#smiling critters modern au

[m3l0v3trees]

SMILING CRITTERS X READER

MODERN AU

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A/N: *Throws a table* Im mad as shit with this. You guys better not flop this shit. And I take requests so request anything you want because I'm bored.

Ships: Dogday and catnap x reader

Besties: Bobby, craftycorn, picky, hoppy

Friends: Bubba, kickin

Warnings: cringe?

About Y/N: A female, 19-20 years old, blue eyes, and white casual dress just above your knee, and white shoes

Enjoy I guess

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A flower angel

Growing up was difficult for you. You never knew your parents and had a difficult childhood. You pretty much live with your grandmother. You had two other siblings both are twins. And yet, you. Your the runt in the litter. Weak and fragile and yet kind and sweet. You have a kind soul of what people would say. You were fragile and beautiful like a fragile flower. People often found you sweet and gentle.

You live in a small village away from the city. People in the village know you from that point on. You were pretty much popular there due to your kind and gentle soul. And of course you never been to school. Your grandmother never had the money to afford you to school. So you mostly spend your time in the flower field reading all sorts of kind of books. You spent your free time learning, reading, and helping your loved ones. But you have a problem. You have social anxiety. Your the shy and weird type of people your age say.

You struggle with communicating and cooperate with other people your age. They often make fun of you. But you are kind to those who are older than you. And that with said, you have zero friends except for the elders. Well, you did try to make friends but, you always get laughed on and then you would run off crying. Nevertheless your kind and good kid.

Some people found you being weird. For example, first, you talk to animals like they are a person. Second, you always pick and make flower crowns. And three, you always bring books to the flower field. That's what made them think your weird.

They often asked you why do you always go run off to the flower field with a full basket of books. And for you. You always answer, ‘Because it's fun!’. Yeah, they found it weird.

Nevertheless, Your a good, kind, and sweet granddaughter that your grandmother could ever had.

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“Grandma, I'm off to the flower field!” You shouted from outside the door.

“Alright, be careful dear!” Your grandmother shouted.

Hearing your grandmother shouted back. You went off to the small forest to go to the flower field. Holding your basket of books and snacks, you continue to walk through the small path of the small forest leading to the flower field not quite far.

You walk through the small forest path. Listening to the wind gushing the leaves making a pleasant sound and some birds chirping happily. You were the nature type. You love going through a scroll in the small forest as it leads through the flower field.

After a while of walking. You Finally arrived at the flower field. You started to smile. You began to run through the field going straight at the small hill with a tree on top of it, in the middle of the field.

After putting your basket down near the tree. You got up and stared at flowers as some flower petals got blown by the wind. You smiled at nature's calmness. Your white dress gets blown a little by the wind.

‘Nature is really beautiful... It wouldn't hurt to run around, right?’ you thought.

Nevertheless, you began to run around the flower field like a child. You run around, picking some flowers, and make flower crowns by colour order. Red, orange, green, blue, sky blue, purple, and pink. Nature is really calming and you even got back from being child even tho you're an adult, but you didn't care at all.

You continue to finish the last the last flower crown till a slight tap on the shoulder startled you. You let out a small ‘Eek!’ and turned around to see who or what it was. Upon turning around and looking up from the legs of someone. You look to see a red bear smiling at you.

You both stared to each other. Your blue eyes widen a bit.

‘Who... And what... is this?’ you thought.

“U-um... H-hi?” you said scared and nervously.

“Hi there! Sorry for startling you! But, I'm bobby bearhug!” She smiled.

You hesitated to response back, but she was nice to you and didn't she didn't do anything bad to you. Oh your too kind hearted Y/N

“M-my... Name is.. Y/N..” You said sheepishly.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N! And again! I'm sorry for starting you..” She sat beside you and smiled.

You smile and shook your head.

“No.. Not at all.. just didn't know that someone.. like you be here..” You look up to the sky and then back to bobby.

“What.. are you tho?” You questioned.

“Oh! I'm a bigger body toy! But kinda more human like, you know?” She smiled sheepishly.

“I won't really lie but, your quite beautiful for bigger body toy... And yet, You look like a.. rose you even smelled like one..” As the seconds pass by you didn't felt scared but felt... Safe and calm.

Bobby was kinda shock to hear that from someone even from a human. She smiled happily and pulled you into a bear hug.

“Ooh! Your too kind, Y/N! And your beautiful too!” She said.

You didn't know the upcoming bear hug but, you didn't mind this moment. You hugged back sniffing bobby at some point.

‘She really is like a rose...’ You thought.

You both pulled away from the embrace and started to laugh and chuckle. You both then bonded and talking about eachother. You gave her a red flower crown as you both chatted, eating snacks, and read books with each other.

’This is.. what a friend is like...’ You thought.

It was almost sunset as the sun was nearly coming to settle.

“Its getting late... My grandmother would be worried if I can't get home in time...” You said.

“Same. Well then...” Bobby stands up and then helping you up.

“I'll see you tomorrow! And then we can talk about our days!” She said. You nodded and smiled.

“Thank you...”

“Thank you for what, Y/N?”

“For being my new friend!” You smiled so happily. You pulled her into a hug as she also hugged you back.

“No problem, girl! And I also thank you for being a new friend to me too!” She chuckled.

You both pulled away from your hug and started to depart in your ways. You wave her goodbye with a wide happy smile. As she gladly waved back and went off.

‘I can't wait till tomorrow!” You both thought.

You walked home and arrived at your porch before the sun had settled. You open your door and saw your grandmother with a worried and concerned face, but it turned into a surprise and shocked face to see you smiling happily.

“Y/N, dear? What got you smiling like a happy kid?” she chuckled as her face turned to somewhat happy.

“I made a new friend, grandmother! She was kinda and sweet too!” You said.

You both went to the dinner table and started to eat as you told your grandmother about your new friend. She was happy to see her granddaughter finally had someone to be happy with. The night never became so long and happy as you ramble at your grandmother.

“She must be a great friend to have.” Your grandmother spoke.

“She was!” you chuckled out happily.

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A/N: yes it's short but I'm busy because I'm doing this at school. So comment and like if you want part 2 and please reblog this if you have time.

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[m3l0v3trees]

Take my credit card and go! Buy him a bigger one! And oh! Buy some clothes 'cause we 're gonna have some ~FASHION!~

*Childish giggles*

Poppy's Angel reaction to see this bed=

The bed is perfect for Dogday; but Dogday doesn't know how to react to it.

[the-modern-critters]

The reason you can't spew the red smoke is because the original Catnap toys spewed a form of the gas, and gave a lot of kids blood boiling nightmares, so I think they removed it with the new toy line.

