Rayane Jeans: SFS or MediaFire

Adrien Pastel's Pete T-Shirt brings us to full casual comfort. It hangs a bit loose and has rolled sleeves. It goes great with any of the bottoms in this collection. Set as Everyday, Gym, PJ, and Undies.

Click for swatch.

Download Pete T-Shirt: SFS or MediaFire

And the pinnacle of the casual wear, we'll end with Adrien Pastel's Pete Sweatpants. (Bonus personal info, most of my closest male relatives are named Pete.) The drawstring waist and soft wash are peak weekend dad. Available with TS4 BG CrossTrainers, converted and recolored by me. AM barefoot is available repo'ed to AM with sneakers. Sneaker version is Everyday, and Gym. Barefoot version is Everyday, Gym, and PJ.

Click for swatch.

Download Pete Sweatpants: SFS or MediaFire

Credits: @its-adrienpastel for TS4 meshes and textures

I hope your sim dads enjoy these new duds! Thanks for getting my CC simblr past the 2k mark! (A little while ago, but I had stuff going on.) There might be a part two to this, but for now I'm starting my Simblreen projects. It's only about 9 weeks until the likely first weekend of Simblreen. That's so soon!

[bonesandchalamet]

predictable - c.fisher

masterlist

requested: y- “Can you do a conrad fisher x reader where the readers family has a house next to theirs so they grew up going to cousins for the summers (cons age), and they are in love w each other but don’t want to admit it and everyone notices it around them/teases them. maybe a flash ward to their wedding in a couple of years and everyone’s speeches are like “yeah i won the bet they would be married by now” or smth like that?“

pairings: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warnings: fluff + jokes

a/n: I hope I did this justice anon! xx there are NO spoilers of book 2 or season 2!

you can hear his voice. it’s muffled, he sounds like he’s in your kitchen, a blessing of having the bedroom right above it, but you can hear him talking to your mother.

you don’t have time to think, you just fling your legs over your mattress and rush down the stairs at an appropriate pace. you’d just woke up, maybe not your best state to be in, but you couldn’t wait to see conrad fisher. the boy next door.

he’d gone to Princeton, smart cookie if you say so yourself, and you hadn’t seen him since last summer. in fact, you only saw him maybe once or twice outside of the neighborhood and that was getting ice cream and groceries. other than that, you live by the fence that separates your yards waiting to hear the laughter and conversations from the Conklin and fisher kids.

“just tomatoes? are you sure? I can go pick out some basil—“

“no, no laurel will kill you if you do any more yard work! I can get it.” you hear conrad protest. the fisher family was used to your parents generosity, the beautiful vegetable garden grew right on the fisher/y/l/n house line, the family was more than welcome to eat and take whatever they wanted, but it didn’t stop them from being kind enough to ask. Susannah raised those boys right.

“are you sure?”

“what’s going on?” you ask, it’s like the words floated out of you when you saw him. his brown hair a little longer than normal, his t-shirt a bit smaller on him, and he’s wearing small navy blue swim trunks. a sight to make any girl swoon for a fisher.

“oh, y/n, do you think you can help conrad get some more tomatoes from the vines? it seems to be the fisher-Conklin clan has run out.” your mother hands you Susannah’s woven basket that conrad was once holding. your mother looks at you with pleading eyes but she knows you’ll do anything that has conrad fisher involved.

“happy to.” you take the basket in your hand and gesture for conrad to follow. he thanks your mother once again and follows along out the back door. you can hear not only just your heartbeat, but the blood rushing to your ears.

being alone with Conrad was sometimes awkward. at least to you it always felt that way, because you never knew how to be around him as yourself. you were so deeply in love with him that just being in his presence was enough to make you fumble over your words.

“here I can get the tomatoes.” conrad pushes past you, his shoulder brushing against your body, you could smell his cologne, the salty ocean in his hair, and the mixture of the laundry detergent Susannah uses. it was an intoxicating smell, one to make your world spin.

“you sure? they are kind of all over the place.” you chuckle setting the basket down into the grass. you start picking the beautiful blush red ones and gently place them in the basket along side the ones conrad was picking. every so often your hands would brush or you’d about pick the same tomato. you both would blush and apologize instantly for the connection.

“would you guys just kiss already! you’re making me nauseous.” Jeremiah calls over the fence line from the pool, he’s watched about every embarrassing second of you and his brothers interactions.