“Oh yeah…”

“You know the new toy line should’ve gave us outfits too…”

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part one

wc: 12.5k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO HERE

summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot

tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 

thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.

The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush. 

The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 

Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 

But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 

Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 

You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 

“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 

As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 

“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 

“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 

You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 

“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 

You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 

You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 

“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 

The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 

Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 

The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 

You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 

You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 

He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 

You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 

Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 

“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”

Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 

Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 

Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 

“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.

“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 

The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 

“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  

It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 

“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 

The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 

Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 

He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 

He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 

Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 

He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 

You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 

Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 

“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  

“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  

Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 

“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 

Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 

You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 

The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 

Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 

Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 

You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 

He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 

His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 

Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 

The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 

“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 

“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 

“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 

You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”

“You compete?”

“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”

Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 

His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 

Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.

For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 

“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 

“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”

Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 

“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 

His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 

You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 

“You runnin’ from something?” 

You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 

“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 

“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 

“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 

That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 

Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 

You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 

Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 

The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.

He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 

“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 

“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 

“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 

“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 

“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 

“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 

Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 

“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 

“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 

Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 

“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.

Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 

But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 

Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you.

Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.

If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.

Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.

The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.

You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”

He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.

As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.

You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.

“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”

You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.

“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”

Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.

“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 

“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”

You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.

“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.

“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”

They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.

“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”

“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 

“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.

The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.

The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 

“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 

His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 

“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 

Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 

“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 

The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 

“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 

Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 

“That the Hancock gelding?” 

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 

Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 

You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection?

Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 

Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.

Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 

Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 

“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 

“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 

In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 

Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 

Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 

“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 

Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.

One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 

Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 

The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 

From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist.

Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 

Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 

That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 

He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 

He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 

He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 

Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 

Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 

Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 

Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 

Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 

“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 

Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 

Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 

Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 

The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 

Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 

You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 

He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 

You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 

He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.

You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 

“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 

His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 

You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 

You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees.

You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo.

The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt.

You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 

Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 

You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 

The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests.

Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye.

Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.

The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 

You smile when you pull onto the highway. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 

You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though.

It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating on the porch. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 

He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while Joel has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything.

You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.

The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.

“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.

Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.

Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.

You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 

“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 

The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables.

You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 

You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 

“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.

You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing.

You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 

He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 

Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he grits, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 

“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 

Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 

It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 

It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 

You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 

He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 

The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 

The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 

“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 

“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 

“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 

You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 

“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 

“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 

“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 

You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 

The view makes you salivate. 

Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 

“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 

“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 

“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a demand or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.

“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 

“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 

“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 

Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.

“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 

“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 

“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 

He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   

“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  

You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  

Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  

His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  

“Joel, please.”  

“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  

Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  

Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 

Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 

He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 

You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel.

To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 

But it never comes.

You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. 

He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse.

Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.

-> PART TWO

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎

tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

[neege]

Wolfstar modern au hcs!!

Here are some little ideas I had about r/s in a modern world <3

Remus and Sirius both love doing the nyt mini games together, but especially the mini crossword. They usually compete against each other.

Remus has Sirius saved in his contacts as "Sirius Black" because that's how he saves everyone, but when he notices that he's saved as "Moony ❤️" in Sirius's phone, he adds a heart as well.

Sirius sends Remus photos of critters that he happens to come across throughout his day, and Remus always replies to every single one

Remus sends Sirius bitchy texts about his coworkers that make Sirius laugh

Remus loves to watch either really trashy reality tv, or dramas that are incredibly over the top when he's had a long, stressful day

Sirius complains about it, but can consistently be seen lingering in the doorway or standing behind the couch where Remus sits, watching and asking questions about the characters. He refuses to sit down and watch though.

Sirius tries sexting with Remus a couple of times, but it always fizzles out because Remus will inevitably send "???" because he doesn't understand what his lines are supposed to be

Remus calls Sirius all the time while he's at work to tell him about his day and to let him know that he loves him ❤️ it always makes Sirius smile.

Remus and Sirius are a generally very sweet couple, but when it comes to playing Mario kart, they will throw down and it WILL get ugly.

[bun-z-bakery]

(Repost from my abandoned account) these are just my personal head canons for dogday. this is a survivor au

(All characters are over 18 btw)

-dogday sometimes has dog like tendencies, like growling, barking etc.

-he doesn't remember a lot about his life as a worker but will share stories he remembers of his human life once you two become close.

-man is like a love sick puppy. First you save him? Give him legs? AND a home?! And his friends are here too?! You really are his angel.

-he's very protective of his angel. He can't have anyone take them away or even hurt them. Plus all those years locked away, he can't loose you, you're his hope.

-this man will most certainly plan his confession, script and all. Maybe you're away at work and this is something he's been working on for a while. He's always bringing you little gifts on his hunting trips (depending on if you like to collect rocks and such) but this dude went out of his way to find the best of the best. Even somehow found flowers beautiful enough to almost rival your beauty, keyword: almost.

-he enjoys spending time with you, poppy and kissy, he enjoys playing outside with you three, even if you guys have been out of the factory for years already. They still enjoy the outside world.

-I know bro is huge, like dude is taller than an American door way (according to some measurements fans have made, hes 9'5) if you're a shorty (like me 5 feet even😭) he will most definitely pick you up and carry you like a dogtoy. He likes the feeling of carrying his angel, it gives him a sense of pride doing so. Even if you accidentally hit the ceiling or he needs to really get down so you don't hit the top of the doorframe, he will always apologize or joke about it.

-he's a cuddler, he LOVES cuddling! He has his own giant dog bed in your shared room, but he prefers to sleep on your shared bed. If you're away from work and he's eepy, he'll pass out on your bed because it smells like you. Your scent keeps him at bay until you come home. Poor guy will shoot up and push anyone out of his way to be the first to get to you! He sits there on the floor waiting for his mandatory headpats and kisses as soon as he hears your keys.

-it takes his brain a few minutes to properly turn on. After all those years he finally gets proper sleep, I can imagine you waking up first and getting ready for the day to prepare breakfast for the group and you poke him, trying to wake him. He'll mumble some random stuff about not letting rats do taxes then fall back asleep only to be woken again by your pokes still talking nonsense. I can also see him sometimes waking up confused, you know like when you wake up your parents and they're mad for no reason asking what's wrong while gasping for air? (Just me?) I can see him being THAT dead asleep bhahsha

-my take on the survivor au is more of a modern take (as in yes the factory closed years also but reader is possibly in early to late 20s sometime in 20xx / non specified year) so they weren't an employee but probably knew someone like a family member who worked there or was dared to enter the factory (we'll see if I ever post my fanfic haha as these hcs kinda tie into that story) so dogday being alive in the 80s or 90s he probably has like the old school idea of love and attempts to swoon you as such. The flowers, cheesy pick up lines.

-I can imagine because he's not up to date with the newer terms and he might be confused while trying to seem cool haha. "Angel what does rizzler mean?" (Poor peepaw)

- Personally I love the theory that DogDay is an ex worker aka Rich. Which is probably why he was the leader of the smiling critters. Because he was mature enough to make sure everyone was in line/well behaved, I also think some other workers were turned into the mascots too (obviously) but maybe they trusted Rich more so they just threw him into the dance circle and hope that he'd be a good leader.

- this one ties into the first one btw! I like the think that maybe he was one of the mascots when he worked there. Like a guy in the costume who worked with the kids (hence the zipper, how else would the workers get into the bigger body suits?)

- I like to think DogDay likes when Angel calls him by his old human name. Maybe once he opens up more about his human life (or at least bringing up some of the memories he still has) he just randomly brings up his name when talking about a memory and hearing Angel repeat his name back, he'd probably like hearing it. It might make him feel like less of a monster in a sense. Granted I think he wouldn't care about what Angel calls him but he would most definitely prefer for them to alternate. Like you know when someone makes you mad and you use their real name instead of their nickname? He'd hate for his Angel to get mad, especially at him. But when living with 3 other people it can get a bit hectic.

"DogDay! Did you bring mud into the house?!"

"N-No!... "

*silence*

"RICH, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

*footsteps are heard and DogDay bolts out the door*

- Now this head canon I have can go either one of two ways, right? Hear me out. Listen up, listen carefully, and listen closely. (Lmk if you got that reference) ok so back to the zipper! I think the zipper just opens to his organs tbh like the zipper was just left functional in case he needed to be "repaired internally". BUT another thought, I also can see there being some sort of barrier! You know those stuff animals who have their stuffing blocked by a barrier so it doesn't fall out but the zipper opens to a compartment where you can store items? I kinda think that's whats there tbh, I mean it makes sense. What if one of the kids opened the zipper by mistake? Surely there would be a barrier just in case.

- as I mentioned in the last hc post, I can see him trying to swoon Angel in the old romantic type of way. I can see him pinning after Angel hard, at first they wouldn't get the hint, they'd probably think he's thinks he's indebted to them for rescuing them and giving the 3 of them a better and new life. But quickly they realize bro is in love. Of course poppy teases him about it too at some point lol. He doesn't really try to hide it either. I can see poppy and kissy thinking it's sweet and first then they get annoyed once you're the only thing he talk about lol.

- You're married. That's all! No but I can see in his mind you two are basically married. He'd probably want to have new custom star collars made for both of you or maybe even a ring for you and a matching collar or something for him to wear and propose. Of course it will bother him a bit because he can't go out with you, take you on dates or show you off but he trusts you (even though he gets jealous when you smell like someone else) he basically tries his best with what you guys have (If only there was a holiday that came once a year where you guys could go out dressed in customs without looking like freaks).

- He looks like the type of guy who would love pasta. I'm not sure why or how this even came into mind but I just feel like that's what he often wants for dinner. Poppy would probably eat fruit for dinner, kissy isn't really picky, but Dogday would probably be asking for either pasta or meat. Also I think Angel would be hesitant to feed certain foods to Dogday because you know, he's a dog (not really but hear me out) but because he acts like one at times I could see Angel being like haha nope you can't eat this!

*Angel eating chocolate cookies*

"May I have some?" *cutely pouts*

"I don't want you dying, love."

"You know I'm not actually a dog...right?"

ok ok you got me there" (they just really didn't wanna share lol)

- tbh this is more of a general head canon for the toys but I seeing as they had to resort to c*nnibalism. They clearly need food and water to survive. I think catcap was probably keep Dogday alive as a "lol now look at you now, look at me" (yes that's a BP reference) moment but only feeds him when he felt like it, since food is basically scarce in that place. I think that their human organs were transferred over but little things like veins, teeth, tongue, blood vessels basically anything that's not a major organ was made artificially and connected in a sense to those major organs making them function as such.

Yeah that's kinda it lol, there might be some more parts to this if I can think of anything else! But yeahhh that's kinda my hc and rambles lol (I tend to ramble a lot especially when I have to give context, I apologize!)

[butchreg]

a playdate with mari ! ( 1.6k words )

requested by 🐦‍⬛ anon ! i've been really wanting to write something with the jvs especially mari so i was really excited to see this request >:J , not proofread any mistakes are on me.. yellowjackets masterlist here , upcoming list here

summary : you and your friend mari have a playdate while regressed !

tags / warnings : sfw agere , little ! gn reader , reader has a fem mama cg , little ! mari , cg ! akilah , romantic makilah ( outside of regression ) , kiddo ! reader && mari , modern au , playdates , fluff , bossy ! mari a tad , tiny almost fight

The doorbell rings, and you run to get your mama to open the door. You’re not allowed to open the door without her, a rule that typically doesn’t bother you but your friend is here! You know it’s her because you’d watched out the window as the familiar beat up SUV pulled around the corner in front of your house. “Mamaaa,” you holler, barging into her room where she’s folding fresh sheets, humming absentmindedly to herself. “Mari’s here!” you shout excitedly before she can ask what’s the matter. She checks her watch. “Crap, I’m sorry baby I lost track of time. Let’s go let her in, hm?” You nod excitedly, allowing her to guide you to the door, her hand on your back. You pull the door open a wide smile on your face. 

Mari shrieks with excitement upon seeing you, wrapping you up in a clumsy hug. “Ah ah, Mar. What’ve we talked about? Inside voice, hmm?” Akilah, her caretaker, and girlfriend outside of regression speaks to her in a gentle and patient voice. Mari pouts, shrugging, making Akilah chuckle. Your mama has you say hi to Akilah and thank her for bringing Mari before she allows you to tug Mari away into the living room, while the two caregivers stay chatting by the front door. 

Mari has a little bag with her which you curiously point to, asking her what she’s brought today. Upon this, she plops down onto the floor, dumping its contents out to show you her things. She flushes red when her well worn pacifier tumbles to the floor. “My mama can wash it off,” you begin to offer but surprisingly she shakes her head. “It’s fine… ‘M too big for it anyway,” she says, but you notice the way her eyes linger on the discarded item before she shoves it back into the bag. 

You two quickly move on, distracted by the other colorful items she’s brought over.  She’s brought her switch, and you “ooooh” at her pastel pink and yellow joy-cons. She smiles proudly, allowing you to push one of its buttons. “Can we play?” you ask excitedly. 