“come on, con!” Steven hollers, it’s loud enough for the neighbors on the other side of their house to snicker at the boys energy for far too early in the morning.

“I don’t know what their problem is.” Conrad says and it’s only for you two to hear. he’s picked up the basket from the grass now, you’re stuck with holding a few more tomatoes that he claims would be more than enough for everyone.

“no seriously, just keep those ones.”

“we have enough inside, just take them—“

“fine,” he huffs out an annoyed sigh and watches you dump them into the basket, “can I at least make you breakfast with them?”

“sounds like a plan to me.”

that day, he made you more than breakfast. he made you feel the most indescribable feeling of love and excitement. he left you walking home as beat red as those tomatoes you picked. you could thank Steven and Jeremiah for their pressure and tease, because conrad fisher did in fact kiss you that morning.

—

FUTURE

“I’m so happy for these guys because today I became twenty dollars richer,” Jeremiah pauses, the laughter of friends and family make you both blush, “so thank you Steven for believing they would never get married. here’s to the bride and the groom!” Jeremiah holds his champagne glass up, others in the room follow.

“you really bet we would get married?” Conrad turns to his brother who passes the microphone to belly before sitting down beside him.

Jeremiah’s hands clap his brothers shoulder, “we also made a bet that you’d kiss her that summer. belly also made a bet that you’d have tomatoes on the menu, looks like you guys are the most predictable couple ever.”

[loliwrites]

Yard Work | The One You Need

pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader  summary: drabble from the “The One You Need” universe warnings/tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], hyper-independent reader, fluff, allusions to a blowjob, body worship [arms], terms of endearment [sweetheart], female reader, reader wears a bikini, no physical description, protective!joel, soft!joel, dare i say ei!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 1.5k series masterlist a/n: for @joelmillerisapunk’s ppcu body worship writing challenge. all about joel miller and them delicious arms

Summer in Austin wasn’t so bad when there was a chaise lounge chair to sprawl out on, on the deck with the sun beating its rays down upon you. It also wasn’t too bad when you had a hot neighbor who, on a fairly regular basis, gave you the best sex of your life, and who also coincidentally did all the manual labor around the house for you. Because while you were sprawled out in a bikini on a less than hotel style chaise, nursing a beer which was quickly losing its cool and condensating on the glass, Joel was out in your backyard, mowing the lawn.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Your fuckin’ grass is gettin’ so long, it’s bringing down the value of my house,” Joel pointed out while in bed that morning. All he had to do was look out your window and see the jungle being created by your lack of a gardener.

“Whoever should I get to tidy it up?” You only smirked, leaning over and straddling his body with yours. Surely, soft kisses down his chest would do the trick.

“A gardener,”

Your pouted, lips pressed to his sternum, and continued your way down to his stomach, adding your tongue to the mix for safe measure. If he was going to play hard to get, you could play a little harder. By the time you reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs, you could see the outline of his shaft, now half-hard. “What kind of payment would you like, Mr. Gardener?” You batted your eyelashes up at him while your fingertips coyly tucked beneath his waistband and pulled back just enough for his length to spring out and fall back against his waist.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He grinned and set his hand on the back of your head, adding just a hint of pressure, “get to work.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

His old, gasoline push mower was capable enough for handling the size of your suburban backyard. A riding lawn mower might’ve been more efficient – or at least one of those new-fangled electric mowers that self-propelled. But this old Toro lawn mower, surely from the 90s, was reliable. Just like the man using it.

You paid for it first but now seeing him work, it definitely felt like you’d short changed him. He was putting on quite the show without even knowing it. Midway through your rather unkempt backyard, Joel let the gas lawn mower come to a stop. You’d paid him extra attention when the grumbling of the machine quieted, and found that he was reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. Hands tucked beneath it, he raised the lower half up and dragged it across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. The softness of his belly on partial display. And then as if realizing he was insane for keeping the shirt on in this heat in the first place, pulled the garment over his head. He tucked a corner of it into the back pocket of his jeans, letting the rest of it fly and whip behind him like a flag.