“Wait, I gotta show you the rest of my stuff first,” she says a little bossily. She has a half filled Mad Libs book, a beat up tree frog Webkinz, a couple solo Calico Critters, a box of crayons, and a fidget cube. A few stray blocks, bandaids, and puzzle pieces are scattered among them as well. “Cool,” you say, shrugging and turning back to her switch. “D’you think we could play now?” 

Mari looks a little upset, expecting you to be much more wowed by her treasures. “Fiiine,” she whines, putting her frog on her lap and messily scooping the rest of her things back into her bag. “We’re playing Mario Kart,” she says matter of factly, getting the game set up. You don’t protest, a big fan of Mario Kart yourself. You never get to play it! Excitedly you reach for one of the joy-cons, the yellow one. 

“No!” she yells, snatching it from you. “I wanna be yellow!” Her yell is enough for your mama to come scrambling into the room. 

“I heard shouts. What’s the matter?” 

“She took it from me!” You tell her, pointing accusingly at Mari. Your caregiver tuts, bending down to get closer to your level. A sheepish look spreads across Mari’s face, as she’s questioned. 

“Is this true?” Mari can’t meet your mama’s eyes but she nods slowly. 

“‘S mine!” she protests. “Yellow’s my favorite…” 

“I can see that,” your caregiver chuckles, taking in Mari’s beloved yellow hoodie and yellow duck socks. “But if you two want to play together, you’ll have to share. Both of you.” She looks between you two.

“I wanna share, I just don’ wanna share my yellow one…” she mumbles. “You can be this one,” she hands you the pink joy-con with a smile. You take the peace offering, already over any hard feelings you may have had a minute ago.

“Can we play now, mama?” you ask, looking up at her. 

“Can you two play nice now?” she asks. You and Mari look at each other, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Sorry,” Mari tells you. You shrug it off, getting down to lay on your stomach in front of the small screen. She follows your lead and the two of you turn your attention back to the game. 

“I want Baby Daisy!” you call.

“Okay,” she agrees. “I’m always Toad.” You giggle at that information. She elbows you playfully in response. You pick your karts before starting the race. 

Mari whines when you beat her. “I want a new kart, mine SUCKS.” You stick your tongue out at her. 

“You’re just mad I won.” 

“Nuh uh, shut up.” You shove her a bit. 

“C’mon admit it!” 

“NUH UH! It’s the kart!” She insists. “Lemme switch, I’ll cream you.” 

You blow a raspberry at her, but gracefully let her switch. To your chagrin, she does in fact cream you in the next few rounds. “Ha! Told ya!” She gleefully brags, playing the highlight reel over and over again. 

“Stop it,” you whine. “I never played that course before!” 

This time she sticks her tongue out at you. You playfully shove her a bit and she shoves back, but the two of you are giggling. You’re so engrossed in the game and each other that you don’t even notice your mama poking her head into the room. 

“Yoohoo!” She calls, chuckling at the sweet sight of the two of you. You look up, a joyful smile on your face. 

“Hi, mama!” you greet her. Mari stops laughing, sitting up, brushing hair out of her eyes and waving. 

“Hi there, kiddo. I wanted to see what the pair of you wanted for lunch. We’ve got mac n cheese, grilled cheese stuff, PB & J…” She ticks off the options on her fingers as she lists them. 

“Mac n cheese!” you holler at the same time Mari shouts for grilled cheese. You two look at each other stubbornly, neither one intending to budge. Mari folds first.

“Is it boxed kind?” Mari asks, cocking her head. 

“Yes, love. Is that alright with you?” Mari thinks for a minute. 

“Mmm, I like Kraft…” she informs the two of you, clearly still pondering. Your mama claps once. 

“Perfect, then. That’s what we’ve got.” You cheer and Mari looks satisfied enough. 

“You wanna do Mad Libs?” Mari asks, turning her attention back to you. You agree, and she delightedly pulls the book out as you turn off the switch. “You wanna go first?” she offers, holding out her jumbo box of crayons towards you. You smile, nodding. You pick out a green crayon, and she jokes that it’s “booger color” making both of you giggle a bit. 

“Umm, noun.” She spots her frog who’s been discarded a few feet away, picking him up. “Frog!” she offers. The two of you continue with the book of Mad Libs, once again getting swept up in the activity, unable to contain your laughter every time you read the silly stories. You fill them out at lightning speed, surprised when what feels like no more than five minutes later your mama calls you for lunch. 

She hands Mari her bowl first, telling you it’s because she’s the guest. Mari looks delighted at this, smiling as she thanks your caregiver. “I know I can be kinda a handful,” she says between bites. “But thanks for letting me come anyway.” Your mama chuckles. 

“You’re quite welcome, Mari. You’re welcome any time.”She reaches over to ruffle her hair, causing you to giggle and Mari to blush.  

After you eat, mama offers to put on a show for you two. Mari nods enthusiastically, and you clap excitedly. She puts on your favorite, Bluey, and your eyes are soon glued to the screen. After an episode or two of Mari animatedly talking about the show, you notice she’s gone quiet. She’s fallen asleep, making soft suckling noises despite having nothing in her mouth due to her earlier claims of being “too big” for her pacifier. 

You get up as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her, padding back into the living room where her bag remains on the floor. You carefully open it, hand closing around the soothing item. You find your mama right where you left her, washing dishes in the kitchen. 

“Mama.” You tap on her shoulder. 

“Hmm? Done with your show already, bun?” You shake your head, opening your hand. 

“Um, Mari dropped it earlier. Could you wash it please?” 

“Sure thing, bud. But why’re you asking instead of her?” 

You lift onto your tiptoes to whisper into her ear. “She said she’s too big for it but she fell ‘sleep and I think she’d like it she just don’t wanna admit it.” 

Mama nods understandingly. ”That’s very sweet of you, bunny.” She kisses your forehead before carefully rinsing the object off. 

Once it’s nice and clean she hands it back to you and you tiptoe back into the den where the show is still playing and Mari is still conked out. You cautiously reach out your hand to slip the pacifier into her mouth. Her lips welcome the object and she hums contentedly, suckling it. 

Laying back against the couch’s pillows your eyes turn back to the tv. It’s not long before your eyelids begin to droop, stomach full and Mari dreaming peacefully mere feet from you. You listen to the silly cartoon voices, watching through bleary eyes, quickly dozing off alongside your best friend.

[crazylittlestorm]

Poppy Playtime au ask blog!

In my au, the toys were freed from the factory, and now are all being kept in some random persons house. There, they will have to learn the ways of modern living and try not to accidentally murder anyone. The majority of the toys are alive, including Huggy, Kissy, Bunzo, Pj, Wuggys, Mommy, Ms. Delight, and all of the smiling critters.

No inappropriate asks and no oc inserts. Those are the rules.

Ref sheets:

[qxuiara]

Information about the Playtime.Co Sentience Au

[🧸] PLAYTIME.CO SENTIENCE AU

[❓] What's it about?

Playtime.Co Sentience is an alternate universe where instead of live, human subjects used for the Bigger Bodies Initiative, Harley Sawyer suggested the use of robots who were programmed with sentience. This means that the orphans who had taken part of the experiments were never turned into living toys, this also means that the Hour of Joy never happened either. Basically all the bad things that happened in Playtime.Co *never* happened in this alternate timeline. The Orphanage and Factory have been working alongside each other in harmony. While yes, it still takes place in 1995 and it's quite odd that the sentience of these robots would be too modern, while I am still thinking of an explanation, I can always default to 'logic'. It's better than having actual children piloting the suits really.

[❓] What roles do the toys have?

The toys retain their original roles in the Bigger Bodies Initiative project, aside from Boxy-Boo who's role is still related, but changed to be less gruesome. There are also toys who were not given a proper role in BBI and were given ones here.

[❓] How would they operate with humans?

They operate like Co-Workers, with the toys being extra needed help that primarily take care of Playtime.Co, with the humans tending to be secondary help as the toys are more efficient than they thought. The two parties don't seem to mind each other and respect one another as they fulfill their roles together.

[❓] Could you give me a brief summary of the toys?

Sure! But I'll only be doing the ones who serve relevance in the au.

Poppy - Assistant to the entirety of the Playtime.Co. Responsible for providing help around Playtime.Co and doing daily check-ups around the many facilities. She also takes note of her fellow Co-Workers, seeing which employee or toy needs to be taken to the Medical Bay to be tended to.

Doctor (The Prototype) - Head Doctor, Inventor, and Advisor. Responsible for aiding employees and toys with their injuries, illnesses, etc. in Playtime.Co. They like to tamper with little trinkets they find and helps in concept making for new toy lines-- occasionally fixes toys that orphans have broken in the Orphanage. It also provides needed advice for those who come to them if ever so needed, they're more than willing to have a little pep-talk with you.

Huggy Wuggy - Security Guard for Playtime.Co alongside Kissy Missy. His job is to patrol the entirety of the place and seek out unwanted people who have snuck their way into the factory. They also lead employees to their assigned stations or escort them out if they weren't supposed to be there.

Kissy Missy - Security Guard for Playtime.Co alongside Huggy Wuggy. Her job is to make sure all that enter the Factory are authorized individuals, visitors who wish to adopt an orphan, and other orphans who have been newly taken to the Orphanage. She gets rid of any threatening individuals who try to break into the facilities. Usually seen juggling their stations at the security lead of the Factory or the front desk at the Orphanage.

Mommy Long Legs - Host and Guide for the Game Station. She makes sure the orphans are engaging and behaving while they're doing their activities in the Game Station, serving as an encouraging figure to hype up the children and make them feel confident as they play the games.

Boxy-Boo - Employee Trainer and Defect Inspector of the entirety of Playtime.Co. He works relatively close to Poppy, but rather than being an assistant, he's the one responsible for training the employees and other toys that happened to be assigned to factory duty. They are also responsible for checking for defects in a toy or the machinery used for the factory. VERY BUSY, only talk to them if urgent or necessary, he doesn't like being bothered while he's doing his job.

Dogday - A Caretaker for the Orphanage and the Leader of the Smiling Critters. He serves as a confident, mentor-like figure towards the orphans, encouraging them to stay physically fit and exercise. He's the one planning the activities inside of Playcare, and teaches everyone the importance of getting along together and have a great time while you're with him.

Catnap - The Main Caretaker for the Orphanage, partial Security. He serves as the observer and peacekeeper of Playcare, making sure that the orphans are behaving and are kept in line while performing activities. He also teaches them how to behave and discipline them if needed. Though at night, his primary role is to make sure all orphans are comfortably tucked in their beds inside Home Sweet Home, patrolling the Orphanage for any mischievous orphans or unwanted visitors at such hours.

Hoppy Hopscotch - A Caretaker for the Orphanage. She serves as a Sporty Idol for the orphans and motivates them to play sports. She highly encourages competitive nature, but makes sure that everything is all in good sport. She loves teaching them tips n' tricks and strategies on how to win games. She'll always be your Number 1 Supporter through and through, no matter what happens.

KickinChicken - A Caretaker for the Orphanage. He serves as everyone's friend and guide in Playcare and instructs them on health and safety regulations from time to time. While he loves it when the orphans want to apply the chill lifestyle, it's also important to learn the DO's and DON'T's while you're at it. During activities, he demonstrates what to do and not to do while occupied with what ever activity the children will be doing, sometimes even going as far to do stunts and come out okay in the end. He doesn't seem to mind it, as long as the orphans are learning something new. If you need someone to hang out with, he's always free.

CraftyCorn - A Caretaker for the Orphanage. She serves as the artistic inspiration that the kids need to crank up their creativity. She's very passionate about art and the beauty around the world. She highly encourages the orphans to pursue in their dreams of becoming artists and even offers advice on how they could improve their techniques.

Bobby Bearhug - A Caretaker for the Orphanage. She serves as a Therapeutic and even Motherly figure towards the orphans, willing to listen to their problems and give them advice on how to mend them, as well as teach them on how to solve them on their own in the near future. She adores it when the children come to visit her and tell her about her how their day went during their time at Playcare.

Picky Piggy - A Caretaker for the Orphanage and Chef. She serves, quite literally, food to the orphans. At mealtime, she's always psyched about hearing what the children are looking forward to in their day and even dabble into some of their conversations from time to time. She takes notes of what meal suggestions the orphans want next, as long as they're healthy of course-- I suppose a few cheat meals won't hurt anyone.

Bubba Bubbaphant - A Caretaker for the Orphanage and Teacher. He serves as the 'complex' teacher for Playcare's School, teaching children more complex school topics in the school; Mathematics, Science, History, etc. While he knows his subjects are hard to grasp, he does teach them well and even encourage them on their homework. He's very passionate about his work, and some day, the kids will thank him for them.