Then, nudging sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, you ogled at the way he bent over and hooked his fingers around the plastic grip of the pull cord. His long arm stretched fully, and then with a quick yank back, he tugged the cord upward. His bicep and tricep flexed simultaneously, the cuts of the muscles showing in his skin. That glorious machine. You could’ve kissed it on the spot. Old. Reliable. But temperamental. It didn’t roar to life with the first pull. His arm outstretched again. The sinewy tendons in his forearm became visible as he grabbed for the cord again. Then another pull back. Every muscle in his arm seemed to work in tandem, from his forearm right up to his shoulder. 

Now the mower roared to life. And the man behind it, ready to get the job done, put some force behind it and got the machine moving again. Cutting down the grass you weren’t sure you’d let get out of control just so you could have this very moment. You pushed your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose and laid back in your chaise, satisfied to revert to the mental image you had of him in your fantasies while the noise of the mower continued on. It wasn’t just that idea of being in the arms of a man. In your experience, there weren’t too many men worth being in the arms of. Though on the surface, the ogling of his arms – those beautiful, strong arms – was nothing but a bit of objectification, the truth dug so much deeper. 

Because it was the time you stopped at a job site after Joel had left his lunch at home. Surely he could’ve bought something, but he’d worked so hard on prepping a full lunch for it to go to waste in the insulated lunchbox forgotten on the kitchen counter. And at the job site, you spotted him with a long two by four propped on his shoulder, arm flexed to keep it steady as he walked it into the framed house. And the way you reached forward and set your free hand on his upper arm; fingers grazing along the cut of his bicep. How he pivoted his head and looked back at you. An instant smile spread across his face. The wrinkles by his eyes accentuated. 

It was also the time you’d had that terrible date. The one that ended on your front porch, hoping this guy would leave without incident despite him being a little more forward than you would’ve liked. How when he tried to push his way in, Joel materialized there. Only finding out later that night that he’d tucked his handgun into the back of his waistband. Just incase. But before that, when the boy, having grown disenchanted with the idea of bedding you walked off, how Joel used his frame to block you. His arms hung almost comfortably at his sides. Big. Muscular. Even later that night, when you followed behind him with your hand in his back pocket as he cleared your house of any potential burglars. How his arms felt like the ultimate protection. As if nothing would be able to touch you as long as you stayed behind them. Behind him. 

His arms were a great source of power. But they were also capable of such gentleness. More than you’d ever known. The same arms that were capable of carrying two by fours upon them were equally capable of wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into the cradle of his chest. The arms that had offered their formidable protection were the same ones that you often linked your hand around as you walked through the neighborhood in the evenings.

Then somewhere between the mental image of you curled up against him on the couch watching tv, and being caged beneath his arms in bed, you felt a weight settle over you and came to the awareness that the lawn mower had quieted down. You blinked a couple times to get your eyes used to the new brightness despite your sunglasses, and found Joel on top of you – hips nestled between your legs; his back pressed against your abdomen, and his head rested against your sternum. 

With a smile, you pressed your lips to the top of his head and trailed your hands down from his shoulders to his biceps. “I don’t pay hourly,” you smiled again and tucked your hands around his torso. 

“You’re a bad employer,” he smirked and took a deep breath. “Jus’ needed a break and you looked comfortable,”

You nodded, practically to yourself and gently dragged your fingernails over his skin. Then, because they just looked so tempting, you trailed your fingers back to his arms. Starting as far down as you could reach since his hands were curled around your legs and hooked over your shins, you settled with the crook of his elbow. The vein there protruded from beneath the thin skin, and you followed up back into his bicep, where the muscle flexed beneath your touch.

Joel tilted his head back with a deep inhale. On the exhale, he released a moan that made you think he might just leave your lawn half-completed. And while you definitely would want to see his muscles flexing as he jostled you around in bed, and then again when he’d surely curl his hand around your throat, you also wanted your backyard to look semi respectable – at least the HOA would want you to.

“That lawn’s not gonna mow itself,”

“Five minutes,” he mumbled. The sound of that made you think his eyes were long closed, “restin’ my eyelids.”

“We both know if you wait five minutes, you’re never gonna get back to it. And if you don’t get back to it, how are you gonna get your next blowjob for completion?”

He started to rile almost immediately. Enough that his arms now jostled you in trying to sit up and get away as quickly as possible. Then with speed you were sure his joints fought against, he ran across the grass, back to the mower, and bent forward for the pull cord again.

That wonderful, glorious, pull cord.