[reikiajakoiranruohoja]

Poppy Playtime: Why Catnap is such a good antagonist

There are plenty of characters who have a gray morality, especially these days. But sometimes we need villains who just are villains and convincing them to change is hard or impossible. (I am not saying any redemption AUs for Catnap aren't valid, I am only talking about canon here.) First of all, Catnap is given a backstory the explains his motives. He was basically a labrat to the scientists at Playcare and the ARG shows he also had trouble fitting in. So we can assume he was not an infant when he lost his parents. The only person who gave him any attention was the Prototype, enough that Theo/Catnap was willing to risk his life for it. He messed up and the Prototype, instead of leaving him to die, saved him at the cost of its freedom. This act made Catnap's loyalty to the Prototype iron-clad. He would do anything for it, even kill. Being turned into not only a Bigger Bodies creature but one that limited his ability to express himself, made the already simmering hatred for Playcare into an inferno. In short, Catnap was the perfect follower for the Prototype. At least, for the Hour of Joy. Despite his tragic past, Catnap is far from a good person. For one, he took part in the Hour of Joy and still reminds his followers of it. Second, Catnap is incredibly cruel. While this stems from his undying loyalty to the Prototype, Catnap's actions are his own and how he handles his prey and heretics is telling. Through chapter 3, Catnap could kill you at any point. But he prefers to stalk you and make you squirm. Like a cat, he loves the chase and he loves the power he has over his prey. Then there is the way he treated Dogday. While the common headcanon is that Catnap cut his legs off, the game indicates a worse fate. Catnap tied Dogday and possibly other Smiling Critters into their cells where they could not move and then let the smaller critters use them as a food source. Dogday wasn't bisected as much as he was slowly eaten alive. Catnap also ensured he would stay alive as long as possible by tying that belt around his waist. So his guts wouldn't fall out and kill Dogday prematurely. Nothing indicates the Protype ordered Catnap to punish the heretics this way, it is all Catnap's own zealous and twisted invention. He could have taken Dogday out fast, instead he lets the dog suffer for his heresy. Ironically, I think this is why Catnap became a liability to the Prototype. Catnap was content starving and playing his twisted games and praying to the Prototype. The Prototype needs those who still want out, not a high priest performing sermons in its name. This is why I think Catnap is one of the best villains in modern media. Sure he has a tragic past, but he is Judge Frollo levels of cruel and zealous.

[m3l0v3trees]

can I get a story about all 8 smiling Critters watching male!reader playing a fighting game and they all help him by telling him what moves to use and then they see him do a special finisher that they never seen and then after he won the smiling critters pick male!reader up and throw him up as they start to chant his name

Oooh!! Nice one dude/dudette! Gotta give ya credit there, pal! Anyways! Might as well do it for you. Besides I hate seeing people's requests turned down, so I hope you enjoy this

Winner! Hurray!

Let's start off with you! Yes, you! Let's just say, you're the game boy type, but still not a pro tho.

The critters were doing their own things like, craftycorn doing arts, catnap napping, dogday cleaning with bobby, kickin chicken and hoppy eating, while bubba and picky cooked.

And you? You're in the living room playing your favourite fighting video game.

As everyone finishes whatever they are doing, they hear you grunt loudly in the living throwing something too.

"uh... Should we check him?" Hoppy suggested.

Then a loud crash was heard, with no hesitation the critters came in the living room and saw you with an angry face as you continue to play the final boss of the game.

"Come on, you shit ass boss!" You shouted unaware of the others.

They sweat dropped watching you getting shit ass mad over a game.

"Angel! Language!" Dogday shouted making you yelp and look at his way only to not see him but with the others too.

You 'hmph' as you crossed your arms looked away with an angry pouty face that catnap found it cute (wink, wink)

After sometime talking it over they all decided that once in for all! They will help you with the game by telling you the combat moves.

You play the game with critters on each other side of you.

"Drop kick!" Kickin shouted.

"Double kick!"

"kick his feet!"

"Elbow the stomach!"

"punch his chin!"

Everyone kept shouting for combat moves while catnap just watched.

It took a good 30 minutes and finally! The boss has been defeated!

"We... We did it- WOAH!" You shriek getting lift up by the critters.

"you did it, Y/N!"

"Congratulations!"

"Snack time!"

"Be careful!"

"Mrr~"

"You won!"

"no... 'We' won!" You corrected.

They all smiled and gave you a group hug making you smile at the warmth of their body.

After a while you all decided to eat lunch. You felt grateful for having supportive friends with you. You would rather not trade them with anything...

Friends are the best!

A/N: phew! Welp! This was short but! Feel free to request me anything and anytime!

[nickolasnickname]

*one day my soul left my body after i died in the modern smiling critters au and my soul spawned at the digital circus...and i wake up seemingly confused on where i am...*

What the...?

*Samuel notices*

*A man in a bartender's suit and wearing a Christmas themed top hat you'd find on snowmen walks up*

Hello there.

[the-modern-critters]

Is Catnap immune to the red smoke?

“Yeah… but I can’t spew it out for some reason.”

[bazyboo13]

The Sun's Blind Caring au Info

This au takes place in modern day. It's the start of Sebastian's, a teenager (same one from my New Family au), school year and tragedy has struck leaving Sebastian burnt out. It seems like someone has been watching him.

Sebastian wakes up, in the middle of the night, to his TV acting strange. He put on a streaming service. Why was cable television on? All of a sudden a show he's never heard of turns on...

A show called "Smiling Critters"

An episode started and he heard someone call out to him. One of the characters in the show seemed to be self aware, addressing Sebastian personally. The character was an orange dog.

He got out of bed to get some water when the dog came out of the TV and grabs Sebastian. He was taken into the Cartoon world.

When he wakes up he is greeted by that same dog staring him right in the face.

"YOU'RE AWAKE!"

Sebastian is dazed and confused, just being kidnapped and all. Dogday introduces himself and pulls Sebastian up. Sebastian looks down at his hands only to see blue, fur covered, paws.

"what... Is this..!"

All I'll say for now!

[jam-packed]

hiiii no one asked but pt 1 of a billion to my last unicorn au where marc is not a unicorn it will be marcnaia but not u gotta be patient im sry. anyways intro ily

about 1.3k

Casey sighs as he and Enea step carefully through the loose, winding path the forest grants them. They had been looking for a viable lake to fish at for a while, and despite the beauty of the greenwood that surrounded them, Casey knew this was not the place for them. It is far too quiet for comfort, Casey thinks, far too peaceful for him to truly enjoy—he is quite a modern man, as he considers. The trees stand tall and foreboding but plentiful and lush; the ground without leaves or brambles—not a prickle of snow has seen the ample soil beneath them—each blade of grass stands just tall enough to tickle the hairs on Enea’s naked ankles; each critter and creature they saw met them with curiosity and childlike wonder but leaving enough distance where Casey would not have to prevent Enea from taking something home; the birds sing sweet melodies into their ears, each note seeming to lead them closer and closer to where they would like to be; and Casey gets the lucky remnants of delicate and decadent speckled fur in the corners of his eyes—bright specks flitting in his vision to-and-fro.

Casey puts his hand on Enea’s shoulder, forcing his attention from the beauty enveloping them. “We must look elsewhere, Enea. This is no place for us.”

“What do you mean?” Enea’s eyes sparkle as he asks, mesmerized by the twisting leaves in the reaching branches above them, shining sparse but angelic light onto the two—kissing each curl on Enea’s head and spinning them to gold.

“There is magic here, my friend, learned slight by those that dwell in the cerval’s forest.”

“Cerval?”

“You are too young to have seen one, Enea, for the one here is lone in this world.” Casey declares, looking into the deep brush of the forest, where two bewildering moon-slit eyes follow him intently; he knows better than to stay here now. “We must think better than to fish here, lest we remove the world of any more magic.”

“Tell me of it, since I have not seen one—not heard of one,” Enea pleads with shining eyes, his boyish charm much more apparent now than even when they first met those fair months ago, in a small pub far from where the sun sets on them now. “Tell me, Casey.”

Casey hums, feeling tiny, near minuscule ants crawl up his calf with no care, and he grants them such privilege. “My great-grandmother—maybe even great-great-grandmother—told my mother, who told me, of her meetings with one. It came to her, rather than her to it—as most seem to do—and–”

“Did she capture it?” Enea’s voice trembles slightly.

“Of course not, dearest Enea. She simply sat near it, with the barest of a smile upon her lips to perhaps bring it close to her, and it did. It laid its head in her lap and licked the small sprouts of blood that flourished from her hands, healing the cuts that may have wounded her. Then it fell asleep, bringing her along with it—she only woke when she found it had gone, leaving her clothes barren of blemishes and bruises.”

“What did it look like?”

A smile floats onto Casey’s face. “Its eyes reflect the moon, and its fur is as soft as a well-loved cat’s.”

“Where did they all go, my love?”

Casey shrugs, his face flaring from the title Enea bestows him with. “Things change. There are things greater than us that haunt the Earth—it is no place for grand creatures such as he.”

There is a pregnant pause from Enea, bare of his usual thoughts and questions and mistakes in his speech that Casey finds ever so endearing. He looks around the forest for what they both come to know will be their last, the floral air kissing him sweetly. “Yes,” Enea says, determination set on his brow. He adjusts the rod and bag that lay upon his back, taking deep steps into the forest floor as if running towards the outer world beyond them. “Yes, let us fish someplace else.”

They reach the forest’s edge quickly—the blinding eyes following each move with careful precision—and Casey turns towards the poor creature, knowing its presence despite his decided lack of vision about it. He frowns as his voice cracks on his tongue, teeth clicking together reluctantly with each word.

“Do not leave here, dear wolf, for the world out here will ensure your end; keep in your forest, keep it lush and bright, with each creature protected by your grand stead—for no other can do as you do, for you are the last.” Casey can feel his eyes fill with salt and glistening pity. “I wish you luck, my friend; beware of men and girls that will only become bitter, old, and silly.”

The two take their leave, their packs full of nets, rods, bait, and gear gone along with them, and the cerval wolf’s gaze falls from them with a slow, dreary sadness. “Is it true?” He asks the forest he habits, his voice hoarse and crackling from disuse—it would frighten him if he allowed himself fear. “Am I really all that is left?”

He does not prance like the deer that follow his horrified sprint. He throws himself to the ground, twisting and crying in the dirt and gravel, biting at his tail and bowed legs for some poor sense of comfort. 

“How selfish they all are!” He growls through his mournful yelps. “My brother, my beloved brother! How could I live if he has left me, too?” The sprawling roots and sagging blades of grass hug at the poor creature’s shivering and solitary bod. The cerval drags itself up to lay by the river bed, its water akin to a mirror—clear and unwaning—if the pitiful beast had ever seen the latter to compare the two. He weeps once more, his tears mixing deep into the minute waves that come from the small waterfall nearby. He takes a drink, kissing the surface of the water with his speckled fur and padded nose, only to replenish himself of the tears he lost so he may start anew.

The heavens fall to darkness, the only light coming from the moon and stars shining through the trees’ fair leaves and branches overhead, and the heart-rending wolf has stayed in its tragic state for—to him—what felt like days. “Maybe,” he thinks out loud to the fish beneath the quivering ripples of the river beside him, “maybe I am to leave this place. What do men know? I could find them with ease, with pride. I am a great beast like no other; men tremble before me, and thunder calls my name—it would be with great ease, yes.” He swats at the brown trout taunting him from below, catching one by pulling it to the edge—where the water and soil meet in hopeful embrace—lifting it with his claws and peering at the poor thing with deep, bright, curious eyes. “Or maybe I should stay,” he concedes, pushing the rather dull trout back into the glistening waters. “I cannot really leave.” He stands to walk the river’s stream. “If I am truly the only one, I cannot leave for selfish reasons as they all have.”

He laughs to himself, “The forest will make fun, they will make me cry on return, and I will never leave again.”

“Yes,” he decides. “I will not leave. There is no possibility for it.”

[kingofthe-egirls]

BUTTERFLY: LUFFY x Y/N (modern au part 7)

modern au

(cw: mma!luffy, celebrity, dress shopping, flirty banter, food mention, interview w Teen Vogue reporter, reader is a camgirl)

(a/n: help)

Songs: “The Louvre” by Lorde

words: 1.4k

****

“I’m not askin’ what I look like,” Luffy drawls with a crooked smirk. His hands are loose in his pockets as he steps closer, space minimizing between his heated body and yours. “I’m askin’ if ya like whatcha see. Cmon, kitty, how’re the threads?”

He leers at you in his fitted black suit, paired with a deep red, satin button down the color of a dry cabaret sauvignon. A silver chain with a skull-and-crossbones hangs around his neck. It glitters between his exposed collarbones. You want to take it off with your teeth.

“Sexy.”

He snickers, and rushes back into the changing room. “Awesome,” is all he says as he finishes redressing.

You’re standing outside the velvet curtain holding the socks, tie, and pocket square that match the suit.

He adds a Rolex to the mix.

You both check out of the swanky menswear shop, and head down the sparkling strip to find you a dress.

****

You stand in the fitting room, obscured by a black door with a chalkboard sign that says “#2” in a curly, squiggly font.

You’d decided to hit one of the local thrift stores, decked out in miniature Calico Critter toys, porcelain tea sets, vintage dresses, and strange plants. Luffy seems comfortable enough, chatting with the elderly saleswoman at the counter.

You squirm.

You’re wearing a deep red velveteen dress with a gathered waist and a slit up the side. It’s heavy, and smells like mothballs. You shimmy out of it; the texture is abhorrent.

“How’s it goin’, dollface?”

Luffy asks you through the kitschy little door. His sandals scuff the uneven floorboards on the other side of the fitting room. You’re tangling your limbs in an emerald green

cocktail dress with too-tight sleeves.

“Struggling!”

You huff with an honest sigh.

“What’s wrong? Need my help?” He asks cheekily, and you snort.

“Not yet, Prince Charming.”

He laughs, but lays off the banter. It’s a sorta sweet balance that you two have found with each other.

Luffy knocks on the door.

“How’s this one? Saleslady said—,” he stops as you open the door, still half-dressed in a champagne gown. It’s pale pink with diamond shimmers. The sweetheart neckline dives between your breasts, tapered empire waistline revealing the goddess-like, Boticelli version of your pear-shaped body. The long, flowy skirt wraps around your legs in waves. There’s a subtle slit to your thigh, and you found a rose gold clutch to match.

You slowly turn, sweeping your hair to the side so he can zip the back of the slinky, incandescent gown.

His fingers are slow as he clips the zipper up your exposed back.

“What jewelry d’ya want?”

He asks, raspy.

****

You decide on a single, Swarovski swan pendent with a rose-quartz center. The wings of the silver swan are outstretched behind her, with a diamondesque eye sparkling at the center of her graceful face.

You spray Daisy by Marc Jacobs at your pulse points. You curl your hair. You apply eyeshadow, lip liner, and gloss. You contour and highlight: blush, false lashes, winged eyeliner, everything.

You stare at yourself in the mirror of Luffy’s luxurious bathroom.

Sparkling.

Glittering.

Insane.

****

The dinner lasts so long.

You find yourself picking at the fabric napkin in your lap: undoing scratchy threads as you fiddle.

There’s so much social labor.

You have no idea how your boyfriend does it. It’s so many hours of smiling, chatting, answering questions, social media marketing, and more.

Everything said is scrutinized. Laborious. Every single face you make has a chance to be photographed. Immortalized. Tweeted. Instagrammed.

Commented on.

You scrunch your nose to the side, staring down at your green tea sorbet. A dessert that is so light and refreshing actual tears spring to your eyes as you taste the light green ice.

The champagne is sweet.

Your stomach is sour.

Luffy is standing off to the side, doing an interview. The reporter is smiling, seemingly kind.

Luffy kicks ass at interviews.

The social media burnout seems to roll off his back. Like staring into flashing lights doesn’t dizzy his head. Like he can still focus through the humming buzz of food, conversation, drinks, and laughter.

You feel like a scared rabbit.

Someone bumps your elbow, and you squeak out a frozen gasp of terror. Someone laughs, and the tension leaves your body as you force yourself to breathe. You’re safe, here.

It’s just new, is all.

“Sorry bout that,” someone says, as they hover next to your seat. You force yourself to see past lights and sounds and system overload. Person. Individual. Someone is standing next to you and you must learn their name. “Is this seat taken?”

You shake your head, and shift so they have room to sit in Luffy’s vacant seat. They’re lovely: dressed in sky blue and silver accents.

“Maria.”

You smile wide at hearing her name, her pronouns, her career as a social media manager. She’s working at Teen Vogue, something you particularly respect. “Is it okay if I ask you some questions? It’s super interesting to see your social media presence as an egirl,” she smiles, “And I’d love to see what you have to say about it! It’s okay if you’re a little overwhelmed,” she allows. She had a gap between her front two teeth.

She is sparkling.

“Sure! I’m an open book, really. My social filter is all outta wack,” you admit, shyly. But you hope your open body language and softer voice help get the “friends” message across.

Expression. Communication.

Honesty.

Sweetness.

Swiftness.

She starts:

“So, how long has it been since you started camming?” She licks her lips, iPhone recording the conversation. She sets it on her knee, face up. She had a daisy-patterned pop socket.

“I started in 2020, once the pandemic started. I started an OnlyFans, and I haven’t really looked back since. Although, I take some breaks now and again.”

She smiles, “Breaks are healthy,” she assures you, as someone starts filming you over her shoulder. You scoop another bite of sorbet.

“So, what would you say is the most interesting thing about your career?”

“Mm!” You hum through a mouthful of green tea ice, “So many things! It’s so creatively expressive. I get to assign myself whatever roles I want,” you start bragging a little, “Since I choose whoever I wanna cosplay. It’s also so sweet to see what content people vibe with. Like, someone said they listen to my ASMR as they fall asleep! It’s amazing, seeing that someone sees you as their comfort content, y’know?” You smile, rambling a bit.

She smiles, though. She seems to enjoy listening. So you smile, too.

“Awesome, that’s super cool. What are some challenges about sex work?”

You nod, sober.

“The shame. People want to criticize me so much for showing my body onscreen, but burlesque has been around for centuries. The art of the striptease, the art of pornography, the skills of prostitution—it’s all so gorgeous. It’s got its shadow side, like everything, so when I speak about sex work as a career, I am always only ever speaking about consensual sex.”

She nods sagely, listening.

“So, um…ah—is it okay if I speak more on this?” You ask nervously. The napkin is scrunched into knots in your fists. The reporter—Maria—nods. She is smiling, and focused. Her eyes are deep brown, with fluffy eyelashes even without mascara.

She is not wearing makeup.

You smudge at your own lipstick, wishing you could swipe it off.

“Okay, so…it’s a way for me to flirt with strangers on the internet. It’s like, a very fun thing to do for me,” you smile, honestly. “And that’s how I met Monkey D. Luffy! Oh, I hope that’s okay to say,” you suddenly fret, social filter glitching out. “It’s so hard to understand censorship,” you confess, “I’m an adult performer so like…all the stuff I say is gonna be, like, eighteen plus. Or like, how do you decide what’s private and what’s public? It’s all so discomfortable,” you huff.

She smiles, laughing softly.

“I understand. Is there anything else you wanna say?” She has her hands folded in front of her, with several silver rings on her slender, piano-player fingers.

“Don’t say he met me through my day job, please.”

She meets your eyes, scanning.

“Seriously.”

She nods, satisfied.

“Thanks so much for your time, Miss Hero Butterfly!” She smiles, and stands up. Her dress rustled around her. She has a butterfly pendant in her hair. You smile, and stand to shake her hand.

“I love your butterfly necklace,” you say, grinning.

She winks.

“I wore it for you.”

****